I have been dealing with panic attacks since 1994. I had my first panic attack in Arlington National Cemetery. At the time I didn't know I was having a panic attack. I though I was just hungry and overheated. I left the park and went back another day that week and dismissed the entire incident. I did develop claustrophobia that summer in the way that I had an extremely difficult time riding elevators. (Funny, when I was a child I did NOT like escalators and avoided them at all costs. This continued until I was an adult when I was okay with either, for a short time, until I developed difficulties with elevators. I suppose I was always a worrier as a child and never quite figured out how to manage my always high stress level.)
Fast forward to spring of 1995. I was coming out of a depression when all of a sudden I started having difficulties doing things that I did on a daily basis. Every time I got on the metro train and the doors shut my heart race increased, it was difficult to breathe and I felt trapped, like I had to escape the train. I was terrified. My first idea to ease the panic was to reach for a drink. There was a small winery in the metro station so I stopped there a few times to have a glass of wine before I got on the train. Fortunately for me that did not ease or calm the panic. Unfortunately for me the panic increased and started to affect me in other places (like walking alone and other random situations). Amazingly I didn't shut down and continued my life. That summer I took a train trip to Canada by myself, I got my master's degree, got a full time job in my field and secured my own apartment (previously I had apartments with roommates). While the level of anxiety I was experiencing was somewhat high I was able to continue to move forward with my life.
It was a warm August day of the same year that everything came crashing down for me. My life would never be the same and after this day I would refer to my life as pre panic and post panic. I was still experiencing panic attacks and I was finding it more and more difficult to control the racing thoughts and the anticipation of when "those feelings" would come over me again (at this point I didn't have a name for what I was experiencing). I had moved almost all of my stuff from my mother's home to my new apartment. This Friday night would be the first evening I would spend in my new apartment. One of my co workers offered to drop me off on her way home. As soon as I got out of her car and she pulled off I felt the wave of panic rise up in me. I remember standing, frozen, in front of the public library that's next door to the apartment building. I couldn't breathe...my heart was pounding...I was disoriented and I felt alone...and TERRIFIED.
The best way I can describe the feeling for you is to ask you to imagine walking down the street during the middle of the day and having someone run up behind you and stick a gun to your head and tell you not to panic or they will shoot. Or imagine sleeping peacefully only to be startled out of your sleep by your house or fire alarm and a loud crash.
My thoughts were all over the place and I was finding it difficult to make a decision on what to do about what I was feeling. I didn't want to call an ambulance (I had a feeling it wasn't a heart attack) but I couldn't just continue to feel like I was feeling. The only thing that came to mind was to call my grandma, which is what I did. There was a payphone (haha @ payphones--practically nonexistent these days) and I called her collect, long distance. Thinking back I probably should have called someone who wouldn't be just as frightened as I was but granny has always had my back so I knew I could count on her. Plus she's grandma! My grandma prayed with me, talked to me and helped me focus a little while I rode out the wave after wave of panic attacks. It was HORRIBLE. Finally my mother came by to drop off more of my stuff (was prearranged) and I decided to go back to her house instead of staying at my apartment (I didn't have a phone and at this point I was too afraid to be alone). Surprisingly enough my mother didn't give me hard time about this.
After this initial experience with panic things are a bit of a blur. I cried so much to my friend that she knew something was seriously wrong. She packed up her stuff and her baby and boarded a bus for Georgia (I will be eternally grateful for this huge act of kindness). I don't remember when she arrived, how I got her from the bus station or when I went to my apartment after that Friday. All I do remember is crying and crying and crying. I knew I had finally allowed stress to get the best of me. I knew I was having a nervous breakdown and I feared I would have to be committed. I feared I would loose my new job, then my new apartment and would have to move back in with my mother! It got to the place where I would have an attack whenever I opened my front door. I was home bound for about 2 or more weeks. During this time my friend did some excellent cognitive behavioral therapy. She managed to get me out the house where she would just sit with me (just outside my apartment) while I cried and cried, until I calmed down. She got me walking down the street, riding the bus and going to the store. She helped me make a doctors appointment where I was finally diagnosed with panic disorder with agoraphobia along with depression. I was prescribed Zolof which I filled but never took. She helped me find a therapist and arranged transportation for us to get to the sessions. She was the go between myself and my mother who constantly maintained, "This isn't my fault." My friend stayed with me until I was able to stay by myself again. Fortunately my supervisor had experience with "breakdowns" himself so he was very empathetic and understand. My job was waiting for me when I returned.
This was my beginning of this journey. I wish I could say the journey ended there butI can't. I will say that I am going to believe that these experiences and difficulties are for a reason and are moving me towards some greater good. There has to be lessons to be learned from this.
