I've had panic disorder for years. I don't really remember how it started, but it did and that was that. The feeling of a panic attack is indescribable. I would say it felt like death, but I'm alive, so I wouldn't know. I could describe it more, but it's pointless. You wouldn't understand unless you've been there.

Anyway, when you start feeling like you're dying, your first instinct is to prove you're alive. It's bad logic, but I was desperate at the time. So I would cut myself. I would do it on my hands. I could see the blood and feel the pain and know I was still alive. I hated myself for it. One day, during a particularly bad attack, I excused myself from my class and went to see the nurse. From the second I reached her office, I became a wreck. I started shouting and crying and screaming. I needed to hear myself and feel the tears on my face. The nurse immediately took me into the back room and tried to calm me down.

I felt like I was in a dream. Again, it's something I can't describe. I think it's called depersonalization. I started digging into my fingers with my nails. I was so far gone that I didn't care about what anyone would think. The nurse looked horrified. She tried to bandage my finder, but I pushed her away. I remember shouting an apology to her. She tried to soothe me back to my senses, resorting to the maternal reassurance of "Shh- It's OK."

Just then the vice principal walked in with one of the "troubled teens." He threw her into the waiting room and started shouting at her. The whole time she was fingering a tear in the arm of her black sweatshirt. It was early June.

Though I couldn't really hear, I knew what was happening. She was a cutter. Everyone knew. Now the vice principal knew too. He was bringing the girl to the nurse to be checked for scars. If she had any, she would be suspended.

My panic was getting worse. The vice principal turned to leave. I still felt like I was dying. I turned to look back at the girl. Suddenly our eyes met, and time stopped. I cannot begin to list the emotions conveyed by her eyes. It was as if she was crying out to me. I suddenly realized that we were the same, yet we were being treated so differently. Was it because she expressed her pain in aggression and I, in fear? Was it because she wore black and I, white?

Shortly after that incident, I received the help I so desperately needed. I am now panic free. I never saw that girl again. I honestly don't know what happened to her. I've heard her name mentioned a few times since that day. From what I've heard, she wasn't as fortunate as me. That day forced me to reevaluate my view of others. We never really know how a person lives aside from what we see each day. We are much more alike than we are different.

-Anonymous