"I'm tired of living by hoping, tired of coping."

JAP, age 30. Des Moines, IA.

Went to the Dr today. I keep having these chronic headaches and feel tired and grumpy all the time. I know it's probably related to my anxiety but I wanted to make sure it wasn't something more serious. They put me on Paxil. 12.5 mg, cr. This will be the second anxiety med they have had me try. I hope this one works because I am afraid I'm getting addicted to the Ativan. I am taking more of it than I should and the last thing I need is to become a friggin junky. I just want this world to end. I'm so stressed all the time about everything. Politics, religion, life, family, money, the car, food, the house, tuition, bills, all of it. I just want it to end so I don't have to deal with all of it. I want to go to Heaven where there is none of that crap. I don't want to want anymore. I don't want to be sad or angry anymore. I'm tired of being lied to. I don't want to worry anymore. I don't want to have anymore panic attacks, and I don't want to take anymore pills. I don’t' want to smoke another cig, or drink another drink. I don’t want to watch another meaningless stupid show on TV., or listen to another song that makes me feel any emotion. I don't want to take down this friggin Christmas tree or celebrate another Christmas. I don't want to go through another New Year that brings nothing new. I'm tired of living by hoping, tired of coping. I'm tired of feeling like a failure. I'm tired of going to a meaningless job that brings me no joy. I'm tired of being scared that I'm raising a boy that will turn out to be just like his alcoholic dope head father, and his panic stricken mother. I want the legacy to stop but I don't feel strong enough to stop it. I'm tired of waking up everyday to a man that doesn't care enough about himself to even think of caring about me or his son. The fear of waking up alone grips me tighter though. I'm scared of waking up to God's face and not being able to explain the time that He has given to me or the child He trusted me to raise. I'm failing and I feel like Alice In Wonderland spinning don a hole of despair and grief and anger and that filth is to sticky to wash off.

I also have a poem I would like to share…I wrote this after I found out my husband had an affair and when the panic, depression and anger were at their worst…

My Rage is Out of Control

My rage is out of control!

Why don't you ever ask

You never ask how I'm feeling

Do you not care?

Do you not feel my anger, my questions, my stress?

Do you already know and you just don't care

Enough to feel or hear, what I have to say?

Love me or hate me but save me your indifference.

Stand up for what you did wrong

or get the F*** OUT!!!

I just need to feel passion.

Give me some feeling.

Give me some emotion of care.
I get nothing.

I beg you in my mind & you have no kindness to share with me.

I read so much sh*t and I try and share it,

But you don't even give it a second thought.

You don't want to better yourself or us.

You are stuck in a rut and you're dragging me down with you.

I'm growing out of you. I grew out of you and you knew it,

That's why you didn't care when you stuck your love in someone else

And accepted the devil into yourself.

You invited it into us and now it won't leave.

"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.

"There are people out there who are just like you and me."

Meaghan, age 18. Brooklyn, NY.

"Have you ever tried to describe what a panic attack feels like to someone who’s never had one before? It’s a bunch of conflicting physical and emotional reactions that only other people with them could understand. How could someone be perfectly fine on the subway or in an airplane, but be paralyzed in fear in a shopping mall? I could never quite answer those questions myself. My attacks are very few and far between, but when they hit, they’re crippling. The thought of them always lingers in the back of my mind. I wonder, “Is today going to be the day?” The feelings are so spur of the moment; you can’t help but think of it on occasion. I’ve been told to ignore the fear and anxiety, but it’s impossible to do when all that’s on your mind is the idea of escaping the situation you’re in.

No one has ever been able to fully comprehend what it’s like to go through an attack. That is, until I read I Don’t Want to be Crazy. Someone was going through the same thing I was. A person actually understood what I was going through. I think that’s all I’ve wanted. When I told my doctor about it, she said, “Don’t worry. You can get help for this.” Those were the greatest eight words I could hear at the time. I remember I was so happy and relieved at the time, I ended up crying in the doctor’s office.

