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We all have our bad days. Those days of complete cynicism, where we try to make sense of the disorder we struggle with. Following is an essay I wrote after attending a support group - I was cranky and cynical and I poured it all out on the page.
Have you tried that? Journaling, I mean. When things are at their worst and you want to scream at the injustice of having panic disorder, pull out a paper and pen and pour your soul out! When I finished writing the essay below, I sat back in my chair and laughed and laughed! What wonderful therapy! Try it! Why Journal? Because it exposes and banishes our deepest fears: Inside of all of us is the deep and frightful beast called fear. We must work to expose the beast, claim it as our own, and banish it. Through journaling you will find that you create a roadmap that will lead you to your fears. Talk to them on the page, give them voice and pull them close to your heart. The hardest step is saying "I am afraid of...." Once you can bring that to the page, the battle is over. Feeling Cranky - An Essay "Do you want to die?" That is what the man told me as we sat in group. "Do you want to die?" I had simply asked if the group would help me quit smoking. No one else but me still smoked. Of course, they'd all been at this therapy thing a lot longer than me. "Take care of ourselves" is the number one rule in therapy and everyone in group is very big on it. They are all exercise like fiends and eat right - blah, blah, blah. Do you think they really do all of that? I somehow think they're not being altogether honest with me. Anyway, I actually laughed at the man. Sad, but true. He is a very nice guy, about 60 or so and has overcome, so he says, his panic. He stood in front of me, eyes all afire, serious as corn starch. "Do you want to die?" he asked for the third time. I couldn't help but laugh. What a think to ask a person who alternates between depression and panic on a daily basis! Depending on the day I either yearn desperately for oblivion, with its dark spaces creeping like snakes around the edges of my consciousness or I hid from it with the ardor of a fanatic, desperately seeking retreat form the needles of Go To Page: 1 2
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