Okay, I'm fifteen years old ( sixteen quite soon :) ) and female. And I have some problems that are really starting to eat away at me, and I feel like I'm unable to share them with family or friends lest they think less of me or think I'm lying about it all.
One of my most hated problems is my interest and fascination with mental illness and diseases of all kinds. I often take what I've seen on educational television and the Internet (specifically, many articles from Wikipedia) and compare them to any symptoms I may think up that I'm "experiencing", which leads me to believe that I'm a hypochondriac - but then I have to reason with myself: Do hypochondriacs know if they're hypochondriacs; and if they don't, doesn't that just mean I'm putting up a front to myself to convince myself that there's something wrong with me? I also have a fear of heights and ants - but I'm not entirely sure about them anymore, since I've had to mentally tell myself, "You're afraid of those things, remember?" Even though I am genuinely scared of falling because of being in high places and I've even had nightmares of being covered by ants (this I know the cause of - I had a minor ant invasion in my room a few years ago, and couldn't sleep in there for a week because I was afraid there were still ants in there and that they'd mutilate me while I slept or something).
Another one is depression. I've been wondering if I have it, but I can never say for sure since I'm too afraid of letting my parents or friends know about my worries. Three years ago I actually thought about killing myself - but only for a day. I had a huge emotional breakdown for a series of ridiculous reasons. I'm actually very scared of dying and I have little to no tolerance for pain, and the thought of killing myself today makes me cringe a bit; but I still manage to think up ridiculous situations in which I inadvertently kill myself through some means of my own. One of the most prominent things I imagine is falling or being pushed face-first onto the tile of the school floors. Sometimes I even picture what it would be like in slow motion; but I'm quite sure that what I'm imagining isn't what would truly happen (what I imagine is actually quite gruesome for a simple shove). I've also had times in school where I was walking with my friends and just suddenly thought that they were thinking terrible things about me - things along the lines of "Why does she even bother?", "Why does she keep hanging around us like a stray dog (or something similar)?", and "Why won't she just go away?". I know I have self-esteem and body image issues, as well. And when those thoughts come, they hit me like a ton of bricks, and it's very hard to keep composed and not have a breakdown right then. And another thing that bothers me in this category is that I have a friend who goes to a different school, and she was the person I considered my "best friend" in middle school. She's gotten into a lot of theatre and all now, and my sister goes to her school and is into that as well, so I'm usually invited to their cookouts once they've finished their plays. And I remember that at every one of those cookouts I felt so hopeless when I was talking to her because she had made new friends; I felt as if she didn't want me there and that she had moved on from being my friend, and she wished that I would do the same. Thoughts similar to these have been plaguing me for about 3-4 years now.
I'm also bothered by the fact that I become extremely down whenever I'm about to go to sleep or on the weekends when I have nothing to do. I start imagining this fantastic place, all Lord of the Rings/Chronicles of Narnia/Harry Potter pseudo-mix in which I want to live, and then I'm immediately depressed by the fact that I can't live there because it's not real. And then I start thinking about "life" after death - not killing myself, mind. I get caught up on whether there is an "afterlife" or not, and what it's like. Heaven, ***l, Purgatory? I keep remembering one thing my mother told me about Terry Pratchett's Disc World series: That the afterlife is however you imagine it to be. And I always think: "Wouldn't that be wonderful? My afterlife would be just like my dreams, only much more fantastic, and I would have control over almost everything!" And whenever I think about it, it sounds like a God complex. But I really just want all of these "characters" that are jumbled around in my head to be real so that I may converse with them and feel like I actually have strong bonds with these "people". These characters do not whisper voices in my ears, nor do they convince me to do anything; they're more like... just there, whenever I need something to shape and reshape and think about. Sometimes I have strong urges to write about these characters interacting in their own personal stories, but whenever I open up a WordPad or a notebook and am poised to write, an overwhelming feeling of imminent failure washes over me and I get blocked on what I want to write. I just can't imagine anything about them anymore. This also happens with drawing: I'll think of something perfectly, and then I'll attempt to put it on paper, only to become frustrated with my inability to express what I can clearly see in my head.
The last of my problems is mainly just a problem because people make fun of me for my tendencies. I like symmetrical and balanced things. I chew my food symmetrically, I play tetris symmetrically (until I'm forced to change tactics because the right block doesn't come along; although I often work toward getting the little blocks to form a perfectly straight row across the top with no little open spaces between the other blocks), and sometimes I type symmetrically or in a repeating pattern of fingers. Anything that I can't make symmetrical I get as close to it as I can and then balance it (such as my room; my TV and bookcase on one side, my nightstand and vanity on the other, with my bed in the middle). And if I touch something with a certain temperature or texture with one hand, I have an almost irresistible urge to touch it with my other hand so they feel the same. Certain materials or sounds make me cringe, and often I have to shake my hands while scratching at my palms (not enough to cause damage; but I can also scratch at something else, like my jeans or a smooth surface) to make the feeling go away. I particularly can't stand touching corduroy or velvet, or hearing grating sounds.
I'm not sure if any of these indicate mental abnormalities, but it would be nice to get opinions on it. So, I would like to ask for help, please.
Thank you in advance. :)