"I don’t need to be the hero."

Spoiler
Carolyn Ursabia, age 28
Toronto

Tell me how the story ends
I just want to know.
It’s hard to see beyond the moment
when you’re dealt another blow.

Tell me I’m the distressed damsel –
a knight in armour on his way;
The Deus Ex Machina ’round the corner
to materialize and save the day.

I don’t need to be the hero,
or the star that steals the show.
I’m not desperate for attention
when I’m feeling really low.

I need help because I’m cracking
under the pressure of the weight
of every little tiny thing
with which I’ve struggled as of late.

So don’t tell me I can do it.
When what I need’s a helpful hand.
Not just empty, pleasant words
that suggest but don’t mean you understand.

Oh but in the end, I know who’s the hero
The rising star that saves the show.
I asked you how the story ends,
but I guess I damned well know:

I’ll suck it up, and take the hits.
Maybe a couple times I’ll fall.
And when they ask me “How much credit…”
I will say, “I take it all.”

"I have this power to overcome."

Confidence
A.M. Young, age 22
Jenkintown, PA

Lonely and abrupt
I sit waiting for the corrupt
The one to take me away
From the simplicities of my day
To complicate things

To manipulate my mind
I climb and I climb.
Out of this depression
I have this lingering confession
That this will be different

I will be no more
From what I was before
Like a flower
I will conquer with a shower
To cleanse my soul

That clean embrace
From my mother’s face
I have this power to overcome
All these things that I have committed and done
That will haunt my thoughts

But won’t bring me down
I no longer hide like a clown
I am a bird, free
I am myself; I am here and I am me

Funny little thing confidence

"This tunnel has been dark but you showed me light."

Colleen, Kentucky. Age 15.
Song: Road to Recovery

I felt good today
I haven't felt like this in awhile
You were walking with me
You have a way of making me smile

(Chorus:)
We've been on this road together
It's been a long journey
But you've held my hand this whole time
On this road to recovery

I don't know what I'd do without you
You've saved my life
This tunnel has been dark but you showed me light
And stayed by my side


(Repeat Chorus)

"I write to let go, to feel, to express, to cope..."

Katie K., age 17. Florida.

When I "grow up" I want to be a writer. Whether I’m writing a memoir, a childrens book, fiction, non fiction, whatever it may be. I want to write. Because it is the only thing I feel I am good at. Even on those very frequent days where I feel almost as if I am on mute; like I am at a loss for words that need to somehow be verbalized. Writing is joyous to me, but more importantly it is and always has been an emotional outlet for me. Something that I have always managed to be able to turn to. Even with writers block. All my life I've been blamed for pretty much bottling things up or not telling everyone every detailed aspect of my life, but this is because I write. I write to let go, to feel, to express, to cope, and even sometimes, to just let someone else know “hey, I know what you’re going through, look at me. I’m a mess, too. We all are in our own ways, really.”

Point is, I just hope to someday reach out to others with my writing. More than I already have. If there is anything I want out of life, it’s that. Because I know that personally, I’ve gotten through some of the most challenging parts of my life because of a book I read. And no, I’m not asking to be famous. I sure as hell don’t want to be the next Stephenie meyer (mostly because my forte isn’t sparkly vampires, anyway) but I am asking to be heard. But mostly, I want to make an impact and leave my mark somewhere, anywhere, on anyone in the world.

"The lines once created were easily torn."

Sarah Pepper, age 20. Detroit.

Change

What is my life revolving into?
I do not recognize people anymore
they are different and I am hazy
this one I used to love and adore
is confused and hurt by what Ive become
we all change some time
I take my turn
you take yours
We cant not be equal to understand
Change causes the once funny to be nausiating and cold
the lines once created were easily torn
I have crossed to the side, a side of just windows
for watching and hoping "He" will put in a good word for me
or that the vibes of nature, all interconnected,
will reach out to each other and help.
In here I see only the feeling is there
but meek then blowing
My days of fear are over
I must take this challenge
this battle, with no ending,
battle it with my courage, laughter, and love
one day the spinning and changing will go
and I will still be here, forever a glow.

"Am I caged or am I free?"

