the painter.

DON’T PANIC

My forehead, palms, and pits are sweaty, but I’m so cold that I’m shaking. It’s hard to breathe. My vision is narrow with the center most saturated then the outer fading to a blur. My heart beats against my rib cage as if it is trying to break out of its prison. I feel like I am falling, but I’m pretty sure I am standing. My thoughts race so fast that I can’t process a single one. I’m confused. I’m afraid. And I’m certain this is going to be my demise.

You’re having a panic attack.

But they keep happening.

You have panic disorder.

I had my first panic attack when I was nineteen years old and my second not long after the first. I was certain I was having a heart attack and it took several x-rays from different doctors before I believed otherwise. I met with a therapist who explained the science behind the attacks. The amygdala nerves in my brain send distress signals to my hypothalamus—an alarm system within my body—and then my body exudes sensations of being in danger. My anxious mind believes it. When in danger, some kick into fight mode, others flight. I freeze.

I spent my twenties trying to escape my own mind by drowning it with substances from liquor stores and back alleys, but my mind was always right back with me the next morning.

Feel the fear, do it anyway.

The best advice I ever received about panic attacks—something I still practice until this day—came from a panic disorder support group leader whom I met when I was nineteen: If you were making a sandwich when the attack started, finish making the sandwich and show your mind you’re not in danger.