Being a constant worrier is like being a multitasker, except the part when all the tasks get finished. My mind brings up one idea and one thing to do; within minutes, I'm onto another task without even completing the last.

It's a constant realm of jumping from idea to idea, topic to topic, without a break in between. The only break you'll receive is when you fall asleep at night.

People wonder how being a constant worrier is a bad thing. I mean we're always ahead of the game, thinking of what's next and planning everything possible in advance. But our thoughts can get very irrational very quickly.

For instance, I was trying to make a simple list of things I would need to go back to college. The list gets to about six or seven items when I abandon the task to clean up the area where my leftover items from last semester lay. Then I find a pack of shaving razors and remember that we're out, so I make another list. Then I look next to the leftovers and see a pile of clean clothes that have to be put away that minute. In the process, I begin to go through my pants and realize that none of these fit. I finally go back to the original list and add "jeans" to the list.

My entire day is like the example above. Some people would consider this to be distraction and not really about worrying. In reality, there's a reason why I have to keep changing tasks.

Behind every task, there is a stressor, something that makes the simplest situation worse. For me, the stressor behind these tasks is worry. I get so worried about the basic list of what I need to go back to school that it stresses me out. I get so caught up in hurrying to get ready for something still a month away. It sounds silly, but it happens with almost every task I do.

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People will look at me and see this happy, pretty girl. If you look closer, you can see my brain tearing me apart. You can see my nail beds ripped down to raw skin and dry blood. You can see the random scars around my body from bug bites and scratches that never healed, my mind itching to distract itself. You can see the slight but constant shake in my hands or legs, a sign that my body cannot take much more.

If you look close at my face, you'll see small pimples and bumps beneath the surface of my complexion that never rise. You can see the abnormal bruise-like color and bags under my eyes from the constant worry stressing my body to the extremes. You'll see my pupils blown up so wide, you'd think I was intoxicated, when I actually had a day-three migraine.

The sad part is that after all this stress and hassle, my brain still isn't satisfied with the amount of tasks I've done. At the end of the day, instead of rewarding myself for a day's work, my brain keeps running like a broken receipt machine –more words, more totals, more things to do tomorrow.

In advance, I'm sorry if I look a little disheveled. I'm sorry if I look like it took me 20 minutes to pick out an outfit this morning, because it did; I couldn't decide if I wanted to be too cold or too hot and not look strange for carrying a jacket in 85 degree weather. I'm sorry if it seems like I don't care about you, my mind is multitasking in its own way that is pulling me away from you.

I'm sorry if I've disappointed you because of my constant worrying. But I hope you understand what it's like to be a constant worrier. I hope you can be a little patient with me as I add the favor you ask of me to one of my four lists of the day. I hope you can be a little understanding when I need to step out of a meeting to use the bathroom and gather enough paper towels to create a makeshift Band-Aid for my bleeding fingernail.

But I want you to know that this won't last forever. Time will heal me. I'm not going to let this continue to ruin my life in the ways you've just read. All I ask is for you not to give up on me. It may be a while, but I'm still going to do everything I can to be there for you.

Constant worriers aren't weirdos or scary people. We care so much that our bodies suffer. Please, do not judge us for something we can't truly control.