What It Feels Like to Have a Panic Attack
Author: Anonymous
I put the ice down into my bra, under my breast, and feel the cold, icy trickle as the ice melts, willing my heart to slow down and my temperature to drop. I know it’s a mental trick to make it all stop, but it’s worked in the past, and all I can hope is that it helps right now, in this moment. I pick up the notecard that holds the talking points I scrawled in the parking lot before coming in. It’s a topic I’ve spoken on so many times before, but something about today (too much caffeine? Not enough time planned for traffic and feeling rushed? The temperature of the room being just a little too warm?) has set off the whole thing again, something I thought I had left in the past. I step up to the podium, my hands so wet with perspiration that the ink on the notecard has smeared into a blur. I feel dizzy, my head swimming, my eyes blurring, and my heart racing. I’m scared to take my pulse, scared to know that it’s in heart attack range, and wondering how everyone will talk about the day they saw some poor girl die while trying to give a presentation at the monthly chamber of commerce meeting. I’ve always been able to push through these moments when they happen, to talk myself down from the ledge I’m always put so quickly on, to convince myself that I’m not dying. But today, there’s something about it all that’s gone too far, and I feel myself swaying. The walls are closing in, the air is not circulating, I can hear my heartbeat in my ears, time is standing still and rushing by at the same time.
The walls are closing in, the air is not circulating, I can hear my heartbeat in my ears, time is standing still and rushing by at the same time.
I make an opening joke, anxious for the audience’s laughter to quiet my nerves and slow my breathing enough to settle into a 20-minute presentation. But the laughter comes and the dizziness increases. I make a joke about the room being too warm, and a word somewhere in there slurs. Oh, shit. I’m having a stroke. Oh, God. Is this how it happens? I’ve read every Web MD article there is about heart attacks, strokes, pulmonary embolisms, aneurysms, blood clot travel, atrial fibrillation, and on and on. Is this how it’s going to happen? I feel myself sway, and I catch the eye of a friend in the crowd, watching her brow suddenly furrow into lines of concern. I back into a chair and sit down, sweat visible now on my face, and suddenly people are in motion, moving towards me as my vision starts to go black. It’s happening, it’s happening, it’s happening. I let the concerned people help me into a side room off of the stage, and I lay on the floor, so grateful for the cold of the ceramic tile on my face, fighting every urge to crawl into the fetal position and let it happen. An EMT who happened to be there takes my pulse and blood pressure, looking into my eyes for dilation, and a nearby police officer who was probably required to attend the presentation that day has the look on his face of a rookie who believes he is about to catch someone on drugs for the first time; his first arrest! My friend that had been in the crowd touches a cold, wet cloth to my face and for the first time, I slip away from the blackness and feel my temperature start to return to normal. My breathing begins to slow, and I manage to say, “It’s a panic attack. It’s happened before.”
My friend ushers everyone else out of the room, and I curl into the folded leaf position, a basic yoga move a doctor showed me years ago that for whatever reason helps during these moments. I start circular breathing, counting the seconds of breathing in, holding it, and releasing. I start to feel cold, a shiver goes across me, and I know I’m coming into the safe zone. I always feel cold when it’s starting to end, a cool relief from the heat that flushes my chest, back and face during every attack. I know what to do to make it stop once it starts, but once it starts I just have to go through the motions, let it happen, let me suffer, let me do the tricks I’ve learned. After almost four years without a single panic attack, I had thought I was safe, but really it was just somewhere in there hiding, waiting for the most inopportune moment to escape and throw my body into chaos.
After almost four years without a single panic attack, I had thought I was safe, but really it was just somewhere in there hiding
The whole thing takes about 20 minutes, and when it’s over, I am exhausted. I want to crawl into the bed, under the covers, in as much darkness as I can find, and fall into a deep, wearied sleep. Many times after an attack like this, I weep from fatigue, and relief, and every muscle in my neck and shoulders ache for days afterward from the tight, horrible strain my body chooses in those awful moments.
Those who have never had a panic attack find it hard to understand, and those who have had one find it hard to ever forget. You can’t breathe, you can’t speak, and the worst thing anyone can try to do is help. It’s over quickly, but scarily it can pop up again anytime. There’s no real prevention, and short of medicating myself to the point of numbness, there is no cure. For now, just leave me the fuck alone in this dark, cold room and let me put ice in my bra. I’ll be fine in about 20 minutes.
Those who have never had a panic attack find it hard to understand, and those who have had one find it hard to ever forget.