Panic Attack- a sudden episode of
intense fear that triggers severe physical reactions when there is no real
danger or apparent cause. – Mayo Clinic
The first
panic attack I remember having, I was twenty-four years old. I was in a grocery
store when it hit- I started sweating, felt dizzy, and thought I couldn’t
breathe. I remember gulping for air like a fish out of water. Having never
experienced anything like it, I didn’t know what to do. I remember leaving my
cart, and going to sit in my car. I laid the seat all the way back, and waited
for this horrifying feeling to go away.
I was so terrified, yet somewhere in the fog I remember thinking I would
catch my breath after the next, then the next. Finally the feeling subsided,
and I drove home. Anyone who knows me well knows the year I turned twenty-four
was one of the hardest years I’ve ever been through.
I tried to
write it off as a one-time thing, sweep the feelings I had under the rug and
forget. I had myself convinced it had never happened, until it happened again
when I was twenty-six. I was just about to graduate university and reality was
rushing towards me faster than I could handle. I tried to act like it was just
common anxiety, just like every other college senior. Then I had another one,
again in public. This time I couldn’t run to my car, I had to ride out the
attack on the sideline of a rugby match. I gritted my teeth and hands so
tightly, my jaw ached for a week and my fingernails cut into my hands.
I went to
talk to someone, thank you to my university for providing those kinds of
services. The person I talked to was still in training, and I remember her
asking me, “Just tell me a bit about why you think you needed to come here.” So
I laid out a readers digest version of the last few years, and told her about
these experiences I’d had. Next she said something, which most likely was very
unprofessional, but endeared her to me all the same, “Holy shit- it’s a wonder
you’re walking and talking right now. I’m glad you came to see me.” I continued
to see her once a week until I graduated, telling her all about me and about
these odd episodes I had. She put a name to them for me- Panic Attacks.
You see I’m
very good at putting my better feelings on display. I’m an extrovert, so people
assume I’m happy all the time. Amongst family and friends I’m considered a reliable
person, not prone to all kinds of drama, (just the usual amount. Come on, I am
human dudes). I felt and still feel pressure to not let anyone know when I’m
having a bad day, week, or month. She explained that most likely this was
leading to the panic attacks I was having. They happened when I was under a
great deal of stress, and felt like I couldn’t tell anyone for fear of letting
them down. I remember reacting badly to this. I mean I knew I had a generalized
anxiety of crowds, but plenty of people do. I also remember thinking not
everyone had this issue, so there must be something wrong with me.
After my
sessions with her, I felt so much lighter. I graduated college, left a long-term
relationship that was unhealthy, and started a new part of my life. Of course I
had boughts of doubt and fear- I hadn’t been single in almost ten years, was
living on my own, and starting a new job. I was meeting so many new people,
dating and for the most part really enjoying everything. I thought I wouldn’t
have to deal with one of those attacks again; I was going to be ok.
My body had
other ideas. It was New Years Eve going into 2012, and I was in Vegas with my
new guy and friends. I was so happy, not a care in the world. We were in a
club, and my boyfriend had gone off to the bathroom leaving me with my friend
and her fiancé. All of the sudden, I felt it coming- this time my hands started
tingling, then the sweating, then the breathing. I grabbed my best friend and
told her I thought I was having an attack. Bless her, she took control, finding
a wall for me to put my back against and when my boyfriend came back, told him
we needed to get out of there. I was so embarrassed. I hadn’t told any of them
I’d had these before. I had to explain to them the next day, mortified they
would judge me. Of course they loved me, so they didn’t.
This time I
took them far more seriously, learning everything from relaxation exercises,
controlled breathing, to trying out meditation. Honestly, sometimes they work,
sometimes they don’t. I have to remind myself during one that it can’t last.
I’m not dying, if I pass out I’ll keep breathing, and I’ll be ok. I’ll be ok.
I’ve had a few more over the last couple of years, usually triggered by
feelings of being overwhelmed, (which is saying something- has anyone seen what
my life is like?!).
You’re
probably wondering why I’m talking about any of this. I remember feeling alone
when I first found out about these attacks. No one I knew suffered from them,
(this was ignorance. Some of the most important people in my life do). So my
thought is- sharing is caring. It does not mean I am weak. It means sometimes,
my body has a moment. For me it’s a great reminder that I am not in control of
all things. There are moments when I don’t have a grasp on any of it; things
are completely out of my hands. Every time I have one, it really is all kinds
of scary. The cool thing is, I’m always ok on the other side of these moments.
Anyone who may think less of me for having them can get bent; they are a part
of me. I’d love to never have another one for as long as I live, but I can’t
predict that.
We are not
defined by moments like these. Moments when we are the furthest in the world
from being in control of a damn thing. Coming from someone who thrives off
control, these are probably one of the best things for me. Twisted, right? They
remind me to let go, and it’s ok. I’ve said it more than once while writing
this, and I’ll say it again- I’m ok.
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