What has helped me the most in the wake of my first Niagara Falls moment of panic disorder (on July 12, 1996) has been talking to other folks who’ve had the same terrifying experience. I’ve finally come to terms with the fact that I’ll never get the “old me” back — yeah, I miss her — and it’s been hard living with the thump thump limp of anxiety on a daily basis. But I’ve found a secret society of fellow freaks. Raise the flag, my loves!

redefiningbodyimage:

I think perhaps sometimes, people may find me strange for calling myself “mentally ill”.

“I’m a madwoman,” I say. “And I’m okay with that.” (Even though sometimes I’m really not, and that’s okay too.)

In my experience, those who deny and pretend as though they aren’t living with an…