First off I hope there is no character count to this entry because unless I summarise everything its going to take me awhile.

My problems (well mental ones anyway) most would say started in March of 2008. I was half asleep laying in bed and I heard a crash sound from upstairs (was actually just my dad running to get the phone) but my mom was slouched on the couch. No heartbeat, not breathing. I helped my dad move her to the floor and then I spoke to the emergancy operater person while my dad did CPR (rather poorly I might add). Dead people look really earthy but anyway skip things ahead. She was dead for almost 30 minutes but they did revive her and then put her in a coma and all that medical stuff. She was in hospital for a month and is now completely fine but I was at her bedside everyday that month.

Skip forward to about September and that is when I had my first ever panic attack. Admittedly I was high but that was pretty much a regular occurance at the time and I haven't smoked weed since. That night was horrible and next few days were shaky but I got over it, continued to go out and be all la di da (aka sit around at my friend Wendys house). I had panic attacks every once in a blue moon and I started getting general anxiety. My mom sent me to a therapist, Faye, and she helped. Got me back into school but then soon after said I no longer needed her help and let me go. Probably a decision for the better because on multiple occasions she said (and made the hand motions) she sometimes really wants to strangle me because I'm so frustrated. That semester went well. Had lots of panic but always slept it off and would bounce back the next day.

School ended for the summer and I was lost. I spent alot of time at Wendy's house (4-5 days a week) and slowly Wendy and I started going out places less and less and when we did it was under strick niether of us can be anxious moods.

Skip forward to January 2010. Walked to meet Wendy and as we were sitting in Tim Hortons I felt like somehow I was going to hurt the people in there if I stayed. Which was the first time I ever felt like that. We left, I started panicing, stayed at her house panicing the whole night (who ever said panic attacks always last under an hour or whatever, lies) In the morning she had to go out so I had to walk the hour walk home in two feet of snow. I would stop every so far and feel trapped whether to go back or forth. Eventually got home slept it off.

I went out the next day with my parents. To church and my grandparents house and paniced at both. Next day after that I sat on the couch starring at the front door in horror. I couldn't fanthom how anyone could go out it. I sat there everyday just starring at the door for the next month or so. Quit smoking cigarettes because I got to anxious about dying.

I eventually started going for walks. At night so no one would be out and only to the mailbox. Everytime I would stop half way feeling like I was having a heart attack but I would go the rest of the way anyway. I continued in that fashion, eventually switching to days. Walking farther, always by myself though so I wouldn't have to ask someone else to turn around. I got so good I drove with my mom to the grocery store, went to Wendys twice and then had a huge panic attack and ended up laying in bed for a week drinking nothing but water and green tea and only eating a few plain crackers a day. After that I started walking again got better. Never got as far and in October I had another huge panic attack. Ended up in bed again. Except at the end of that week I ended up in the psych ward.

Psych ward wasn't bad, at first they couldn't convince me to get out of the SOR (don't know what that stands for but basically isolation) Eventually I did with the help of being completely drugged up on lorazapam. Pretty much didn't leave my room for the first week I was there but the second week was amazing, felt like I was getting better, met lots of people. (which when you haven't really left your house in 6+ months is pretty awesome) Got kicked out at the end of two weeks because Wendy got admitted and friends cant be in the same psych ward. It kind of crushed my idea that people might actually be trying to help me.

I stopped walking after that. Stopped letting my mom leave the house. Stopped going in the back yard unless someone else was back there and even then wouldn't go near the back. Come January 2011 I was back in the psych ward, was okay but they did nothing for me except get my hopes up and then kick me out in a weeks time. Two days later I got sent back to the hospital and the psych ward didn't want to deal with me so they sent me to Penetang.

Penetang was alot better. They actually discuss with you your options and drugs and stuff they want to try. Much better groups. The nurses will actually do thier jobs and yeah I give it five stars. Only one problem. I was there for a week and the very last day I was there, about 20 minutes before my parents were suppose to pick me up. I walk into the bathroom to blow my nose, hear choking and see a girl hanging in the shower. Of course I got help and to the best of my knowledge she survived but I could have lived without seeing that. I still went home even though they offered to let me stay because of the trauma but I kind of need a bathroom I'm willing to enter in order to pee. Held everything thing in until my parents got there and cryed the rest of the day.

This is when real problems started. Brief worker from the CMHA started coming over and she knew about my problem with not being able to call anyone but still when she went on leave she told me 'I' had to call to get a new worker, which of course I couldn't so I didn't and they sent me a note in the mail a few months later saying I had been dropped. Great mental health help. During that time again was not walking, got okay with back yard, still can't stand my mom leaving, still cant stand people coming over. People pretty much have to walk on eggshells around me. Couldn't see a psychiatrist for new prescriptions so I went through alot of withdrawls getting off all my meds. Have no financial help so I can't help out my parents.

I am falling apart physically, have a torn muscle in my leg and a detatched rib. My days now pretty much entail feeling insane. Sitting around and hoping that that specific breathe isn't my last. My chest is constantly tight and alot of the time I feel mute. Screaming for help in my head but unable to open my mouth and be more of a bother then I already am.

I feel like if I do survive this physically then I will still spend the rest of my life missing everything. Births, birthdays, funerals, family reunions, christmas. I am going to miss more the 80% percent of everything I should be able to experience. I'm going to miss the people I love's lives. I fear everything, including getting help. The idea of another ambulance pulling up terrifies me because I feel that I would either die of panic in the ambulance or I would attack someone to not have to go. In a way my mind is slowly killing me. All I have left to do is sit here and wait.

-by Leah, age 20