Lately, my stomach has been queasy with worry. My anxiety levels are through the roof. Why? Well, much of my anxiety has been focused on the speech class I'm taking. The idea of speaking in front of a group is terrifying and bothers me for about a full 48 hours before I ever have to do it. I have to give a short speech in the morning (3-5 minutes). I just built my visual aid out of cardboard and practiced my speech, in a half-assed, feeling-it-out, rough draft kind of way. I had nothing written. I just wanted to see what would come to me off the top of my head. I said it all out loud. I sat down and felt funny, feeling my blood pulsing through my neck. I took my pulse. 124. 124, people!!!

Maybe the people in my speech class wonder why I always volunteer to go first. Maybe they think I'm studious, or prepared, or courageous. I may be studious at times, and am usually fairly well-prepared. Courageous, I am not. I volunteer to speak first so that my heart won't burst through my chest waiting for my turn to come up.

Clearly, I'm having issues, and my body is all out of whack. My brain is too worried and my heart rate's too fast. It's not good. Which is why I took a major step that I hope will be beneficial.

I called my insurance company and asked for a recommendation for a therapist.

I had to call quite a few names to find someone who sounded nice on the phone. The woman I spoke with today is awesome and friendly, and I'm seeing her for the first time on Tuesday. When your heart races at the thought of seeing a therapist (about your anxiety, I might add), therapy suddenly seems rather necessary.

I wish I didn't feel so scared to go. I tend to get scared with any new endeavour, though. The last time I saw a therapist, I was maybe eight years old. I only saw her a few times, and I thought she was just an adult friend my mom took me to see, a nice babysitter or something, who liked to ask me questions. I never realized I was being evaluated by a therapist until much later. The result of those sessions was that my mom was told I have OCD (Obsessive Compulsive Disorder). She was also told I'd likely grow out of the worst stages of it on my own, and I did. So I just dealt with the compulsive feelings, the obsessive thoughts, and managed everything on my own, never going on medication or seeing another therapist. And I felt fine.

But, now I can't manage it by myself anymore, and I'm trying to be okay with that. Every time I'm seized by a surge of adrenaline shooting through me like electricity, I begin to accept that seeing a therapist is not only probably going to be really good for me in general, but it's also something I need. Stress is not something I should dismiss so easily anymore. Stress ruins your body, little by little. Stress can kill people. I just can't stand feeling freaked out 24/7. I need this. I need some help.

I think it'll be okay.