Do you think I need counseling?

My name's Brianna, and I'm 16 years old. As a child, I'd visit my grandmother often, and her kitchen floor was covered with tiles. Whenever I'd cross her kitchen, I had to do it in 7 tiles exactly; or seven steps. If I even placed my foot in the wrong position within one of the tiles, I'd have to turn around and start over. I couldn't NOT perform this ritual without growing anxious. It'd be on my mind all day, outweighing any other thoughts. I also got this notion that if I didn't complete my task, my whole family would turn on me and die. It started with these tiles, you see. It grew into something more, like only being able to wipe myself with 7 sheets of toilet paper, and using a sentence with 7 words only at 7pm and 7am. Of course there were times that I couldn't do such things, and though the guilt of failing would eat away at me, there wasn't anything I could do about it. This went on for years. I grew tired of always having to do these things. I gradually willed myself to stop, or block out, my OCD. It started showing up in other things, however. Like at school, my handwriting had to be perfect; at least according to my standards. Specifically my e's, y's, g's and f's had to be a certain way, and if they weren't, I'd erase them and rewrite them until they were right. The paper I wrote on had to be a certain texture, and if it wasn't, I felt like crawling out of my skin when I wrote on it. I had to write with mechanical pencils; again, anything else made me anxious. I couldn't write with any other led other than .7mm though. My book bag had to be in a certain order, from largest books in the back, to the smallest books in the front. The subjects were ordered as well, and when this order was broken, I'd stop in my tracks to rearrange it again. If I wasn't allowed to, for some pathetic reason, my thoughts became excited with being able to rearrange them as soon as I was let to. I couldn't concentrate on my assignments when this happened. I've had to wear a certain brand of shoes, and if not, I'd refuse to go out of the house at any costs. My socks would have to feel right in my shoes too, and if they didn't, I'd quickly change them. I'm still this way; it's not because I'm a spoiled brat, but because I feel that everyone's looking at my shoes, and laughing at how ugly they look. At how ridiculous I look. Agh. It's just easier to wear attractive shoes. I also look at other people's shoes, and stereotype them. And yes, I'm aware of the fact that this is wrong. I like being alone. It's weird. I like being left all alone though. People are incredibly uninteresting to me, and just annoying. I have but one friend, and at that we hardly converse. I'm not trying to justify being anti-social in the least, because I do get that it's unhealthy. I'm more than not-a-people-person though, and I'm fine with it. I love it, in fact. I've contemplated self inflicting pain upon myself many times before, but just couldn't. I don't get how that'd help me... and I've never enjoyed pain. Besides, my tolerance for it is incredibly low. I'm not an animal person, but at times I wish I were. For instance, I'll get this urge to get a kitten. We'll get the cat, and I'll play with it, and feed it, take care of it... then one morning, I'll wake up, look at the cat, and get this awkward feeling. It's really strong though. So, I give the cat to my grandmother or someone better to take care of it; to routinely love it. Now, whenever I get that urge to get an animal, I block it out, for the animal's sake. I can't go to the bathroom without locking it, even if I'm home alone. And at someone's house, if there's not a lock on the bathroom door, I wont use it. I can't sit in a car without having my seatbelt on, even if I'm just waiting for someone to get out of the store. Fonts. Oh dear. They seem to be my new obsession. I can't type in a font that I find repulsive to look at; like Lucida Console. There are certain fonts I'd literally give my virginity to if they were human; Arial (11px), Century Gothic, Georgia, Candara and Microsoft Jheng Hei. Even numbers also tend to make me really uncomfortable (2,4,6, ect). Cliche and corny conversation disgust me. Hearing the refrigerator door close makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside, along with hearing heels on the hardwood floor. Talking on the phone frightens me, for some odd reason. There have also been times, at random, when this feeling of overwhelming reality brushes over me. It's strange, how real I feel; how vulnerable I feel, and it scares me. Fortunately, this feeling is rare. It comes maybe a few times a year, it and it lasts not but 3 seconds. I've thought about killing myself before, but I've never really considered it. I'm too cowardly to take my life. Rainy days put a smile on my face, while a sunny one makes me want to crawl up and die. Unfortunately, I live in a state where sunny days are galore. Some days are better than others. I wouldn't say my moods differ to an exceptional degr