Diary of a shut-in

I have been anxious my entire life. In kindergarten, my fingerpainting skills were poor; my lines were wiggly because my hands were so trembly.

In Grade 5, I was repeatedly convulsed by nervous stomach aches. A barium enema turned up nothing except for a resolution to keep any future nervous stomach aches to myself, thanks awfully, and a life-long aversion to St-Hubert chicken, which we stopped for as a treat on the way home from the hospital.

Then, in my last year of high school, panic kicked in, leaving me pale, shaky and breathless in the mornings before exams. (My super-cool doctor at the time, when told of my symptoms, calmly asked if I had been doing coke.)

In my late 20s, panic attacks crashed over me like violent waves, leaving me too scared to leave my apartment, so I simply didn't for several months. I quit my restaurant job and sat in my tiny apartment, watching TV and hating myself.

Picture a Fort Knox-grade alarm system manned by a pack of shivering, meth-addicted Chihuahuas. The slightest whisper of danger, and those alarms are going to blare. Maybe you turned your head too quickly and felt a little dizzy, or had a little heartburn after eating a spicy lunch - that symptom that you associate with panic sends a message to your brain that, oh shit, it's happening again. Alarm wire tripped. Panic induced.

The simplicity of CBT is almost embarrassing: Afraid of flying? Then fly lots. Afraid to leave your house? Then leave your house. Lots.

Research shows that an average of 73 per cent of patients treated with cognitive behavioural therapy (CBT) were panic-free at three to four months. Finding a program that's covered by provincial health care may be tricky, though. Most have long waiting lists. For those who can't wait and who can afford it, there are private CBT clinics across Canada. The rates generally range from $100 to $200 an hour, and treatment usually requires about 10 to 14 sessions.