Leigh, age 36. Australia.

Leigh's Lament

My life flashed before my eyes
I was taken by surprise
So much has led me here
All the pain and all the fear

I’ve been down and I’ve been out
I have had no voice to shout
I’ve been cut and I’ve been torn
I have wept and I have mourned

I have begged and I have borrowed
I have hated all tomorrows
I have wallowed in the dark
I have grappled with the spark

But I am wise and I am strong
And I can push forever on
For courageous is my will
Though my insides seep and spill

I climb the wall that is myself
To sit upon the shelf
And peer into the crowd
Beneath their hazy shroud

Is that me I see beneath?
Will this knowing I bequeath?
To the girl I used to be
Will I tell her what I see?

If I do, will I be false?
Will I eradicate the choice?
That led you here to me
Am I caged or am I free?

"He says please don't give up on me yet."

Colleen, age 14. Kentucky.

GENRE: SONG
Title: Beautiful Sight

I can't believe what I see before my eyes
It's such a beautiful sight
I can finally sleep at night
and I'll be alright

(Bridge:)
Healing is hard
and it takes a long time
but you just got to try
It's hard to make it on your own
It's easier if you have a hand to hold

(Chorus:)
It's not so cold
and it's the last day of November
I've realized now
That I've made it so far from so close
It's not so cold
and it's the last day of November
I've realized now
That I've held on for so long
instead of letting go

Maybe it's his eyes
or his crooked smile
that makes me believe everything will be alright
and tonight I'll fall asleep into a dream
of an almost reality
because I finally believe that I can be happy

(Bridge and Chorus)

He says please don't give up on me yet
Makes me want to cry
I finally realize
I have a purpose in life
Oh, and it's such a beautiful sight.

"Where hope grows."

Sarah Plumb, age 31. Ontario, Canada.

My brain is chaotic...it never stops...it chatters incessantly...lying to me. I need peace but I'm often on the edge of insanity..SCREAM, CRY, LAUGH like mad. I know I'm in here somewhere but I'm lost in a sea of sadness, obsession and compulsion. Where did it all start?
I see a tiny soul, fresh, new and bewildered by her surroundings. Danger, rushing, fear, cries. Her mother disappears...little soul didn't get to touch her. She was floating in a peaceful ocean then ripped out and damaged. Fear, FEAR rules her life now. Even sleep no longer calms. Such fear, of abandonment, loss, even fear of fear. It's all consuming. Such a change from ocean to sea--nightmares, no peace.

Then finally a light--a hot pink ray of hope. She can't always see it but it's there...always waiting to be freed. It's her natural, pure state. So close yet sometimes so far. So much ground covered but so much more yet to be travelled. The hot pink hope will find her...or is it she that uncovers that hope? There's so much unexplored but life gets in the way. Life is exhausting...too much. She needs balance. The edge can reveal beautiful scenic views. Maybe the edge of sanity and insanity IS the balance. Maybe it's where hope grows.

“Me, meet WhoIWas – A lot has changed, just to let You know.”

Anonymous, age 17.

I am known: like a child, so eager to receive, I take my place. Like a timeline, I make a mark, so afraid to run out of space. This is where I have brought myself, like a choice I just couldn’t make. Like a sudden break, I fall. Like a final failure, I risk it all. This is who I have become, shattering into a million tiny pieces. Like a voice, just a voice, with no words of reason; like charades, and the only one left guessing is me. This is what it’s like to anticipate the fall. Like a wound that refuses to heal or a single moment that changes it all; I am afraid. I am no child, begging to panic. I am not a timeline, counting each second. I am not broken beyond repair or a carless mistake. I want to be heard, to be understood, even by me. I am not left alone to infect myself, to die a lost cause. I assure myself of all these things, reminding myself when I forget. I make sense of it all, trying to tighten my grip, but there is something that brings me closer to the edge, haunting me with fear until all else fades. This is too close for comfort, too real to fake; too much to handle, too blinding to wake. I will not live my life this way. I was made for more than this. So I take myself away, as I try to heal and breakthrough, I encounter the life I’m brought to. Full of refusing to relive my past – this is me, this is who I can be, free of past struggles, no longer controlled by anxiety. This is how far I have come: from child to years down the road, mending together my broken whole, leaving behind the mask; I have a voice that speaks volumes and a life worth living. I am not a victim. I want to break free of how you know me. Are you listening, please? Know nothing about me. Forget about how long it took before I finally could be, just be, without panic or fear. Forget about the attacks that waged, surrounding me. Forget about how I was on my worst day, or on my best. I know it seems necessary to understand, to see it through my eyes, to try to break the fall, but let yourself refocus. All you need to know is I have left behind everything, all of me, except the parts that matter most. I have never forgotten the way it felt, or walked away from the story I have to tell. I know I can reach out, touch the dark places where no one else can reach. I know there is life outside the cage, and a reason to keep breathing. I know, because I’ve been there. Know you are stronger than you think you are. Know, if nothing else, that in ever battle, victory is on its way.

