I know how you feel.
Hitch hiking scares me though. My car broke down a few yrs ago on my way home from work and some guy almost tried to make me get into his car-freaked me out bad.
You do know I was speaking metaphorically, right?
I had a similar experience one time when I was about fourteen or fifteen. I was walking along a road late at night, and this guy kept driving past and stopping to talk to me, trying to convince me to "go for a ride" with him.
He didn't try to force me into his car or anything, but he definitely did not have my best interests in mind. That's not the only time something happened along those lines, either. Seems I was a very pretty young dude once.
Asking for help is about the hardest thing ever *hugs*
What if nobody cares? that is my biggest fear.
I worry about that, too. Also, what if my anxiety proves so great that I can't face getting help for my anxiety? I have to make a phone call tomorrow about one of those ordinary responsibilities that pop up frequently in adult life. It's not a big deal, nothing new, just regular once-a-year thing, and it'll all be over before I know it, but I'm dreading it all the same. Therapy is a much bigger deal, and a much scarier phone call. It means starting a new long-term relationship with someone—an unknown, unpredictable someone—with all the trust, intimacy, and exposure issues that implies. It means opening up a big ol' can of worms—perhaps more than one—and letting them squirm all over the place while some stranger observes and judges. What if my worms are too big or too small? What if my issues are too great to fix or too petty to bother with? I've been around the mental health industry enough to know that some practitioners are better than others. What if this hypothetical stranger turns out to be a bully or a quack—I've seen both types working in the field—or is too lazy, apathetic, or arrogant to help anyone at all? There are a lot of what-ifs at the other end of that line, and that makes it really hard to pick up the phone and dial.
Then there's the cost. What if I no longer qualify for the affordable services I used to get, or insurance (which I don't even have) won't cover it? There's a CBT center across the street from me, so close I could plink their windows with a slingshot were it not for a few dozen trees in the way. Their website claims the cost of treatment is about the same as a monthly car payment, but that's pretty darn vague. Are we talking about a used Kia here, or a brand new Lexus? It won't help me much overall if they fix my head, but bleed me white in the process. I truly hate the life I lead now, but I'd still rather be alone and unhappy than homeless and hungry. I'm barely making it where I am. My ability to survive on the streets would be close to nil.
Thus anxiety preserves and protects itself, and thus it breeds and builds, growing bigger and stronger until it approaches invincibility. I hate that sumbitch. :veryangry:
It takes a real man to ask for help when he needs it.
I totally agree, but sometimes I wonder if I fit the description. :sad:
