"The tears flow but they do not over power me this time."

Cathy R., age 34. Brooklyn, NY

I am trying to make life simple again.
The panic is constantly taunting me.
Threatening to show itself to company.
This feeling is unbearable.

I haven't felt this way since I was 16, and then 22,
and then now,
and all of the times in between that I blamed it on life being difficult.
Circumstances forever changing. Relationships ending.
The day to day tasks and obligations that others seem to navigate,
but make me freeze.

The walking in circles.
Back tracking my steps.
Misplacing things.
Forgetting details as soon as I allow my mind to wander.
Trying to figure out why I am here and not there.
The constant worrying.
Is just time consuming.

My chest feels like it's going to cave in.
My stomach in knots.
The comfort of having water close by at all times soothes me.
And antacids in my bag.
And the ability to phone a friend.

It is difficult to grasp because the highs are so high.
And the lows are terrifying.

I am unsure if I should go on medication.
Psychiatrist thinks I should.
Therapist thinks there are other ways.
I just want to be uncomplicated.

Do I really need them?

I function, I create, I am a friend, a daughter, a coworker, I get through my days.
I also cry, panic, hoard, have rituals, and I am afraid.
It's all very confusing.

Everything is sitting on the surface and I feel naked and exposed.

When I'm not productive,
it makes me feel invisible.
I am wrapped with guilt.

All I hear is my head telling me that I'm not good enough,
Not strong enough,
Not talented enough to make this life.
And though I know different,
It makes everything black and makes me grip onto nothingness as if it defines me.

This weeks challenge is allowing the emotions to happen as they come,
instead of suppressing them until I cannot breathe.
The tears flow but they do not over power me this time.

It was not always like this.
This will pass, again.
It has to.

"Barely there, striving for a reflection you will never reach."

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Anonymous, age 18
[step one:]
"my life in a manila folder, scripted for diagnosis. they quote me, writing down my pain of logic, treating it as a side affect. i am scheduled a next appointment - policy. i am considered by statistics, their only determination to cure me. as i am introduced to my aid, they mark my progress with another prescription. i am given a new prospective to life, with vague conception beyond these sterile walls: they are creating my recovery out of medical terms i am bound to understand someday, yet i am reminded 'this is the easiest part.' as i stumble into yet another step towards..... i wonder where it all ends."

[redefine me:]
"one hand on your protruding hip bone, one finger down your throat, breathing deeply in denial, convincing smile, hiding the frantic rush of control. running on empty desperately after a shallow sense of value to fill you up; wasting away in a media driven prospective, giving you little room to see. you feel the gentle break of identity as you fit into the style, conforming to the paper doll appeal. barely there, striving for a reflection you will never reach; dying to impress the goddess of thin. they glimpse across your presence, not knowing the girl blinded by the sight, believing the lies telling her she is not enough. and the memory of beauty is all that remains as you lose yourself. 'beauty, redefine me.....' was the beginning of disaster, Beautiful. they forget to tell you the truth."

"I am more than a diagnosis."

Anonymous.

Disorder Central

I used to think that the DSM IV provided a map to little old me, located in Dysfunctiontown, USA. From the time I was thirteen, I have traveled with a host of disorders. I started with Depression, took a left at Bulimia, blew right throw the light at Cutting and braked just before Suicide. I won't even get into the scenic detours of abuse, PTSD and dissociation disorder (not otherwise specified). I packed light, with a backpack full of pills, each of which offered a more horrific side effect than the last.

Along the way, I stayed with some kind people, people who told me I was more than a diagnosis, had potential beyond despair. I wanted to believe them, but deep down I knew I was worthless and broken. I counted off the years since my suicide attempt as time I did not deserve (or want) to have.

I am not sure at what point my trip changed, when I was able to drop my bag and rest awhile. But what matters is that now I can look back on my travels, as distant memories that led me home.

I know you won't believe me, but sometime you will get to rest too. Home is not in the afterlife or oblivion. It's right there, in your future.

"I can get through the day but at night it seems everything catches up to me. "

JAP, age 30. Des Moines, IA.

My Belly Aches Blue - Lorazapam Flu (Lyrics from Blue October)

I wonder if I will ever be off the medication. I wonder if I even want to be. Do I want to get better? Do I like having this as an excuse to not socialize.

I am the definition of anti-social, yet I can't stand the thought of being alone. I hate to go to work, but I feel better when I'm there because I can focus on something else besides this "weirdness" I constantly feel inside me. Will I ever feel normal again?

