I’ve been in an abusive relationship during my teenage years, which I believe was the root of my panic disorder. It built gradually over the years, and at first I didn’t take it for what it was. I thought I was prone to fainting, and when my first serious panic attack hit me, I thought it was a heat stroke. Over time, I learnt to catch the early symptoms: the unexplainable bursts of terror in my stomach, the feeling of heat and intense sweating, parts of my body becoming numb. One day I had a wave of panic attacks so strong that I had to cancel all my plans and stay in bed all afternoon. It began to interfere with my work and my personal life. Every time I thought I’d be getting a tingling sensation in my hands, I’d become terrified that I was going to pass out. My husband who was watching me struggle with it all finally took me by the hand and escorted me to a psychiatrist.

I must say now that my first two attempts with medical professionals were a complete failure. The psychiatrist prescribed me a sedative and a selective serotonin inhibitor, to cope with my anxiety. It helped, so much so that I believed I was cured forever. How naive of me! I stopped taking the meds 1.5 months later, without consulting my doctor. Why take more pills, when I was absolutely fine, right? Well, never do that! Don’t be me. Any doctor will tell you that you must take your meds for at least 3 months, usually longer, for any long-term effect. So a month without my pills, and my panic returned in full force. I had an episode in the subway and crawled back home, completely defeated and without hope of being normal again.

My husband insisted that I see another doctor. My second one was more on the side of alternative medicine, and we practised meditation and breathing during the first couple of sessions. It kind of helped, but only when I was not alone. So after two weeks I decided against continuing the therapy sessions.

By that time, my attitude towards medical help was sceptical. I began my Internet search in the hope to find stories of other people coping with panic attacks. This brought me to CBT - cognitive behavioral therapy. It sounded effective, and I decided it could be my last chance. I spent weeks choosing the right therapist I’d be comfortable with. And my search was not in vain!

With my third therapist, we started by exploring what a panic attack actually is and what it does to my body. It really helped. With meditation I didn't quite know what I was doing. But understanding the fight-or-flight body response, the adrenaline rush, and how my fear of it only makes it worse – it all made sense. Then we started to learn the encouragement technique. Basically, the idea of CBT is to not battle a panic attack, but to let it happen and embrace it. So I was willingly controlling my thoughts. When my heart was beginning to race, my body temperature increasing, my task was not to fuss over it or try to stop it, but to lean into it. I had to tell my heart to race even faster. I had to imagine flames of fire dancing on my arms. I had to encourage my body to continue with its ridiculous panic in order to make my brain register that I was not afraid. There was nothing to be afraid of, and my body didn’t need to act as it did. Eventually, my goal was to anticipate my panic attacks with excitement. I know it sounds silly, but once you want to have a panic attack, you’ll never have one!

I haven’t had a single episode of panic in months now, and while I don’t consider myself cured, I’m confident I can handle it. All that matters is changing your reaction.

I hope it was helpful.

Salutations and apologies for this terrible title, but to simplify everything - that's what I truly feel from day to day basis, but not quite that, so let me explain.

It's honestly weird. I am a normal guy by all means. Sure, got bullied a bit like all, but I fought back relentlessly, but there was something I never could fight back.

I grew up in a not so decent home with parents who acted more like teenagers, with all of the insecurities and lack of maturity. They always would put me through a rollercoaster of emotions that I, to this day, do not understand. At one instance, I was their beloved kid, worthy only of praise, yet, moments later, I would get beaten, ridiculed, diminished and get told that I "was a failed piece of shit", apologies for my language, and that I "should've been aborted".

Mind you, that was told to me by my beloved mother, who was the whole world to me growing up, and yet she would say such awful things to me, abusing me both physically and mentally, and then she would forget (or pretend to, for all I know) that she ever did anything bad to me, and it was extremely confusing to me while I was younger.

As I got older though, I understood her more. She was a victim of far more abuse, so my siblings would tell me "not to take it close to heart" and to "man up and stop whining". I tried. I failed. I tried again, and so on.

My siblings...

I am the youngest kid in the family, so of course everyone looked at me like I was treated like royalty, and they were jealous that they "didn't get that love and pamper that I receive", so no wonder they would get mad at me. In their eyes, I was a milksop complaining about overeating again, and they were starving children.

I got beaten up a lot by my brother growing up. Got cracked bones from all of that and minor brain damage. Was told that "it ain't a big deal" and to man up again. I failed and tried.

They, however, all of them, mother and siblings, would relentlessly dump their trauma and frustrations onto me, like I was a mop used to clean up stains of rotten juice and urine, yet I didn't complain, even when they would start to get physical in venting out their frustrations by hitting me.

I was raped by a woman at the age of 13. I didn't tell my siblings, for they would only sing their same old song, and didn't tell to my parents, for fear of ridicule and abuse. So, in my defiled, awful state, I decided to take matters into my own hands.

That was my first suicide attempt. It failed due to a stranger helping me. I sometimes curse that tourist for that to this day for cutting the rope, and myself for not properly checking the forest. Then came another attempt - same happened, but this time the dead branch snapped. So I tried again, and on the fourth attempt, I got scared of ending it all. I mean, funerals are expensive, and I wouldn't want to burden my family even more, so I decided to stop.

It didn't last long. My mother had another meltdown, and she and my brother beat me up severely, but no one really cared about that, except for my nephews and niece, who tried to comfort their young, beaten and scared uncle, while themselves shivering and crying too.

