Chapter 9. Let's talk about the panic

 The Janergy Effect e-book link

I wasn’t going to write about my panic attacks in my story, because this is really about my later life, but panic attacks in my teens and early 20’s were no doubt the biggest obstacle I have had to overcome, because they were so debilitating and had the potential to totally limit my life in ways that I didn’t want.

But this is me today, cool, calm, collected, confident, resilient and most importantly happy. I am eons away from the time of my life when I was living with a condition that once diagnosed, gave me peace of mind and started me on a path that made me fiercely protect my mental health and ensure that my wellbeing was always at the top of my priorities.

 

Me today, 54 and eons away from panic

Our mental health is so important and learning to manage our stressors seems more vital than ever given the current uncertainty we are facing globally in this time of the pandemic and my ability to “cope” makes me feel so empowered.  

I hope that my ability to cope with stress, anxiety and overwhelm with what I am about to share may encourage you to know that having a happy, healthy existence, is possible even if you think it may not be…

I am a bit on the fence about how I felt my childhood was.  There were some great aspects and some not-so-great ones.

On the down side, I had a split family and don’t have a very strong relationship with my father. He went on to marry another woman and have more children, and their lifestyle was so far removed from anything I have ever known. 

The separation happened when I was quite young and I didn’t see my father much, but a scary moment happened during this unsettled time when we were holidaying at the beach. I was playing in the park and a man came over and said he was my father.  When I recall this moment, it still makes me cringe to think that this is the way he chose to approach me.  He asked me to go and get my sister so I took off back to where we were camping and alerted my mum.  By the time we got back, he was gone.  Did he just want to see us? Was he going to take us? How long had he been watching us? I will never know, but I do know it was a messy divorce.

We were eventually allowed to have more formal contact with him, but on the rare occasion I would see him, there was always some kind of drama surrounding his wife. She didn’t seem to like us around and would have all kinds of crazy “turns” that usually resulted in a quite dramatic frightening event.  Following one particularly volatile incident, we begged to go home after she threatened to kill herself with a gun she was holding and tried to put in her mouth. It was very traumatic.

We were hundreds of miles away from home and I remember being taken to the airport and put on a very small plane and flown to safety.  I never had any desire to go visit again until much later in life.

I never really felt a sense of abandonment or wishing that he were around and I made the decision at a very young age not to pursue a relationship with him. Anytime we have met, the same old record keeps playing.  I love you, I miss you, and for me it’s bit blah blah blah….. All I can say, is that he could have and should have done better.

I have no doubt it was hard on him not being able to see his children, but he never supported us financially or emotionally and I am grateful to have grown up in an environment where I always had food, clothes and a roof over my head. I do feel like I have managed to make it to adulthood with some sense of power and without too much of the hurt that people carry around from their childhood.

I also had time separated from my mother as she was a nurse and worked odd hours and she moved away for some time so she could build her career.  In some cultures, not having both parents around is a very normal thing, but for me, it didn’t feel normal, not that I really knew what normal was as a small child, but I guess you see other families and wonder why yours isn’t the same, when at one point there had been a family unit.

We moved home a lot and didn’t settle into one particular long home stretch until I was about eight or nine years of age.  I counted up living in about five different towns before finally settling in Brisbane.  Five towns doesn’t seem much, but when you are a small child, it’s a lot and the moving seemed endless. We seemed to settle into one place and then it was time to move to another and that meant another school and a whole new routine and that was sometimes even in the same town we were living.  Maybe that explains why I am not so great with routine now and have at times not felt like I was able to maintain connections.

I applaud my mother for having the courage to leave an abusive, alcoholic man and for her determination to progress her life and career.  She has never shared much of this time as it is too upsetting for her, even now. But I do remember fights and things happening that clearly showed it was not a happy or healthy environment for anyone.

Before the split I lived at times with my parents and at times I was living with my nana or even other relatives. Thank goodness for my nana, she was the most wonderful woman who provided the grounding and stability that has no doubt helped me to be the person I am today, even though at times I might not have seemed so grateful or ready to learn some of the lessons of life.  She was truly my rock and our relationship is something that I miss terribly.

But even my nana couldn’t protect me from a sexual assault that happened when I was a child. I’m not sure that going into details is necessary, but I was assaulted in her back yard by an older boy who was a neighbour.  I was about six at the time and wondered what the heck was going on.  There was another person there - and they were someone I idolised and felt safe with and happy to be around, and I remember looking at that person and wondering why they weren’t stopping this.  They weren’t enabling the event, but on reflection, I think they were probably just as shocked as I was and perhaps didn’t know what to do.  I have never had the courage to talk about that day with this person and I’m not sure that I ever will.  Maybe they are carrying their own uncomfortable memories and regret about what happened.

I never shared this moment with my family until I was about 50.  It was something I always kept to myself and not because there was guilt or shame, but because I just got on with life and didn’t want a label.  Although it was a terrible and terrifying experience, I never let it stop me from doing anything that I wanted to do and I have never let that person’s actions take anything away from my ability to fully live and live with authentic joy and happiness.  I accepted that it happened and kept on moving, albeit with level of caution and shyness in my younger years.  

Any other reasons for discontent or unhappiness in my life was never due to having a victim mentality or blaming another person for what was wrong. I remember a friend in high school telling me it was amazing that I never blamed anything or anyone for things going wrong and I still maintain that stance now.  Blame doesn’t help solve a problem. Taking full responsibility for your life is what gives us our power.

