I'm sure I mentioned this before, but I'll mention it again . . . just in case . . . as a child, I was somewhat riddled with anxiety. Like I woke up each morning convinced that this day was my last. My poor mother. Bless her heart for dealing with my crazy. At some point, maybe around 12 or 13 I begin to realize that this daily terror was affecting my life (yes, it took me a minute). Everyone around me seemed to get into cars without the least worry. They'd leave their love ones daily and not fear and tremble that it would be the last time they'd lay their eyes on their dearly beloved. Not to mention, they did fun things . . . like all the time. They biked, swam, ate adventurous food, and well . . . lived. Now, I'm going to get side tracked for a second, and mention that my fears were founded on fact. My brother was seriously injured in front of me, my mother got ran over as I watched (both stories for another ti...