"I would lie awake most of the night, terrified by what was happening to me."

TJ, age 60. Iowa.

"When I went away to college in 1967, I was going to save the world. I was not even able to save myself.

I had always been a fearful and anxious child. Extremely shy, I often wished to become invisible. The pinnacle of agony and self-consciousness came when I was called on in class, or was required to make a speech. I was having anxiety attacks, but only in certain situations, and never recognized them for what they were.

Away from home and living in a college dorm, I felt lost and alone. The campus was huge, classes were overcrowded, and I was exhausted and overwhelmed. I grew more anxious and homesick every day.

While in a crowded classroom, I had my first full-blown panic attack. With my heart pounding and feeling nauseated, I got up, left, and returned to the dorm. This was repeated over and over, with each episode increasing in intensity. Finally I was no longer able to go down to the dining hall to eat. I would lie awake most of the night, terrified by what was happening to me. Soon I left school, and spent the next three years or so in and out of hospitals, seeing therapists, and otherwise housebound.

As time passed I lost all hope of finding relief and sank deeper into depression. I started cutting myself just to feel alive and in control of something. No one understood. I had several therapists, none of whom ever really explained what was happening to me. One day, I came across an article that mentioned a book by Claire Weeks -- Hope and Help for your Nerves. It was a turning point for me. Not only was I not crazy, I had an identifiable disorder that many other people had, too. This finally gave me hope that I could recover from this and be myself again.

I have had periods of stability, and relapses. But I know now that the panic will pass. Depression, anxiety's evil sister, has been harder to overcome. It is still too easy to slip into darkness after a bad experience or hurtful exchange. With therapy and medication, I am working on that.

But you can find yourself again -- don't stop trying."

"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."

"Anxiety.....it's an awful thing. It really does change your life."

From anonymous.

"I'm not going to share my story....because anxiety left me paranoid to death about safety. But I will say this, no matter how weird your symptoms are, you are NOT crazy. This comes from the person who would drip sweat. I don't mean dripping sweat from my pits, but from my whole body. My back and chest would be so sweaty during an attack, that there would be sweat stains in my stomach.

I have yet to find a person who has attacks like me. Attacks that consist of sweat, hot flashes, fear of going crazy, and a little out of breath. (I have what they call limited symptom attacks where instead of having a variety of signs of anxiety, I get 3-4 intense signs. Sounds better than a regular attack, but it's just as bad.)

And you know what? I don't care anymore, but no matter how weird and bizarre our attacks are, we all have one thing in common.....recovery. We all have similar or the same recovery steps. So don't get all worked up because you feel alone with your attacks. Think about how many people are trying to recover with you. We all work on the same positive thinking and meditation. You are not alone, there are many people who are trying to recover just like you.

Tell yourself "bring it on" when your attack comes.

When it comes, pretend you are shaking it's hand. In your head, ask your attack how it is doing. What it is up to. The curious is not nervous it is curious.

Think about how much stronger you are, even if you are not fully recovered. You could still be having issues with anxiety, but dealing with them makes you stronger than almost all of your friends.

Carry things that bring happiness with you. They can be as normal as water and as weird as a piece of your baby blanket.

Meditate

Communicate with people you trust.

For the religious, pray! It helps, it really does.

Exercise

God bless all of you."

"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."