Why am I such a neurotic worry wart?

I wish I knew. Sometimes I think I get too overprotective for my own good. I don't want to say I forget my friends have minds of their own. They do. I know this. But sometimes I don't think they properly assess the risks at hand in some of their decision making. In the past I've had friends choose partners or lovers who anyone with a brain could see were a bad idea. Some were abusive. Some had too much emotional baggage to sort through before being ready for such endeavors.
Sometimes the situations weren't in matters of the heart. But decisions that would result in disaster.
And while I think my worries certainly have their place, I stumble upon stories of obsessive compulsive behavior.
And those stories scare me. Because I don't want to be the crazed fan. I don't want to be the guy who calls every five minutes. The guy who taps on windows, or who constantly keeps tabs. Thankfully I haven't become that person.
But it doesn't help that I get so anxious over the thought of inevitable doom, that I get sick.
It's as if I've forgotten that sometimes people have a need to learn the hard way. Or that if I haven't forgotten, that I've seen the hard way so many times I die a little more inside every time the hard way prospect comes up.
And then I can't help but wonder if anyone I know with the worry wart title hasn't tried to warn me that it may be possible to love too much. Or if I've let too many important things go to pot trying to prevent otherwise awesome people from learning a hard lesson they might actually have to have to grow.

Then other times I have to wonder if any of my decisions make their stomachs tie up in knots.
I'd like to think I'm on the level most of the time, but in retrospect I was attracted to a few women who turned out to be crazy, or plain evil or both.
I'm sure a few of them tried warning me too, but I don't know if my foolishness filled them with the same fear for my safety.

Of course I've always tried to be there for my friends, and they've been there for me. But how much concern is too much? And how does one let go, without the grimace inducing stomach ache queasiness?

It's always easy to blame the Mom, but I think she may have genetically given me such a two edged quality.
Mine was always over protective, and often times over reacted. It was great on the one hand. I always knew that even if the rest of the world hated my fucking guts, at least I could take comfort in knowing I would always have my parent's love.
On the other hand sometimes it got suffocating. Just because some kids were easily manipulated didn't mean I was going to be. But still it could be annoying.
I get that. I really do. And I don't mean my anxiety to push people away, or put me on their lists of nutjobs to avoid.
I guess it's something I'll have to spend my life working on. Putting my concern out there, but doing so without getting myself bent out of shape worrying that the next time I see them might be their funeral.
And if it is their funeral, not blaming myself for their demise. I just have to remember I can only give guidance. I can't be some Jedi Knight saying "This isn't the one who were looking for." and have them repeat it.
I have to accept that sometimes somebody great is going to drive into a not so great situation, and that I can't steer out of the way for them. I can only visit them in the hospital, and do my best to help them heal.