Panic Attacks

I’ve spent the past few days trying to figure out how to describe what a panic attack is like for me. I’ve written and deleted this post over and over. The last time I was in counseling I couldn’t even talk about the actual major panic attack without feeling like it would happen again. My heart would race and my chest would get tight and my hands would go numb just thinking about it. It has been three years since that attack and I feel able to talk about it now, but the ones I have experienced over the past few weeks are too near. All of my panic attacks are different, but I’m going to use the worst one I experienced as an example.

I was in my second semester of graduate school when it happened. I’d had a few triggering events over a few weeks time and the anxiety began to grow. I got to a point where I was skipping class (sorry mom and dad) and spending as much time at home as possible. I wasn’t eating much and I felt like… what did I even feel? This is where I get stuck every time I write or talk about it. I don’t have the words to describe what it’s like to be paralyzed with anxiety. It’s like there is this expectation of the worst thing happening. There was no clear “worst thing,” just an assurance that it was coming. I told myself for days and weeks that it was unreasonable. I KNEW it was unreasonable, but it didn’t matter. I had a physical and emotional reaction with no way to stop.

Part of my anxiety is that I get sick to my stomach. Not a pleasant side effect, but one I’ve had at least since 15 years old. So, I’ve gotten myself into this cycle of anxiety, throwing up, not eating, getting weaker, growing anxiety, you get the picture. After a while of this, I broke. I honestly don’t remember how I got there but I know my sweet roommate found me in the middle of the night on the bathroom floor, rocking myself, crying, throwing up. I’m struggling to explain what was happening inside my head and body at that moment. I remember the feeling of absolute and unending terror. I remember thinking that it would always be this way. I remember thinking briefly that I could understand why people kill themselves. I don’t say that to sound scary, but to be truthful, because that is where I was in that moment. I have never seriously considered suicide but I do know the feeling that it might be easier to just… stop.

I was crying out to God saying, “I CANNOT DO THIS. HELP ME.” and I didn’t feel like I was being heard. I tried to breathe but my lungs felt like stone. My chest felt like it might burst. This is why people often go to the hospital when experiencing panic attacks. It feels like a heart attack, and your anxious brain is telling you you are dying. My hands and face were numb and spasming. And that’s how I was found.

My roommate got into nurse mode and had me taking deep breaths. She got our other roommate and they called my boyfriend (who is now my husband, bless his soul). I could hear them on the phone with him, telling him what was going on, and as awful as it was in that moment I was so grateful to have these people who were working together to figure out how best to take care of me, all of who had jobs to get to the next morning (and Luke, my husband’s, began at 4AM, that saint). The way that I have been cared for is a whole other post but let me just say that you all deserve all of the awards.

I decided I didn’t want to go to the ER. So my roommates sat with me, helping me breathe, and I talked to Luke on the phone. I’m ended up taking some medicine to help me get to sleep, which thankfully worked. I went to the doctor the next day and got set up with a counselor in a week.

I had more panic attacks after that, but they haven’t yet gotten quite that bad again. It took me probably a month or so to really start to feel normal again. By that time I had a lot of school work to make up and had lost a lot of weight. Don’t worry, I gained back all the weight (plus some) and had some heart-to-hearts with my teachers about what had been going on with me. They were kind to me. I’m learning to be kind to myself.

 

“Mental pain is less dramatic than physical pain, but it is more common and also more hard to bear. The frequent attempt to conceal mental pain increases the burden: it is easier to say ‘My tooth is aching’ than to say ‘My heart is broken.'”
― C.S. Lewis, The Problem of Pain