Before God created the light there was darkness. When he created me, there was light before the darkness. I was always a happy child. ADHD-ing all over the place with my brother–I was the epitome of joy.

When puberty hit, I was the unstable waves of depression. I was never anxious, believe it or not. And I never could imagine what a panic attack felt like–didn't want to know. I had several members in my family to watch and observe.

Up until a month ago, I was happy with life. No, my life wasn't perfect. In fact, some would say I had reasons to be anxious and depressed. I had no friends, no boyfriend, nothing to do, nowhere to go. My schooling was taking a drastic turn for the worst. But somehow, I had peace in Jesus Christ.

I caught a bad cough. Like most uninsured individuals I couldn't afford the doctor and antibiotics so I had to live off of Robitussin CF for a week–all day, seven days. The first day I didn't take it, I went down hill. I had killed a snake that day–it was just a grass snake, but I can't tell a cobra from a worm. It took me thirty minutes to severe its head. After that I made a cake–I was so excited about learning to make cakes and decorate.

And that's when it hit me. Something wasn't right. I didn't feel…good. I felt bad, for no reason. Nothing was making sense.

We had free channels on our Direct t.v. that week so I sat down and watched that fruity costume making show. And wouldn't you know it, for some reason those costumes disturbed me. They disturbed me so much that I couldn't finish my supper. Of course I thought "All right. I'm still sick." But no.

That night being a couple of weeks into October my brother decided he would buy a season of the Walking Dead. I thought to myself, oh, fine. A show about zombies running around, taking over the world. Why would that be anything to hoot and hollar about?

We were five minutes into the first episode and my life was ruined. I didn't know it then, but now being over a month since it happened, I wish every day that I could go back and change everything.

The images, even though I knew they were completely fake and impossible, wouldn't leave my head—my soul was broken. My spirit knew better, but my soul was so lost in fantasy and horror that it couldn't swim ashore. I felt insane, tormented.

After a few weeks of keeping my parents sleeping with me in the living room, I began to get better. I was sleeping in my room, the anxiety was slacking off enough that I could sleep without medication. I wasn't feeling panicky anymore. I was so sure I was getting better.

But no.

Two weeks ago I was stricken so bad with panic attacks and anxiety that I begged the Lord to take me. I didn't want to live. The images inside me was scraping their cracked and jagged nails over my brain. My soul was completely overtaken by this horror. The doctor had told me that at my age, therapy or medication were my two options. I had tried a SSRI once before and it made me loony. So, hopeful, I chose to speak to my pastor whichI didn't do until last minute when I was sobbing uncontrollably. After those few weeks I begged my mother to call the doctor again–she prescribed another medication. Afraid, I took have the dose. I made me worse! And now here I am, a panicked, anxious mess from a ridiculous zombie show!

The doctor said that because I'm sensitive to medication that the Robitussin CF had my nervous system over stimulated so when I saw the shows that day I freaked out. But why isn't it going away now? I should be better right?

No. Now everything that could relate or remind me of that show attacks me–triggers my anxiety, my panic. I can't live or attempt to have a life. And worse now anything that would be remotely bothersome leaves me paralyzed.

I spoke to a therapist for the first time yesterday. I don't know what or how I'm going to get through this.