Just finished third reading of Jane Kenyon's  poem.  I is very touching.
My heart goes out to other's who have come to experience CD as a
persistent  invader, against which medication offers the only defense.
Hard not to begin seeing oneself as "A piece of burned meat," as Ms.
Kenyon put it.

I wonder how many on our list have experienced panic (anxiety) attacks?
I have read in the PD literature that anxiety, including full blown panic
attacks are common among PWP.

For some reason the poem took me back to the late 60's when I began a
long affair with panic attacks.  The first one came out of "nowhere," my
heart simply accelerating, my palms began to sweat, breath coming in
gasps to accompany a sudden sense of impending doom.  Where, I
frantically wondered, is this coming from, I was laying in bed late on a
Friday night for heaven's sake?

My anxiety learned from itself and bore offspring.  After several
"invasions," the fear of invasion took on a life of its own.  All I had
to do was remember I was a helpless victim of this enemy to bring panic
back for another performance.

Cunning and clever, it learned to pray on me in situations where I would
be most vulnerable, such as when I could not find a way of avoiding a
long automobile ride with other people. Overnight, it turned mild
discomforts into major phobias with its fear boosting effect.  I tried a
variety of drugs, including Inderal, valium, and, of course, alcohol, to
cope.  They helped, but this enemy simply adapted and grew like a strain
of antibiotic resistant virus.

After I embarked on a path of spiritual recovery  the episodes became
shorter, milder and further apart, eventually becoming a manageable
annoyance.   But came a day when my worst phobia of old was unavoidable,
a 5 hour ride with a friend (woman) in response to a request that we help
conduct a 12 step workshop at a holistic healing facility in Northern
California.  Sure enough, we were no sooner on the road than I began to
feel anxiety surging through me.  With the prospect of hundreds of miles
of misery ahead, I asked for a break in our conversation to meditate.

For no apparent reason I chose to visualize something never before
attempted by me---I thought of myself as a small baby in my mother's arms
(maybe I'm reminded of this because it is mother's day).  I visualized
her telling me I was safe, loved, and that nothing I might do in that
moment would change her love for me.  I was filled with a sense of being
surrounded by unconditional love.  My heartbeat slowed, my palms became
dry, the feeling that something worse than death was imminent left me.  I
thoroughly enjoyed the rest of the drive.

That was the last attack and it was many years ago, for I learned that
this enemy was a part of me, it belonged to my mind, the most powerful
force over which I have influence and quite literally the seat of  my
"reality" as experienced in the context of human experience.  Fear, I
came to understand, has no objective reality, but depends totally on my
attitudes, expectations and perceptions.  With panic attacks I had come
to "expect" panic, much as Jane Kenyon came to expect depression to
return.  For reasons still unclear (but guilt is high on the suspect
list) I had been choosing fear most of my life.  For the first time I
agreed to own the fear, and in doing so I was empowered to make a new
choice, and that choice was to turn my life over to the presence and care
of Love.,

PD has brought a roller coaster of sensations, mental and physical, which
come in unpredictable waves.   So far, however, I have been able to
understand that these sensations that arise from the chemicals (or lack
thereof) ebbing and flowing within me ARE NOT ME, and I don't have to go
where they are trying to take me.  Making a daily decision to trust in
Love has allowed me to simply let these sensations be, neither fighting
them or giving them power.  With Love as the REAL power within me, the
condition of my body no longer controls my happiness or lack thereof.

I am very thankful after reading all the posts that my problem was panic
attacks, rather than CD, and that my bouts with depression never reached
the level (so far) of CD as experienced by many on the list.

