“When kids make gross face,parents say, "One dayyour face is going to stick like that."I'm afraid that one daymy panic's going to stickand it's going to be my entire life,every second,and there will be nothing else.”

“She says it's like a switch - a big red PANIC switch - gets flipped in my headand I can't turn it off.She says we're going to figure outhow to turn it off.”

“I can't believeno one else can hearI am screaminginside my head.Things are moving too fast. I am going to die.I am going to die. I am going to die.My hands are shaking.I try to squeeze them, try to make it stop,but now my fists are shaking,and this shaking is working it's way through me.It must look like I am having a fit.I want to let the scream out, but I think if I start, I'll never stop.It's not supposed to be like this.I am too young to die. I don't know how to make this end,and if it doesn't, I'll have to go to the hospital,be medicated, force-fed soft foods.I don't want to be that person.I am not that person.I am not. I am not.”

“I am in a house. I am in one room and my anxiety is in another. It's close. I can feel it. I can go to it. But I won't.”

“Most days I go home cryingand my dad tells mewelcome to the real world.”

“I visit him a few times downtownwhile he paints.We talk about how he's going to Spainfor the fall semesterand he shows me a painting he didand points to this one part,a bridge, and tells me he thought of mewhen he painted it.It is so sadhow knowing somethingso smallcan make me so happy.”

“I am jealous of the little kidspinning around near the fountain.What would these people thinkif I were to start spinningwith my arms spread wide?A lunatic on drugs, probably.My greatest accomplishment here is not caring,letting go of other people's opinions.I am not wound as tight.I can let go,just no spinning yet.”