My condition had gotten to the point that I couldn't go to work
(fearing what might happen to cause a panic attack). Going to visit
a few select friends or relatives (fearing what I could do if I had
a panic attack), or stay at home and worry about the future, which
it seemed I had no control over. I was about 35 at this time, now
eight to ten years of living with anxiety and panic attacks. It was
now time for depression. I had gotten myself into a deep, dark
hole. Up until now, there was always a little light at the end of
this tunnel, but now it was starting to close up. Nothing seemed to
be fun anymore. If I did smile about something, it only lasted a
short time.
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