Have you ever tried to reach me on the phone? It borders on impossible.
I HATE talking on the phone. Well, that's not true; I don't actually mind talking once a connection has been made. What I HATE is dialing out. And I HATE picking up to numbers I'm not familiar with. If I didn't have caller ID, my phone would never get answered. If you don't have a special ringtone on my phone, you can just count on leaving a message. But don't count on me returning it.
I can worry for days about a call I know I must make. I can make myself sick over it. Simple things like arranging for a babysitter or making VT appointments make me want to crawl under my bed and hibernate or run to the bathroom and throw up. I become mentally paralized and stall out for days, accomplishing nothing but worry. To say nothing of just calling someone in order to chat. I can't. And unless I am talking to Kristin or Dave, the conversation will be very stilted if I manage to make the call at all.
The really ironic thing is that I LOVE my phone. It's pink.
I don't go anywhere without my phone. I take pictures with it. I use it as an alarm clock. It reminds me when it is time to do the vacuuming. It notifies me 10 minutes before I must be somewhere. It tells me when your birthdays are (sadly, it does not get you a present). It calculates appropriate tips for my server at the restaurant (I actually do use this feature). It plays me music whenever I wish it to. It stores my text files on a teeny tiny little card in its underbelly. I use it for facebook and occasionally twitter. It sends me my email. I use it for text-messaging. But when it rings, notifying me there is a live individual on the other end wishing to speak to me, I choke.
So my question is, do you think death therapy would be a good treatment for this?