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Andrea Petersen - On Edge: A Journey through Anxiety

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More Praise for On Edge This remarkable and beautifully written description - photo 1
More Praise for
On Edge

This remarkable and beautifully written description of Andrea Petersens lifelong journey with anxiety combines an account of her personal experience with a description of up-to-the-minute research describing what we know about anxiety and its treatment. Everyone dealing with anxietythe common cold of mental disorderswill benefit from the important information in this entertaining and erudite reflection on coping with the burden of anxiety.

David H. Barlow, professor of psychology and psychiatry emeritus, Boston University, and founder and director emeritus, Center for Anxiety and Related Disorders

This story of resilience in the face of enormous challenge powerfully illustrates Andrea Petersens pathway to recovery from mental illness. Eminently readable and at times controversial, Andreas story is a beacon in the darkness for those living with anxiety disorders in silence. Stories like hers, shared openly, can change lives by reducing the stigma and discrimination that still surrounds mental illness.

Former First Lady Rosalynn Carter, cofounder, The Carter Center

Andrea Petersen raises the bar for anyone attempting to explain the complex science of the anxious brain. I was fascinated by the candid, painful, often humorous account of her own struggle and her quest for the best information about anxiety.

Karen Cassiday, president, Anxiety and Depression Association of America

Copyright 2017 by Andrea Petersen All rights reserved Published in the United - photo 2Copyright 2017 by Andrea Petersen All rights reserved Published in the United - photo 3

Copyright 2017 by Andrea Petersen

All rights reserved.

Published in the United States by Crown, an imprint of the Crown Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.

crownpublishing.com

CROWN is a registered trademark and the Crown colophon is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Petersen, Andrea.

Title: On edge : a journey through anxiety / Andrea Petersen.

Description: First edition. | New York : Crown, [2017] | Includes bibliographical references and index.

Identifiers: LCCN 2016050111 (print) | LCCN 2016059341 (ebook) | ISBN 9780553418576 (hardcover) | ISBN 9780553418590 (pbk.) | ISBN 9780553418583 (ebook)

Subjects: LCSH: Petersen, AndreaMental health. | Anxiety disordersTreatment. | AnxietyPatientsBiography.

Classification: LCC RC531 .P4227 2017 (print) | LCC RC531 (ebook) | DDC 616.85/22dc23

LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2016050111

ISBN9780553418576

Ebook ISBN9780553418583

Cover design by Na Kim

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Contents

Chapter 1: The Anticipation of Pain
Defining Anxiety

Chapter 2: Scary Clowns and the End of Days
Anxiety in Childhood

Chapter 3: My Grandmothers Madness
The Genetics of Anxiety

Chapter 4: From CBT to Karaoke
Nondrug Therapies for Anxiety

Chapter 5: May Cause Dizziness
Medications for Anxiety

Chapter 6: Cold Calls, Airplanes, and Indecision
Anxiety at Work and on the Road

Chapter 7: The Isolation Chamber
Anxiety in Love and Friendship

Chapter 8: Worries About My Daughter
The Education of an Anxious Parent

Chapter 9: Staying Grounded
Learning to Live with Anxiety

For my parents

This is a work of nonfiction Although Kate Scott Brad Alice and Michael - photo 4This is a work of nonfiction Although Kate Scott Brad Alice and Michael - photo 5

This is a work of nonfiction. Although Kate, Scott, Brad, Alice, and Michael are pseudonyms, all others who appear in the book are identified by their real names, and none are composites. I have made every effort to be accurate, but memory is fallible and some of the events I and others recall here happened decades ago. Whenever possible, I have corroborated events through medical records and interviews with people who were there.

Fear ambushes me It is early on the morning of December 5 1989 At least - photo 6Fear ambushes me It is early on the morning of December 5 1989 At least - photo 7

Fear ambushes me.

It is early on the morning of December 5, 1989. At least early for a college student, which is what I am. A sophomore at the University of Michigan in Ann Arbor, a bucolic campus of creaky A-frame houses, earnest politics, fraternity sweatshirts, and dollar pitchers of beer.

I am in the basement of a 1940s academic building staring at a wall covered in long sheets of dot-matrix printer paper detailing which classes have slots for the upcoming semester: Economics 101, Introduction to Buddhism, a Jane Austen seminar. Other sleepy students, jeans-clad and tousle-headed, are scribbling in notebooks nearby.

I feel fine. Groggy from a late night of studying, yes. Touched by a bit of that midwestern late-fall dread, anticipating another long winter of fierce winds and sleeping-bag-shaped coats. But Im fine.

And then, a second later, Im not.

A knot of fear erupts at the base of my spine and travels upward. My stomach flips, and I break out in a thin film of sweat. My heart rate shoots upI feel the erratic thump thump banging against my ears, my stomach, my eyes. My breathing turns shallow and fast. Fuzzy gray blotches appear before my eyes. The letters before me warp, words dip and buckle.

There is no warning, no prodrome. The onset is as sudden as a car crash. Something in my body or brain has gone dramatically and irrevocably wrong. My noisy internal monologueusually flitting from school to boys to a laundry list of insecuritiescoalesces around one certain refrain: Im dying. Im dying. Im dying.

I flee the building and somehow make it home, crawling into my bottom bunk in the room I share with two other girls. I hug my knees into my chest and huddle against the cinder-block wallmy breathing still shallow, my heart still racing, the hot terror still there. Remarkably, it seems, I am alive. Any relief that gives me, however, is short-lived: If Im not dying, I must be going crazy.

Crazy like my grandmother.

Like the woman who clutched knives and thought Catholics were trying to kill her. Like the woman who spent three years in a mental institution, had electroshock therapy, and tried to burn the house down with my nine-year-old father and his brother and sister in it. Like the woman who died in my grandfathers arms when I was two years old. She had suffered a heart attack but was too terrified to go with paramedics to the hospital.

Crazy like that.

I lie still. Perhaps if I cease all movement, even the tiniest shudder, become frozen, waxlike, I can quiet the torment. My insides feel noisy, in flux. Everything is revved upas if the blood in my veins were running faster and the synapses in my brain were firing, or misfiring, at warp speed. I can feel the loud, frantic presence of every organliver, intestines, spleen. The cells in my body are vibrating, it seems, knocking awkwardly against one another. If I move at all, I will shatter, scattering bits of blood and bone all across the salmon-hued sorority house. I am sure of that.

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