Nothing to fear but fear itself? If only …

WEST PALM BEACH, Fla. — In businesses across the country there are leftovers — the workers who did not get laid off, take a buyout or get fired. Some people call them survivors. Others call us lucky. I am one of them. A lot of people don't like us. Some are angry former co-workers. Others are frustrated clients and customers.

The leftovers live and work in a state of fear. We could be next. So we work at a furious pace, in a perpetual state of proving that we are indispensable — even though we know we aren't.

Sometimes we feel guilty. The reality is that the recession has not really affected us much. Some of us still make as much money as we did before and have the same benefits. But we don't speak about this, even to each other.

We work long, hard hours and we do not complain because we are so grateful to have a job. My therapist said I can't keep working like this. I told her that I am so afraid of losing my job that I can't help myself. I am a single mom. I provide my daughter's health insurance.

My fear is out of proportion and out of control, she said. It is not rational, she said. But I can't turn it off. I told her about my sister, a stay-a-home mom who now works the graveyard shift at a warehouse. My heart breaks for her. My brother's salary has been cut. I hear their fear.

Then my therapist asked a question I still cannot answer. "What scares you more, unemployment or another major depression?"

I am stuck. If I get depressed, I won't be able to work. If I don't work this hard, I might get laid off.

Fear is my reality no matter how unrealistic. Intellectually I know I am delusional. I have created a fear-based future. It is not real. Feelings aren't facts.

We went over my finances. If I lost my job, I would not lose my house or car. I would still have health insurance. There would be food on the table and the bills would be paid. Then we went over my last depression. I would not be able to keep up the house for long. I might still have insurance, but I wouldn't file the claims. There would be food on the table, but it would probably be cereal.

When we are done, my fear looks so silly and my depression looks so real. This feeling of well-being lasts for a while. Then it wears off. I am back in my imaginary world of fear, waiting for my next appointment and my imaginary pink slip.

Christine Stapleton writes for The Palm Beach Post.