On laying ghosts and raising dandelions

 

    Dandelions and Bad Hair Days Book Cover ArtWritten by: Suzie Grogan

    I was always an anxious child. I had a loving family – mum, dad and two siblings, a sister and a brother both younger than me; but my mum was dad’s second wife – he was a widower following the death of his first wife and unborn second child. They had lost their first to a fatal asthma attack. He was a quiet man, who didn’t show his emotions readily but when he nearly lost my mum whilst she was expecting me he must have thought his life was on rewind. He had a tendency to assume the worst would always happen and when he developed early onset Parkinson’s in his 40s shortly after my younger brother was born, our lives were then never far from illness or worry. I became desperate to ensure my mum was happy, entertaining my siblings and worrying myself to death if she was late to meet me from school or to come back from the shops. I look back now and believe that my dad, subconsciously and quite openly as he became more seriously ill, passed on responsibility for my mum’s safety to me and I took it, willingly.
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    I was broken but now I am whole

     

      Broken Cups

      Written by: Earla Dunbar

      I did not like people before, they terrified me.  All I wanted to do was hide from people, from life.  In my thoughts I knew they were judging me negatively and watching my every move.  So why would I leave my safe place, my home, when I knew I could be hurt by people.

      When I was 44 and knew that suicide was my only hope from the dread I was living, my doctor suggested I go to the Centre for Addiction and Mental Health, CAMH, where I met my psychiatrist, Dr. Martin Katzman.
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      Challenging fear: an interview with matt watts on confronting generalized anxiety disorder

       

        Matt Watts, age 6 or 7Written by Sahar Shoja.

        Tuesday. 8:30 A.M.

        Sitting across from his therapist in a bright yellow room, Michael stammers as he tries to describe the details of a recent event that triggered his latest anxiety attack. Wearing a grey dress shirt and black tie, he looks to be the perfect picture of functionality. Yet, as he struggles to describe the details of this traumatic event, it becomes clear that Michael is anything but typical. He struggles to put his experience into words, as he anxiously locks his fingers into one another.  “I resent everyone I don’t know for talking to me!” he bellows as he describes how, earlier that week, a girl had approached him and asked for the time.
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