Sat, 13 On May 2000 07:55:29 -0700 Carole Hercun <[log in to unmask]>
writes:
> janet-What a wondrous writer! Thank you for the
> introduction.       Carole
>
>
> --- janet paterson <[log in to unmask]> wrote:
> > this is a repost
> > of the best description of the experience of cd
> > that i have ever found
> >
> > janet
> >
> >
> -----------------------------------------------------------------------
> > Post: 029603
> > Date: Sat, 23 Aug 1997
> > From: janet paterson
> > Subj: CD: A Poem by Jane Kenyon
> >
> -----------------------------------------------------------------------
> >
> >           HAVING IT OUT WITH MELANCHOLY
> >
> >           If many remedies are prescribed for an illness,
> >           you may be certain that the illness has no
> > cure.
> >
> >                A.P. Chekhov
> >                The Cherry Orchard
> >
> >
> >           1 FROM THE NURSERY
> >
> >           When I was born, you waited
> >           behind a pile of linen in the nursery,
> >           and when we were alone, you lay down
> >           on top of me, pressing
> >           the bile of desolation into every pore.
> >           And from that day on
> >           everything under the sun and moon
> >           made me sad=97even the yellow
> >           wooden beads that slid and spun
> >           along a spindle on my crib.
> >
> >           You taught me to exist without gratitude.
> >           You ruined my manners toward God:
> >           "We're here simply to wit for death;
> >           the pleasures of earth are overrated."
> >
> >           I only appeared to belong to my mother,
> >           to live among blocks and cotton undershirts
> >           with snaps; among red tin lunch boxes
> >           and report cards in ugly brown slipcases.
> >           I was already yours=97the anti-urge,
> >           the mutilator of souls.
> >
> >           2 BOTTLES
> >
> >           Elavil, Ludiomil, Doxepin,
> >           Norpramin, Prozac, Lithium, Xanax,
> >           Wellbutrin, Parnate, Nardil, Zoloft.
> >           The coated ones smell sweet or have
> >           no smell; the powdery ones smell
> >           like the chemistry lab at school
> >           that made me hold my breath.
> >
> >           3 SUGGESTION FROM A FRIEND
> >
> >           You wouldn't be so depressed
> >           if you really believed in God.
> >
> >           4 OFTEN
> >
> >           Often I go to bed as soon after dinner
> >           as seems adult
> >           (I mean I try to wait for dark)
> >           in order to push away
> >           from the massive pain in sleep's
> >           frail wicker coracle.
> >
> >           5 ONCE THERE WAS LIGHT
> >
> >           Once, in my early thirties, I saw
> >           that I was a speck of light in the great
> >           river of light that undulates through time.
> >           I was floating with the whole
> >           human family. We were all colors - those
> >           who are living now, those who have died,
> >           those who are not yet born. For a few
> >           moments I floated, completely calm,
> >           and I no longer hated having to exist.
> >
> >           Like a crow who smells hot blood
> >           you came flying to pull me out
> >           of the glowing stream.
> >           "I'll hold you up. I never let my dear
> >           ones drown!" After that, I wept for days.
> >
> >           6 IN AND OUT
> >
> >           The dog searches until he finds me
> >           upstairs, lies down with a clatter
> >           of elbows, puts his head on my foot.
> >
> >           Sometimes the sound of his breathing
> >           saves my life - in and out, in
> >           and out; a pause, a long sigh...
> >
> >           7 PARDON
> >
> >           A piece of burned meat
> >           wears my clothes, speaks
> >           in my voice, dispatches obligations
> >           haltingly, or not at all.
> >           It is tired of trying
> >           to be stouthearted, tired
> >           beyond measure.
> >
> >           We move on to the monoamine
> >           oxidase inhibitors. Day and night
> >           I feel as if I had drunk six cups
> >           of coffee, but the pain stops
> >           abruptly. With the wonder
> >           and bitterness of someone pardoned
> >           for a crime she did not commit
> >           I come back to marriage and friends,
> >           to pink-fringed hollyhocks; come back
> >           to my desk, books, and chair.
> >
> >           8 CREDO
> >
> >           Pharmaceutical wonders are at work
> >           but I believe only in this moment
> >           of well-being. Unholy ghost,
> >           you are certain to come again.
> >
> >           Coarse, mean, you'll put your feet
> >           on the coffee table, lean back,
> >           and turn me into someone who can't
> >           take the trouble to speak; someone
> >           who can't sleep, or who does nothing
> >           but sleep; can't read, or call
> >           for an appointment for help.
> >
> >           There is nothing I can do
> >           against your coming.
> >           When I am awake, I am still with thee.
> >
> >           9 WOOD THRUSH
> >
> >           High on Nardil and June light
> >           I wake at four,
> >           waiting greedily for the first
> >           notes of the wood thrush. Easeful air
> >           presses through the screen
> >           with the wild, complex song
> >           of the bird, and I am overcome
> >           by ordinary contentment.
> >           What hurt me so terribly
> >           all my life until this moment?
> >           How I love the small, swiftly
> >           beating heart of the bird
> >           singing in the great maples;
> >           its bright, unequivocal eye.
> >
> >           Jane Kenyon
> >
> >
> > Copyright 1996 by Jane Kenyon
> > >From Otherwise: New & Selected Poems
> > <http://www.graywolfpress.org/>
> >
> -------------------------------------------------------------------
> >
> > janet paterson
> > 53 now / 41 dx / 37 onset
> > 613 256 8340 / PO Box 171 Almonte Ontario K0A 1A0 Canada
> > come visit my website "a new voice" at:
> > http://www.geocities.com/janet313/
>
>
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