Have I gotten a list of therapists? Yes. Have I made an appointment with them? No. I don’t think my parents wanted to fully accept the fact that their daughter could be placed on Klonopin or Paxil to control herself when she’s out in public. But don’t get me wrong, I don’t resent them. Maybe I wasn’t ready to accept the fact that panic disorder could happen to me too. They’ve comforted me; they just have a hard time realizing how panic attacks can truly hurt when they do occur.

That’s why I’m truly excited that this blog has been created, so others can see that there are people out there who are just like you and me.

Stay strong everyone. Xoxo"

"There were times when I would just stare at the mirror and could not believe I was looking at myself."

Emily, age 18. Georgia.

"I blame my doctor for ruining my life. Rationally, I know it's not his fault, but I need someone to blame for my anxiety. I was sixteen. I was a junior in high school and I wanted to die. Everyday I would force myself to go to school, only to sit in the bathroom for long periods of time, waiting for my lungs to breathe, my heart to stop pounding and my body to stop sweating. I would come home only to collapse and sleep for hours. When my mother took me to the doctor, I didn't want to tell him what was happening to me. To me, my anxiety was a sign of weakness, a flaw in my otherwise perfect world. He told me I was depressed, prescribed me some Prozac, and moved on to the next patient. He didn't care that inside I was screaming just as loud as the baby in the next room. No one cared. I was all alone, fighting a war against nothing, and losing.

When my senior year began, I had already been on several different medications including Xanax. For most seniors at my high school, this was the best year of their lives. For me, it was torture. I couldn't force myself to get up and go to school anymore, I was so exhausted all the time. There were times when I would go for the last thirty minutes of the day just so I wouldn't fall too far behind. I begged to be homebound, a program that allows those who are sick or unable to go to school to work from home, but my doctor would not sign the papers. I spent the next few months trying to convince him that I would be better if I could just stay at home. Nothing changed his mind. So I would go to school and sob in the bathroom, call my mom at work and tell her how much I wanted to die. I missed sixty four days of my senior year before he told my mom to take me to the hospital pysch ward.

They admitted me over a weekend in March. I still cannot talk about how much I hated being there, withdrawing from my favorite addiction, my Xanax, feeling actually crazy for the first time. I am so mad that no one would help me, just stick me in a hospital and ask me the stupidest questions in front of pretentious college doctors. After my hospital stay, nothing changed except my doctor finally allowed me to be homebound. I still felt myself being sucked away into nothing. I graduated. I was done. I still had depression and I still hated myself. There were times when I would just stare at the mirror and could not believe I was looking at myself. This wasn't me. I was not the girl who was looking back at me. She was killing me, slowly but surely. I didn't trust myself.

It's been six months since then and I can honestly say I feel the best I've felt in years. I'm finally happy and I don't know why. I'm not in college and I still live at home. My days consist of planning for the future. But I feel good. I introduced myself to my therapist yesterday, even though I've been seeing her since March. The reason? She had never met the real me. This is who I am. Not the girl who let her anxiety and depression control her. So, hello, I'm Emily. I still struggle with my anxiety and depression, but now I have something I didn't have before. Hope."

"I look at his eyes and wonder what he sees. Is it obvious that I'm sick?"

Lyn, age 29. Virginia.

"The words below are, for the most part, an excerpt from my journal. I wrote it more than a year after it happened, but even now I remember like it was yesterday. In May of 2007, I had an anxiety attack that lasted three days. I hadn't slept. By day three, I had reached a state of psychosis. This isn't my first "episode." I have post-traumatic stress disorder. All it takes for me to "lose it" is a great amount of stress and something that triggers a new traumatic memory. What happens next feels like a tornado in my mind. The tornado only lasts three days before I end up in the psych ward, sedated out of consciousness. The following excerpt is after waking from the sedatives to wander the halls of my new temporary home. This is my first time at this particular psych ward.

