I slowly walked out of my parents room and back to mine where I paced back and forth, back and forth, trying to calm down. My tear ducts were on overdrive, churning out hundreds of tears a minute. I grabbed my pillow and a blanket and returned to my parents room, setting up camp on the floor at the end of their bed where I finally felt sleep take over my body and I slipped into a restless slumber.

So began my nightly torture which was unfortun

were closing in on me, trying to suffocate me. I felt paranoid. My head began to spin. Slowly at first, and then faster and faster, until my entire room was a blur. I laid back down thinking the spinning would stop but it only got worse. It felt as if I had been thrown into a washing machine that had been set on spin. My thoughts began to race. What was wrong with me? What was happening? If this spinning and shaking and pounding and ringing kept up, could I die? When would it stop? For that matter, how did it start? Just when I thought I couldn't take it anymore, the spinning slowly came to a stop. Soon after, the ringing and pounding stopped as well. My breathing slowed down until all that's left of whatever had just happened was shaking. I sat up again, turn on the light, and burst into tears.

This pattern continued into the summer. After an attack, I'd fall asleep with no problem for days, sometimes weeks. Then BAM, out of nowhere, another attack. Each progressively worse. I started to think things couldn't get any worse than this. But was I wrong. I began showing signs of depression. Not only did I have trouble sleeping I began to feel blue. Not the kind of blue that a girl goes through when she breaks up with a boyfriend or has a fight with a friend. I started to feel like I wasn't worth anything. Like my life meant nothing to anyone. Like I could do nothing right. That nothing worked out for me. It felt like, if I wanted something, something that I had to try for, I'd fail at getting it. I felt like God was playing a practical joke on me. That my life was Heaven's entertainment. I didn't want to die, but I didn't want to live either. The worst emotion by far, was feeling like no one understood what I was going through. So I started to shut people out. First my friends, then my family. They'd bug me to tell them

My situation became worse towards the end of my junior year of high school. That first night of my sleeping problems is my definition of a bad dream, but the night of my first panic attack is my definition of a nightmare. I woke with a jolt and sat up. Something wasn't right. M

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