My breath quickened as I strained to hear the teacher across the room. I couldn’t hear my friends’ voices over my thumping heart.

Where are they in the alphabet?

Harris?

Oh God.

Jackson?

Oh God, oh God.

My breath caught in my throat as the teacher called my name. “Here,” I choked out, and she breezed on to the next.

It’s ridiculous, I know, to get so worked up about attendance, but this simple ritual used to terrify me. All I needed to say was “here,” but it felt like a performance. Speaking in front of others used to be so frightening that I avoided speech class, a freshman class, until junior year. I never made new friends because I was too anxious to talk to anybody or even make eye contact. I never went to the bathroom at school because I was afraid to ask for permission. Every social situation felt like a big deal; I never understood how others made casual conversation with strangers.

I experienced my first panic attack when I was nine. I had to give my first speech – in front of a class of eight people – and I was so terrified that I stopped breathing and blacked out. No one had ever explained what a panic attack or anxiety disorder was, so I didn’t understand until years later, when I saw a character on TV have a panic attack. That was the first time I didn’t feel so alien.

I never thought my situation could get better. “I’m just shy,” I would say. But “shy” did not explain my obsessive worrying. Not until I turned sixteen, when my anxiety grew exponentially worse overnight, did I realize that I needed help. The night before my birthday, I suddenly panicked, unable to let go of terrifying thoughts that I’d lose the people I loved. Though my thoughts were completely irrational, it really seemed to me that one misstep could lead me to a tragic fall off the edge of normal life and into a canyon of tragedy.

That night I stayed up and worried, experiencing an eruption of anxiety symptoms I had never dealt with before. I remember crying as I tried to explain to my mom what was happening, and I looked at the clock, seeing that it was midnight. “I’m sixteen,” I muttered through the tears.

I spent the following weeks huddled on the couch, watching TV with my mom, or huddled on my friend’s couch, watching TV with her. I refused to be alone, obsessed with the thought that I would die or my loved ones would leave me if I was not constantly by their side. I was afraid to be alone with my thoughts; I knew that the terror would consume me if my mind left its state of numbness.

I later found out that my severe anxiety was linked to obsessive-compulsive disorder. At first, I didn’t understand how this could be, because it didn’t fit with what I thought I knew about OCD. Then I read an article by actor Mara Wilson, who explained that for some, OCD is like having a song stuck in your head – but instead of a song, you’re plagued with vivid, horrible thoughts.

My tormenting thoughts were about how I would somehow lose the people I love. They made me constantly anxious, stopping me from going anywhere or doing anything. It was the worst feeling of being held down, unable to breathe.

When I finally began seeing a therapist that summer, I felt some freedom and hope, though not immediately. Therapy gave me a place to organize my thoughts and see my problems from an outside point of view, which gave me some answers about what was causing these feelings. I began to feel safer as I learned that my obsessive worries were not about real threats.

My therapist believed that medication could help, so I saw a psychiatrist and was prescribed a medication to treat anxiety associated with OCD. It didn’t fix everything immediately, but it did make things seem brighter, and then slowly improved my life profoundly.

After taking the medication for a couple of months, I became able to talk to people without getting nervous, and I learned how to show my personality instead of hiding it. I am still an introvert, but treatment helped to dissolve my fears of interacting. I became more confident and independent, no longer needing to cling to others. The medicine helped free me from anxiety, and therapy taught me not to focus on irrational worries.

Life has become so much brighter. The world used to feel scary, but it only feels that way if you isolate yourself. When my symptoms began to affect me the most, I had not allowed myself any support. I cut myself off from my parents and surrounded myself with negativity. Once I opened up and sought help through therapy, I was able to connect with positive people who reminded me that life is fun. Being treated for social anxiety has helped me make friends and do what I want with my life without inhibition.