Mercy Hospital, May 2007:

"Is this your first time here?" he asks.

My groggy eyes feel heavy and dysfunctional as they scan my surroundings. Long, bare hallway. Doors to patients' rooms lining either side. Fishbowl-like window at the end for nurses to keep a watch on us, safe behind the glass. Locked doors that have labels: Linens, Court Room, Meeting Room 1, Meeting Room 2, Activities Room, Isolation. A locked display case on one wall lists the daily schedule:

7:30 - 8 am: Vitals

8 - 8:30 am: Morning Group Meeting

8:30 - 9 am: Breakfast

9 - 9:30 am: Meds

9:30 - 10 am: Group Therapy

12 - 12:30 pm: Lunch

...and so on.

My eyes veer back to the attending nurse. I look at his eyes and wonder what he sees. Is it obvious that I'm sick? Can he tell how sick I am? Do I look like I've been here before?

It must be a trick question.

"You mean here?" I ask as I point to the floor of the psych ward, "or here?" and I point toward the tornado still whirling in my brain."

"Will I be me again?"

From David O., age 30. New York City.

"I think today it's been more or less a year since I first asked Dr. -- for Adderall. It seems like since then I've been under the uninterrupted influence of that drug as well as others, the ones that help stabilize me when the amphetamine high begins to wear off and I need something to cushion the blow: Uppers and downers punching in and out, exchanging pleasantries between shifts.

How did things work before this arrangement? My brain had a chemistry uniquely its own, and, while not perfect, it was 100% me: my hormones, my neurotransmitters activating my synapses, working according to plans prepared in-house. The drugs enter like management consultants: "Not so much of that hormone, give him a little more of this one and maybe earlier in the day so as not to keep him up all night. You've got vast reserves of serotonin and dopamine, why are they just sitting there? Put your resources to work!"

Sooner or later it begins to feel like I've outsourced my whole personality. The drugs have altered the machinery in my brain to suit their own purposes. What would happen if I stopped taking them? Without their aid, who or what would run this drastically modified equipment in my head? Will I be me again?"

"I am above my illness. I am so much more than what is holding me back."

From Paige K., age 15. Pennsylvania.

"I was diagnosed with panic disorder without agoraphobia during my 8^th grade year. The attacks that I was experiencing put me in a state of total fear. I couldn’t breathe, see or move. My body would shut down completely, and I had no control over it. What is worse, these panic attacks used to happen during the school day, and I couldn’t do anything about them. I started slipping in my grades, friendships, and family life. Every single day, I was afraid to wake up because I knew what I would have to face. I went to my mom and begged to see a doctor. I knew it could not be normal. But my pediatrician at the time dismissed my claims, and told me not to worry. It was only an asthma attack. But I knew that it couldn’t have been.

Finally, after many visits, a doctor was able to diagnose my problems. I was sent straight to a therapist, and put on Celexa and Ativan. It was a whirlwind of emotions. I was scared, alone, and I didn’t know how to handle it. The panic attacks were so hard to conquer. No one around me seemed to understand. My teachers didn’t adapt to it – If I had an attack in class, they couldn’t and wouldn’t let me step out. I just had to work through it. Anyone that has experienced these knows that is not something you can just do. I felt like the world was completely against me getting better.

Every attack made my confidence drop. I felt like I would never get to the point of normal life again. But then I read I Don’t Want to be Crazy, and I realized that there were so many other people who knew exactly how I felt. I wasn’t alone, and I was going to be a success just like everyone before me. Three years later, I am still not perfect. I have my moments, and sometimes I go through panic attacks that are worse than they used to be. But with the help of therapists, my medication, and a strong will, I have been able to define myself without saying, “I’m Paige, and I have panic disorder”.

I am above my illness. I am so much more than what is holding me back. I just want anyone out there who is reading this to know that the world is not against your recovery. Just take a step back and look around. There are so many beautiful resources at your fingertips, and you can do it. You just have to be ready and willing to take the first step towards being O.K."