It began when I was 17. I was driving home and all of sudden everything became like a video game. Nothing seemed real and the corners of my eyes started to turn black. The car was closing in on me. I pulled over, got out of the car and called my mom. Mom, Mom, something is wrong!! I can't breath, my vision is weird, I feel weird! Calm down, maybe you just haven't eaten good enough today, you do have a protein deficiency. Ok, ok, calm down. I'm right down the street from home. I can get there. I can get there. It happened a few more times. Once while driving on vacation with my boyfriend and we had to switch drivers while we were still driving so we didn't loose who we were following. I couldn't drive anymore, I was loosing it. I rolled down my window and spent the next hour with my face in the wind and my eyes closed.

It didn't happen again until a year ago. I had been drinking the night before and was hung over. I thought that was all it was. I took some Advil and drank some Alka Seltzer. My heart started racing and my eyes starting feeling funny again. It felt again like nothing was real and I couldn't focus. My chest hurt, I couldn't breath, my hands were shaking and sweating and tingly and numb. I thought I was going to die! It took my husband 2 hours to calm me down while I went from laying in bed to laying on the floor. I finally fell asleep but in a state of terror. I woke up feeling scared but no longer terrified. I was drained.

Then next one happened at work. Same symptoms. I work in a call center and was on the phone with a client. I told her I would have to put her on hold and eventually had to have a co worker take over the call because I couldn't come back to my desk. I knew when it affected my work that I had to do something.

I went to the Dr and they tried to convince me I had a heart problem. I knew better. I'd felt this way before, but I did all their tests which came back fine. I said, I told you so, NOW HELP ME! 1 mg Ativan twice a day, 20 mg of Celexa once a day. Celexa makes me feel sick, almost makes the anxiety worse. I quit taking it but I still take the Ativan. It helps me sleep.

I can get through the day but at night it seems everything catches up to me. I try to lay down and relax in bed and sleep but my brain won't shut off and I start to feel closed in. I pop my Ativan and I start to feel better as I drift to sleep. No one understands what I am going through. My husband thinks I'm crazy. I blame him because if he wouldn't have cheated on me 7 months after we got married the attacks wouldn't have been triggered again. I hate him, I'm angry with him. I hate her, I'm angry with her. I know what's caused them, but what do I do about it now. I go to a therapist. He is awesome. He teaches me about Red and Blue. If you keep thinking Red, all you will see is Red, recognize Red for what it is and think Blue. I practice and practice everyday. I still deal with the anger even though I've made the decision to stay married and honor my vows. I have this garbage to work through.

I start to journal and it's like I am bulimic. I purge everything I have onto my paper. I go through pen after pen, book after book. Pouring out words of hatred and fear. I listen to Blue October 24/7. I carry their words with me like I carry my Bible. I start to feel better everyday but then a memory will come and send me spiraling back down. Now I'm diagnosed with severe panic disorder and depression. They add Wellbutrin, 150 mg. God, will this ever end??? Should I just walk away from my marriage? Will that take the feelings away? No, I can't do that, I love him. God doesn't approve of divorce. He's not cheating, he's being faithful, he's sorry, he's working on it. Forgive and move on.

I read Samantha's book, I don't want to be crazy, and I can't remember when I related to someone more. When she said, it's like I'm in one room and my panic is on the other side of the door, I cry. That's how I feel. My panic is at arms length. I am dependent on these pills so I don't feel the fear. I take everyday one day at a time and try to not miss to much work. I try to function as a mom, but I feel like I'm robbing my son of a real life because mommy can't function. I try to ignore it and sometimes it works. I read any book I can get my hands on and I try all the methods and breathing exercises and writing exercises and all of it seems to be only temporary.

Prayer. I pray constantly. I always have but I'm thinking that the Lord is using this to bring me closer to Him, more dependent on Him. If that is the case I think I can handle the fear. I pray to just know His will.

"I can actually breathe now."

Claire Ross, age 15. New York.

Looking back, I can see I've had a problem for a while. Ever since I was little. The insomnia. The panic attacks. The compulsions. The repetition. It's an endless cycle. It was familiar for the longest time, but I never had a name for it until I was diagnosed a little while ago with both Panic Disorder (with Agoraphobia) and Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. There's something comforting about a label for it. It fits me into my tiny little four sided box. I don't have a choice. I never did. It's been a part of me for so long, for a while I even thought it was normal. Not now. I used stay awake at night worrying that I'm not normal. That my panic disorder defines me. After being on 50 mg of Zoloft for a few months and going to therapy, I've made significant progress, and I've learned that I'm not alone. It's a struggle, but the attacks aren't as frequent. I can actually breathe now. I can sleep. I can focus and function, remotely happily. Finally.