Sorry, now I'm getting nervous. Perhaps I should have been more specific regarding what I've been experiencing? I'm 33, my daughter is 6 and my son is 2. My husband passed at age 37. I keep a journal which I started a few months ago. It's been very helpful. I was starting to get better, the panic attacks went away, the anxiety stayed. And then my last living Grandmother passed away December 29, 2011 (heart attack) which led me to a bit of a set back which led me eventually to this site.

I feel uncomfortable discussing the anxiety and panic I feel because I feel like I'm blowing things out of proportion and acting like a "drama queen". I'm not the type of person that enjoys attention, and actually prefer to hide quietly in a corner. I only posted here because I thought it might be another important part on my road to recovery. I'm very uncomfortable with people (My doctor and my only sibling [younger sister]) thinking I pull this "crap" for attention.

For whatever reason everyone that is close to me has always had huge expectations of me and thought I was some sort of unshakable pillar of strength. That couldn't have been farther from the truth. I hope this makes sense, I've learned from writing in my journal not to reread what I've wrote because then I change it from what I originally wrote. If I change it, then it's not really how I was feeling at the time, it's something different. Does that make sense...?

This whole mess is so frustrating and tiring! It's a constant war inside my head. Trying to fight off the worry, the negative, the anxiety and panic. I'm so very tired.

I've always had panic and anxiety, and until recently it was tolerable. Or in my mind I was able to tolerate it. I guess what I was really doing was supressing anything that came at me. Anger, fear, just everything. I have so many undealt with issues that really need attention. It's been building my whole life.

February 27, 2009 my family got the keys to our new home. I had a beautiful daughter. A child on the way. An amazing husband. And a great room mate. We were on top of the world! The deal went down so smoothly... too smoothly. We just don't have that kind of luck. February 28, my room mate clipped on the end of his finger in the patio door when it slammed shut on his hand at our apartment. He was unable to move anything to our new house. During the first week that we had our home, we started completely renovating the bathroom. It was just way too tiny to function properly in.

March 6, 2009, exactly a week to the day we got our keys my husband was diagnosed with AML. He was immediately air lifted to a hospital 4 hours from home. He passed away exactly 15 months after he was diagnosed. I spent the next year in a fog. I had started a new job August 2010 and worked until end of July 2011. Then August 1, 2011, it hit me. My first panic attack. Straight out of the blue, no warning, I thought something was seriously wrong with me physically.

I've spent the months since then struggling with severe panic and anxiety. Trying everything I could think of to get better as quickly as possibly, for my children, and for myself. I've been to my doctor regularly once a month. I've started therapy which hasn't worked for me in the past but is progressing well this round. I've been to the emergency department of my local hospital. I've called 2 crisis lines. I've confided in family, and friends... everything and anything that was available to me I tried to take advantage of to heal and get past this.