That day, I tried to shoot myself with my father's shotgun, but it jammed on me. I remember thinking to myself something among the lines of "I am cursed."

Due to all of that, my father and mother had a big fight, and I moved to a town where my sister lived. I finished 9th grade there, and went to a post-soviet analogue of a trade school to study geophysics.

It was rough. I lived in a terrible dorm, and studied in an environment even worse. The professors there where absolute assholes who were basically failed geologists and geophysics trying to feel better about themselves by abusing students and misusing their rights as educators to simply be assholes for the fun of it.

My mental health worsened. I couldn't get help because I then would get kicked out for not meeting the qualifications, and I didn't want to disappoint my parents even more. I finished it, and now I am a geophysical technician, heh.

Point is, I don't think anyone or anything can help me anymore. No one cares about me. Nobody. I am completely alone, at least I feel like it. And I also feel like a failure. I mean, I had 9 attempts that didn't put me down, what can you call a guy like that?

So, I guess I do deserve all of it. I deserve to be ridiculed, not taken seriously and beaten when I get out of my line, so I just wonder why.

Why shouldn't I kill myself?

Why does God, or the universe, or whatever/whoever you, the person reading this, believes, why does it not let me end this pathetic existence with some dignity?

And more importantly - how can I become normal again? Just how?

Idk how I start I'm just confused with everything right now what is good what is bad everything is messed in itself. There is only peer and pressure in all kind of works I do here specially my school is going to reopen which depressing me somewhere inside. I have bad childhood experiences in school and it goes now to because of bad environment such as toxic environment and bully. I suffer from severe loniness there and pass a single second in fear and wait that when it will end. After walking miles in sun with like 30 to 40 pounds of bag I reach home and here already abusive environment be there. In the name of motivation I get motivated like if in life I didn't achieved anything good in coming 4 to 6 years then I'm failure and I'll be of no where. Homework pressure is already there specially on me because i maintain the profile of good student in school so all works on time is most important there. Other hand my maths weak so daily hours of practise and extra maths classes make all more worse to manage time. I know right now I'm feeling cry to write this all because how much I'm writing vs how much things are going in my mind is not possible to frame in words. Everyone say I'm good girl because of being that good girl all the time I've lossed myself. Somehow I daily wake up and wait to go on bed again. Best memories of life is coming which making me more cry..

My whole head is paining dancing as hell. After that when I share about little bit about myself so they all expect me to be calm silent and meditate. That makes me more cry to realise that no one is really able to understand me because things would be that easy then I would have done already my bestest. In 24 hrs i somehow manage to get 4 to 5 hrs sleep on a day rest time goes in school then extra works of school and extra classes at last I don't get time to open books to do self study and parents who keep heavy expecations that I do self study for hours. Due to walking that much my body be already tired mentally I already be absent somehow physically I wake up forcefully for 7 to 8 hours to manage all after doing that much I get to listen hardwork I never do, effort only I never apply instead energy is needed for every single activity and my Energy dies then to I forcefully go hard on self because that be only 1 and last option to do so and handle somehow. Strange grief anixety tension and stress is bounding me right now without any reason sometimes I cry sometimes I feel like what happened to me that I'm crying as hell. Everyone keeps over heavy expecations from me. Life I living like a fish is trying to climb a tree instead of swimming in water. Most of time I be alone because no one talks to me or can be said my life is more like an orphan or worse than a orphan. Focusing on self, focusing on situations and unexpected outcomes breaks me more.when I sit to meditate then ptsd and whole stress starts popping mind and I not be able to do so for long. Life is busy as hell. Saving time to do anything extra is not possible in my case.

I've always been determined to succeed, starting from a young age. I excelled in school, consistently earning top grades until my undergraduate studies. Along the way, I pursued singing, participated in quizzes, and now I hit the gym daily, competing in weightlifting and powerlifting events. I also enjoy writing short stories — it's a passion of mine. While I may not be the most outgoing person, I take pride in my physical strength as a woman. Independence is a quality that defines me.

However, my mental health took a turn for the worse in 10th grade. The pressure from school and my parents became overwhelming, and I began to feel like a failure. At 16, I started struggling with severe and persistent depression, which has persisted into my 20s. I'm currently undergoing psychiatric treatment to manage my condition. I had attempted suicide twice, once by injecting sanitizer and recently overdosing on migraine meds. However, I sought help, and now I'm taking 3 meds per day. I don't want to die, although it may seem otherwise. I want a good life, but when I see I'm failing to make that life, I become suicidal. I need to stay alive until I succeed. My psychiatrist is helping me, but I still feel like I'm stuck. I also had anger issues when I didn't take meds. Now I don't have them, but as I've had them since my childhood, my mind feels empty, like something is missing. I'm pursuing a double degree in Chemistry and Education, and my life is so chaotic. I wake up at 5, go to the gym at 6 am, come back at 7:30, go to classes at 8:40 am, live in a dorm at my university, and have classes till 5:30 pm. It's too hectic. I'm currently on vacation, and my psychiatrist told me to slow down, but I'm struggling to do so. I fear for the future because I need a stable and high-income job too.

What do you think? Has anyone experienced anything similar to what I'm going through? If yes, please share your experience. If not, please offer me some advice.