I'm someone who doesn't forget that easily. I remember strange names of little towns in Turkey, pin codes of sophisticated electronic devices, whole sentences pronounced by some important and other less important people. I know by heart my own birth register number, distribution of holes in the woods in front of my building, I can visualize in details the items in a small local shop. I can even greet you in Chinese.

Even at this very moment I recall vividly the open space of more than 10 world biggest cities, I know how it feels like to jump into buses that are about to close the doors and dash away while it rains heavily and the rain sticks my wet hair to my face, reminding me of being incurably late once again for one of at least 6-7 daily obligations. I can remember how it feels like when you're sleepy when the weather changes or slightly irritated because of having to get up too early in the morning after having slept for only a couple of hours in order to enter your well-known and realistic world of people, duties and more or less incredible events.

There is only one problem though. Those are just memories. And nothing more. Memories on white movie theater screen of my brain which plays them in a constant loop, thus desperately trying to save them from oblivion, while I feel for God knows what time the sensations of choking, strong palpitations, intestinal cramps and some sort of mute inner scream that echos only in my ears - something awful is about to happen, you'll definitely pass out this time, you'll die right here this very moment in some sort of unknown agony, pain, cramps, you'll go mad and disappear somewhere where there is no touch with reality, where you won't know any more who you really are and what you are doing, somewhere where they'll stick onto your little forehead that horrific label "mentally sick" which won't come off ever again, no matter how strong degreasing fluid I might choose to use. It's like a stamp on a cow's ear, so that it never gets lost while still alive and so that it never mixes with some other unlabeled cows. Why? Because it mustn't, because it doesn't belong any more to the herd where she belonged up until that second in which the stamp marked her forever and put into the category of "those with a mark". In my case, a category of 5% stamped of this planet. What is 5% compared to 95% of those who don't like very much the others who are not like them? The statistics would say - well, a negligible percentage. However, those "negligible" 300 millions of people are very much afraid day in, day out, that they will die, go crazy or disappear in a some sort of invisible and non-existent black hole between reality and fog they seem to be living in... even though it never happens. Or at least hasn't happened so far.

For those of you who have been diagnosed with a panic disorder or suspect you have it, this will sound all too familiar and painfully true. For those of you who have had and still have the privilege to be living a panic free life, this will sound utterly weird, you might even give us a sound advice - hey, get a grip, how can you imagine a danger without actually being in danger? I know, it doesn't sound normal, to me or anybody else who suffer at this very moment. But it doesn't help either.

Why have I decided to start this blog when I have never blogged in my life and when I know that I've tried everything so far from psychotherapy, medications, numerous great but inefficient advices, oriental relaxation, herbal remedies, blood tests, brain scans, self-help books and nothing worked? Maybe exactly because I feel so alone and as if there is no help. Maybe because I'm 32 and housebound in the best years of my life, with too much time to kill. Maybe because today nothing makes sense and I've been floating with anxiety ever since I opened my eyes. Maybe because in the last two weeks I was doing better and did a very good job at work that I'm doing from home, just to learn that it wasn't really appreciated and just to feel this awful relapse once again. Maybe because I fell in love again but with a wrong person. Maybe because deep down the idea that I'll probably never be a mother haunts me.. not because I can't, but because it seems unfair to me to ruin somebody else's life with my genetics or my inability to participate in life's challenges because of having an anxiety disorder.. or maybe I just wanted to share this with someone who might get to read this and recognize him or herself in my words.. and give me some feedback, as my boss always says. He hates being left without feedback. :)

Maybe I just want to write an electronic diary of my ups and downs, maybe I want to share with someone else the things I learn everyday. Even though it's been very hard, I still haven't lost hope in recovery. I want to help others on their personal road to light, just as much as I want to be helped by you.

Good luck with all your efforts.. and till next time.