Thank you all so much. Things went better than expected as my mom couldn't talk long because they were headed out to a restaurant for an early dinner. I realized I included my grandma in my statement about them making me nervous, but my grandma is not a grudge-holder or someone who judges me. My reason for my anxiety around her is because she always wants me to eat more, but it comes out of a place of love and she doesn't realize what it does to me.

So today my mom wished me a Merry Christmas and just asked me to call my grandma afterward. I didn't have to speak to my dad, which was a relief, sorry to say. I called my grandma and told her, "I'm sorry, I know this isn't what we planned," and she said, "It's OK, honey, I understand." Wow, those words were just like salve on a wound. My grandma has never had a mean bone in her body and is always much more forgiving. She was sometimes the buffer when I was a kid and upset about my father.

I think I know where my hypochondria and other problems came from. First off, the eating thing came from being pressured to eat more and more by family. My parents didn't do it as much, but my paternal grandparents especially put the pressure on. My grandma and Italian grandfather would also do it an extent because good meals is love to them. I was a picky eater and never had a gigantic appetite, so I struggled with it. The hypochondria probably stemmed from my grandpa having heart surgery and my mom going into full-on healthy eating mode and telling us about what would clog our arteries and cause heart problems. She meant well and to help her father, but man, it was rigid. Her friend joked that one day she was going to throw her into a vat of egg yolks and my mother didn't like that one bit.

Anxiety was always there, but IBS and I believe what were mini-panic attacks hit at 13. I would sit in my room shaking and cutting myself with a safety pin. My mom's response to that was, "Please don't do that! You'll give yourself an infection! How would you like to lose an arm from that?" My husband said my upbringing was a comedy of errors and that's why I have so many hangups and mental blocks.

She still blames my grandpa for not wearing his blood pressure patch, which probably led to the stroke and heart failure that ultimately took his life. I keep telling her he had dementia and didn't know better, but she holds a grudge. He wasn't the best father to her and a grouchy man, but he was the best grandfather you could ask for and I'm very protective of him and his memory.

Liveforfish, yes, mental illness runs deeply in my family. There is a very strong history of anxiety on my mother's side of the family, including my mom, and my paternal grandma has it to a degree. My dad, well, I don't know what his problem is other than his upbringing was very bad and I think somewhere along the way (maybe from the military?) he just turned into a stiff, nitpicking man.

He used to sit down to help me with my homework and because he was a draftsman back in the day, he'd criticize my utensils and even my handwriting. "What is this? HB lead? This is too soft! You need a #2 pencil! What kind of eraser is this? Can't you find something that erases clean? You're mailing a letter like *that*? This five looks like an eight!! And on it went. To this day, when I make out envelopes to him, I write as carefully as possible or even print it out in a clear font. He nitpicks at my mother too, and I think it might be a reason why she's depressed. He gave her grief about her font for Christmas cards.

If you're ignorant about a subject, he will say, "Didn't you learn that in eighth grade? C'mon, this is basic knowledge!"

He also prints like an automaton. You wouldn't believe what his lettering looks like. It's so controlled and perfect that you would think it was from a computer.

So that's a bit of my history. It feels good just to say it somewhere other than the years I spent in therapy where my therapist never had much to say of any value and just offered sympathy. Writing it out is better.

Already I am dreading 2013. I feel like it's a very unlucky number and something awful will happen this year. I read an article last night about a woman whose fiance dropped dead at age 40, and it terrified me and I took it as a premonition. This is what my mind does to me on a regular basis.

Sorry for writing another book and thank you all for responding and letting me ramble.