Anxiety, Love & Jealousy

"Your time will come." This is the statement I hear from my mother, my friends, and inspirational quotes on social media. 

When will I get married? I feel like I have asked this question since I was 16 years old. Yes, 16 is a really young age to start thinking about marriage, but that was the age I fell in love for the first time. Sadly, that relationship did not last past the end of the school year, but me and that guy are still great friends. 

I am now 26-years-old, and have had multiple "loves of my life" since then.  Each person I fell in love with made me question if he was "the one."  They weren't. 

I was always under the impression that I would meet my person in college, or at work -- and by the age of 25 the latest. Many of my friends are married, engaged, and even have children.  I am not saying I would want to be a parent at 26, but finding someone -- shouldn't that have happened by now? 


Social media is a HUGE contributor to my constant thoughts of settling down.  You can't scroll Facebook or Instagram without seeing a post saying "I SAID YES" with a collage of photos of the ring and the couple embracing.  I want to like these photos because these people are my friends, but I am overcome with jealousy -- followed by self-destructive negative comments towards myself. 



I can't count the amount of times I have called myself ugly, or fat, or too damaged to date.  Who wants to be with a girl who may or may not have daddy issues because her father died when she was a kid? Who wants to be with a girl who suffers from anxiety and needs reassurance from time to time? MY response is ALWAYS "no one." 

Anxiety mixed with jealously is truly a lethal combination of thoughts. Anxiety mixed with any emotion is enough to make your head spin. 

Trust me, I know from experience.  When I like someone, I question EVERYTHING. I overthink things that I say. I re-read messages I send, and I have minor anxiety attacks when the person does not message me back. It's pathetic. It's borderline obsessive, and it is not how I want to come off to someone I really care about. 


Living with anxiety is like being a puppet to the puppet master. You have no control of your thoughts. As hard as you try to pull away, the puppet master is stronger. You want so much to sever the strings that prevent you from living your life. 

Long story short. It's hard to think about anything else besides something you THINK you did wrong. 

How do you overcome anxiety? 

20 Years

Today is June 6^th.

In history, today is D-Day – or Destruction Day. If you don’t know what this day symbolizes, maybe you should have paid a little more attention in your high school history class.

Today means something else to me.

 On June 6, 1996 – at 35-years-old -- my father succumbed to a disease he had been battling since he was 9-years-old – Type 1 Diabetes.

That was 20-years-ago today.

It is hard to believe how much my father missed out on these past two decades.

I know what many of you are thinking; “He didn’t miss anything.” “He was there in spirit, ” etc. etc. 

Trust me, I have heard it all.

As a disclaimer, this post is not a way to get anyone to feel bad for me, or fishing for sympathy.  I just want to express my feeling through words instead of pictures.

Why? After 20 years, (or since Facebook, Twitter, Instagram existed)  I have posted photo collages of my father with a long post expressing how much I love and miss him. Sadly, you start to run out of pictures, and all you have are memories which can’t be posted with a #IMissYou #RIP. Memories don’t work that way.

Today, I have decided to share my memories through stories. 

You don’t have to read all of them, or any of them for that matter.

This post is for me.

So without further ado, here are 20 memories/stories/facts I remember about my father.

The first one that comes to mind is coffee.

My father LOVED coffee; specifically from 7-11.

If you know anything about me, you know that is my go to coffee shop. Like father, like daughter.

My father loved coffee so much, that on the day of his wedding, he had the limo driver make a stop at 7-11 on the way to the reception. Obviously, I was not present for this, but when my mother told me this story, I laughed so hard – knowing full well I will probably do this on the day of my own wedding.

I will probably get in trouble for sharing this second memory, but it’s too good not to share.

Due to my father’s illness, he slept a lot. Which in some cases forced me to entertain myself and stay out of trouble. Before proceeding with this story, I would just like to make note that I was almost two, so staying out of trouble was near to impossible. Here’s why.

While my father was asleep, I managed to open the second story window of my house and climb out onto the roof. I honestly cannot recall how long I was up there before my mother came home, but needless to say she was not happy about it.  I mean, her toddler was on the roof.  Hey, I still think its funny. I also find it hilarious that my father did the SAME THING when he was a toddler. Again, like father, like daughter.

My third memory still cracks me up to this day.

One night for dinner we had Taco Bell.

This wonderful meal was caught on camera which makes this memory all the better.

For about 5 to 10 minutes of this home movie, I am yelling at my father to “eat your dinner right now!” I was so sassy at the age of three, which makes sense as to why I am even sassier now.

Here are some small factoids. 

WARNING: Some may be sad.  

My father was a die-hard hockey fan.  He even played in a minor league.

He was a New Jersey Devils fan. I think he rooted for the Rangers and Islanders as well, but the Devils were his #1 team.

When it wasn’t hockey season, it was baseball season. He was a Mets fan.

As for music, my father loved classic rock. To name a few, The Eagles, REO Speedwagon, Queen, and Van Halen.  Trust me, there were a lot more. In fact, nothing but classic rock played in my house, which gave me the impeccable taste in music I have today.

My father wanted to serve his country, but due to his illness, he wasn’t allowed.

So what did he do? He had someone else take the urine test for him.

I know what you are thinking, “Wow, he really wanted to serve his country.”

The man passed out on the training field, and that was the end of his military career.

My father loved war movies. “Platoon” was his favorite.

His favorite color was green. I have no idea why.

He was 5 foot 8. He was small, but strong.

He was the only boy out of four kids.

He once beat up a guy who was trying to rob our garage.

He had red hair, but was balding.  You may not know this, because I dye my hair all the time, but I was born with Strawberry Blonde/Red hair.

He was partially blind, which was brought on by the diabetes.

He was good at billiards, which is what he and my mother did on their first date.

My father proposed only four months into dating my mother. They were married on September 9, 1989.

According to my mother, my father was a terrific dancer.  I wish I could have seen that. Maybe that is there I get my l dancing from.

His go to nicknames for me were “Pumpkin Head,” and “Boo.”

My father was buried with the family photo of our last Christmas, a 7-11 coffee cup, and a few Devils jerseys.

I want to end this post with advice that I feel I am qualified to give.

Losing a parent is one of the hardest things you will experience – whether you are 4 or 40, the pain stings and will probably hurt for the rest of your life.

 This took me a long time to realize, but never think you were abandoned. It was not their intention to die. Whatever belief you have about what happens when this life is over, something beyond our knowledge have plans for the dearly departed.

The important thing to remember is to cherish the time you have with your parents. You may go through phases of hating them, but usually that is when you are a teenager, and lets face it; teenagers hate everyone.

I sit here 20-years later, still wishing I had more time with my father.

Do I regret the years I did have? No. If I didn’t get those four years, I wouldn’t have any memories. I like to think four years of memories is better than none at all.

My final thoughts –

I miss my father more than anything in this world, but I know there is no bringing him back. The best thing I can do is continue to grow has a person, and if he is looking down on me; I just want to make him proud.

I love you.