I hate panicking about every single thing that happens to me

Pretty much the caption. If something bad happens to me, I can never just brush it off. I always get super paranoid about it happening again/continuing to happen no matter what.

Take for instance just now: I found parasite-like things swimming in the mat underneath my dog's water bowl (suspecting them to be drain fly larvae but not confident), and even now that I've fully thrown the water bowl and mat away, I'm super scared that there's still some in the carpeting underneath the bowl and mat or in one of the spots I spilled in (that I cleaned up). And for a few minutes there, I was also afraid that the obvious clutters of seeds inside my shoes were parasites too, because I spilled some water on myself in the process of dumping them.

When I had two cats die in the matter of a year, I started freaking out because it had to mean that I was gonna lose another pet every six months. And, truth be told, I did lose another pet 8 months after the second, who died 6 months after the first. So now I'm still scared that another one's gonna die before we hit the year anniversary.

Another instance is when I was around 10 and bumped into a leafy plant outside my aunt's house that I thought looked a little like poison ivy. So, when we got home and I started itching like crazy, I told my mom that that's what it had to be. Funnily enough, after she told me it couldn't be and I stopped thinking about it, I stopped itching.

I literally told my mother the other day that she must have a difficult time having a daughter as frustrating as me. She's a very go-with-the-flow person, and she doesn't understand my mind. I mean, I don't even understand my mind. It's like a monster that I'm forced to live with.

I do have a therapist, but I'm so scared of actually talking about my feelings with, well, anyone that the deepest thing she's gotten out of me in almost two years is that a lot of people in my life have died. She doesn't know how I feel about their deaths. She just knows they happened. So if I tell her about my paranoia, in a weird way, I'm convinced she'll think of me differently for it. That's weird, though, because she's an amazing person and she always tries to listen. I'm just a professional self-sabotager and paranoia-riddled person. :(