Think back. It’s your first visit to Six Flags, and you’re about to ride Batman, or whatever first roller coaster you rode. The ride is about to start and you feel a little nervous… maybe you’re breathing a bit fast; your heart is doing backflips. The ride starts, and you’re jerked from your reality and flying 100 mph through corkscrews and sudden drops. It feels like you’re having a heart attack, literally. You know you aren’t, logically, but you can’t quite believe it yourself because of the pounding in your chest. You probably want to scream, but you can’t because fear and excitement is constricting your throat. All your muscles are tensed, and because of this, you start to feel a little faint, all the while flying on your first roller coaster ride. Blurred colors fly by you. Your mind becomes a little fuzzy, thanks to your hyperventilation. Is this real? Am I really on this ride? And then, before you know it, the ride ends, and you get off. You’ve been initiated into the roller coaster riding club with the rest of the universe. Congratulations.
It was certainly… thrilling, at least for me on my first ride. I love roller coasters. But when you’re actually not on a ride at all, you’re just sitting in class, listening to a professor’s lecture. And all of a sudden you feel that first drop and the ride’s begun all over again. Well, there is nothing more terrifying.
A million things could trigger it. A closed classroom door. I’m locked in here. I can’t escape. I’m never going to get out of here. I’m trapped. I am trapped. I have to leave. Laughter. What are they laughing at? It’s probably me. I’m weird. Here I go, being weird again. The alignment of the desks. If I sit here, I’m stuck for the rest of class. If I try to leave, they’ll all stare at me. If I can’t leave, I’m going to be trapped in here, again. If we sit in a circle, they’ll all ridicule me the entire time. I have to leave. I can’t be here. Sitting in the passenger seat of a car. I’m trapped again. I’ll probably throw up, pass out, or otherwise self-combust.
And that’s only the start of the list. You know, logically, nothing bad will happen. Aliens aren’t going to abduct you from some hovering UFO outside the classroom window. But… something could happen. And once that though pops in your head, it’s all over. Say hello to corkscrews, nausea, and derealization. You’re there, and you won’t enjoy the ride.
In fact, you’ll despise it so much, that you’ll begin to create routines to cope with your fear. That is, if you can manage to continue to visit the places which give you panic attacks. Sit in the seat closest to the door. Close your laptop because looking at the time is a trigger, too. Oh, but wait, you were supposed to be taking notes. Open your laptop again. Ugh. The clock is laughing in your face. You’re going to be here, suffering in your misery, forever. Close your laptop again. You can’t take it, so you just leave. Walk up and down the hall way. Try to use the bathroom. Drink some water. Walk so more. Oh god, have I been outside an unreasonably long amount of time? You’ll wonder. They’ve all certainly noticed by now. God. I am so fucking weird. And here it goes again… all over again. Take a benzo, go back to class. Because after that benzo, you really don’t give a fuck who says what. You’re just going to zone out until you notice everyone is leaving. Then, you’ll leave the classroom feeling like a zombie. You get home, and you’re exhausted.
Nothing is worth doing.
But hey! Good thing you have an excuse because everyone knows you’re “sick.” You’ve got a free pass to life. All the Lorzepam you could ever ask for. Every visit to the doctor, you’re asked, “Oh, would you like a refill for your high-risk-for-addiction sedatives?” As it turns out, you don’t even have to go to class. Forget class. You’ve got an accommodation that says you don’t have to go, ever.
You’re sad about it. Why? Because it fucking sucks to be weird and different and most of all, scared of the world. It feels lonely and shameful, even if you aren’t alone and you don’t have anything to be ashamed of. If that’s not true, but you feel it anyway, it might as well be reality.
So now, they’re going to say that you’re depressed too. Here’s an anti-depressant for all that sadness. Next week, you’re going to come back and say, “It didn’t really help…” She’ll say, “Oh, it didn’t? Here, have more anti-anxiety medication.” Come back next week and tell her the same thing. Just take more, she’ll say. You’ll notice a difference soon.
On the upside, there are things that do help (talking, exercise), and if you’re steadfast in battling it, you’ll stomp those fears to the ground. New fears will crop up, and you’ll probably never fully eradicate the panic you feel when these new fears do appear. But you will know how to deal with them, and life will smooth out with practice.
I have panic disorder, and this is what life is like.
