Origami dragon

by Jenna Glatzer

On top of my desk is a little origami dragon, made by a woman who overcame panic disorder. I've never met her, but that little dragon has been a very important symbol for me.

A therapist gave it to me when I was just starting to make steps toward my recovery. He explained to me that a former client of his had made the dragons to remind herself that the enemy-- anxiety-- was a fierce adversary, but that it had a weak spot. It's a paper dragon; something that looks awfully scary and unbeatable, but something that can be torn up, set on fire, and thrown away. Something that's not as tough as it wants to be. Today, I am a dragon-slayer. I didn't always believe I had that kind of strength, though.

When I was about 22 and trying to convince myself to get out of bed every morning, I didn't have any faith that I would ever walk out my front door again. I was agoraphobic. Even though doctors assured me that most people get better from anxiety disorders, I didn't believe them. I figured they HAD to say that. Besides, I thought no one in the world had ever had such a bad case of anxiety as I did. Maybe other people got better because they were never so "messed up" in the first place.

"Even if I get a little better," I thought, "I'll never lead a normal life. I'll always have these stupid attacks and these stupid fears." I'd never heard from anyone who had been through what I had. Lots of times, people would tell me they understood-- well-meaning friends would say, "I know just what you're going through! I've had panic attacks, too!" After a few sentences, they'd tell me that they'd had two or three attacks while driving on the freeway. To me, that was nothing. They didn't understand what it was like to be too scared to check their mail or have friends over for dinner.

I was aching to hear real success stories from people like me. I didn't want to hear it from a doctor or a self-help guru. I wanted someone in the world to say, "Hey, I couldn't leave my front door, either, and now I have a full-time job, and I'm happily married, and I travel."

I got very lucky. That message came one day, via e-mail, from a then-stranger who opened up her life to me. That person was Patty Miranda, whose story appears at the end of this book. She was the first person I'd "met" who really did understand, and really had recovered. Her correspondence with me was all I had to look forward to; her words gave me hope, and she taught me to appreciate every small success I had on the road to recovery.

I promised myself that if I ever did recover, I would share that message. I would shout it from the rooftops, and tell everyone who ever had a really difficult anxiety disorder that the doctors weren't lying, and people really could get better and lead happy lives.

That day has come, and this book is my fulfillment of that promise.