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Sep. 6th, 2004 12:20 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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marag
I suffer from panic disorder. I am a strong, intelligent, capable person. I am neither weak nor stupid nor lazy. Millions of people suffer from anxiety disorders and there is nothing wrong with admitting you need help sometimes.
If you've ever felt this way, copy this and paste it into your LJ. Maybe if we start talking about how we survive, we'll realize we aren't alone.
From when I was twelve to about when was sixteen, I thought I was crazy. Really and truely, call the men in white coats, get the electro-shock therapy ready crazy. I would only sit in certain chairs, I couldn't touch doorknobs without a paper towel, I would get obsessive about everything from washing my hands to straightening the fringe on a throw. And, I didn't tell anyone, because I was scared. Crazy people went into institutions, and I didn't want to be put away.
Finally, it was an article in Cosmo, of all things, that told me I wasn't the only one doing stuff like that. I had Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.
Of course I was stubborn and didn't get help until I had also developed full blown depression which was only broken up by the odd panic attack. I was a messed up little puppy.
Blah, blah, blah therapy/medication-cakes. I got better. I still get anxious about things, but I haven't had a full blown panic attack in years.
So, moral of the story... Nothing is as bad as it seems. There is no shame in getting help. Normality is overrated. *g*
maragI suffer from panic disorder. I am a strong, intelligent, capable person. I am neither weak nor stupid nor lazy. Millions of people suffer from anxiety disorders and there is nothing wrong with admitting you need help sometimes.
If you've ever felt this way, copy this and paste it into your LJ. Maybe if we start talking about how we survive, we'll realize we aren't alone.
From when I was twelve to about when was sixteen, I thought I was crazy. Really and truely, call the men in white coats, get the electro-shock therapy ready crazy. I would only sit in certain chairs, I couldn't touch doorknobs without a paper towel, I would get obsessive about everything from washing my hands to straightening the fringe on a throw. And, I didn't tell anyone, because I was scared. Crazy people went into institutions, and I didn't want to be put away.
Finally, it was an article in Cosmo, of all things, that told me I wasn't the only one doing stuff like that. I had Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.
Of course I was stubborn and didn't get help until I had also developed full blown depression which was only broken up by the odd panic attack. I was a messed up little puppy.
Blah, blah, blah therapy/medication-cakes. I got better. I still get anxious about things, but I haven't had a full blown panic attack in years.
So, moral of the story... Nothing is as bad as it seems. There is no shame in getting help. Normality is overrated. *g*
