My condition had gotten to the point that I couldn't go to work (fearing what might happen to cause a panic attack). Going to visit a few select friends or relatives (fearing what I could do if I had a panic attack), or stay at home and worry about the future, which it seemed I had no control over. I was about 35 at this time, now eight to ten years of living with anxiety and panic attacks. It was now time for depression. I had gotten myself into a deep, dark hole. Up until now, there was always a little light at the end of this tunnel, but now it was starting to close up. Nothing seemed to be fun anymore. If I did smile about something, it only lasted a short time.