Dwelling

I'm a dweller.  A worrier.  A ponderer.  A thinker.  I can dwell on a subject for hours, days even.  My husband can tell the second I start dwelling on something.  "You're dwelling." He says in a singsong impatient but loving voice.  It amazes him how I am able to keep at a subject until everything little item has been scrutinized at least a dozen times.  My high school English teacher, Mr. Doody, would say that I'm a pro at beating a dead horse.  I must agree with Mr. Doody.  I am a master at dead horse beating.
I don't want to be.  It's not like I set out to over think everything.  I just do it.  It is in my nature.  I could say I blame my parents but that seems so passe nowadays.
Lately, my dwelling has gotten so bad that it induces panic attacks.  I'm no stranger to panic attacks but we aren't friends either.  I've learned how to cope with them using healthy habits but I'm perplexed as to why it seems lately I've become an uber dweller.
The ironic twist to all of this is that now I'm dwelling on the fact that I'm a dweller.  Sort of seems redundant, right?
So how does one become a non-dweller?  Is it possible to really learn to just let things be?  Am I capable of just letting go of the habitual worrying?  Only time will tell.  At least this gives me something to think about.