I look back and think it was a very mature thing to do, as you can see day to day how people’s lives get consumed by events of their past and they stay stuck and unable to find peace or joy because of something that may have happened way back when. I appreciate that not everyone finds the tools or knowhow to move forward, but I was somehow able to.

Preying of a sexual nature was also a common theme as I grew up.  My mother ended up marrying again and although the man was a bully, he was never a sexual predator. He had suffered sexual abuse at the hands of his own father, but was unaware that his father had been targeting me with his requests for kisses on the lips or hugs whenever I was alone with him.  It was always disturbing, and as I grew up and wised up, I found ways to keep my distance.  Such horrible things to deal with when you should be enjoying your childhood freedom.

My teenage step brother was also a major creep who would touch inappropriately and comment in ways that a young girl would never understand and it just kept happening and I just kept moving on with my life. He used to tell his friends how much I liked being touched. Really? How does one make a judgment that this behaviour is okay when you are targeting a young girl who is afraid to, and doesn’t know how to use her voice?

I wonder if perpetrators ever think back to their actions and feel guilt or remorse. It’s fucked up that this kind of behaviour was and is still so common place and women are still to blame for men’s bad behaviour.

As I look at my relationship with men, there was always a fascination and a fear that I had towards them, but like everything else I do, I just worked on finding a solution to this awkwardness.

One of the most incredible things we can do in our lifetime it to claim or reclaim our power, even if it does take years.  And that means never letting anything or anyone’s actions or inactions hold you back from finding the happy place we deserve in our life, no matter what shitty things may have happened.

As for the good aspects of my childhood, I really got to do things I loved and maybe they were the things that held me together.

My first love was the piano and I would use any table, bench or chest of drawers and pretend it was a piano and would spend hours hitting pretend keys and making music in my head.  My dream of learning piano came true after settling in Brisbane, when I arrived home from school one day to find a piano gracing our loungeroom and I was enrolled to take lessons. I can’t really explain the most sensory feeling I had when I would touch a sheet of music but to this day, I can almost feel the music emanating from the paper and that gives me joy.  What a fantastic day it was when I got to bring this untapped passion to life.

My piano teacher was an old man called Mr Learmonth.  He helped me learn and develop my piano playing skills which are still with me today. Even though going alone to a room at the back of his very old dark house seems kind of creepy when I think back, it was a wonderful experience for me. Strange how the people closest to you can be the ones who take advantage and thankfully my piano teacher gave me a safe environment to follow a passion that was built into my soul.

I discovered that I was also an excellent swimmer and swimming became my other love.  I was obsessed and would go training nearly every morning and evening. Rain, hail or shine! But not lightning, that would be just stupid. I would make my way to training in the dark and swim my little heart out.  I would swim competitively in the interschool competitions, and my Friday nights and some weekends were then spent waiting to get on the blocks to dive into my next race.

I never thought I’d be a swimmer, as my early introduction to swimming was not a great one. My father would take me out into the ocean and throw me into the water and I would scream for him to help me.  I was oh so small. Before I could really swim, I would also go and play at the pool in the town where I lived and one day two girls held my head down under the water for what seemed such a long time. Bullying isn’t a new thing folks, it was alive way back in the 70’s, so how I became a water baby, I will never know, but being able to let go of negative experiences probably helped.  And fuck those bitches, they never held me back either.

During my time in Brisbane, apart from the predatory behaviour, I did really enjoy my childhood in terms of having fun, friends and stability, even though it wasn’t all roses.

And then it was time to move.  We moved from Brisbane to a very isolated place halfway to the Gold Coast where my mother and step-father opened a tourist attraction.  This move affected everything, as this life was away from everything I knew and loved. In one way it was good because we couldn’t really get into too much trouble, but on the other hand, there wasn’t much to do. My swimming dried up, I had to find a new piano teacher and life just seemed one constant effort of travelling.

There was now another new school and the prospect of high school was only a short while away. When it was time for that, I was enrolled in the local high school and perhaps my mother thought that the school was not going to be the best place for me – it was a rough school and I was quickly put into a right proper girl’s school back in the city and I didn’t flourish there either.  School was a chore, study was a chore, taking the long trip each day was a chore and I was flunking out.  Eventually I was asked to leave – not because of bad behaviour, but because of bad grades. 

I wasn’t happy at home, I wasn’t happy at school and it was agreed that I would go and live with my grandmother and continue my schooling in the town where I was born. I was excited about this as I already had friends there and I loved my grandmother, so I thought it was going to be a match made in small town heaven.

 

My gorgeous nana

Deep down I guess there was something going on inside that prevented me from wanting to conform, because all I was interested in was anything but school. I did go to school, but I had no focus, no interest and yet I now had the security of a solid home life to support me. No doubt there was a lot of "stuff" bottling up inside that eventually would have to come to surface.

Life for me then, was all about FUN and that is still my motto now, but thankfully I did eventually find the pathway to knuckling down and becoming a responsible and somewhat mature adult. 

I believe that the school of life has been the right one for me as I have had so many experiences. Even though they haven’t all been great, they have helped to build my resilience and over time, my sense of self.

Now, let’s talk about the panic. My first panic attack happened when I was 17 and to this very minute, I can still recall exactly when it happened and how they feel. Back in the early 1980’s, I didn’t even know that panic attacks existed and what I experienced was a feeling like no other.

If you have had a panic attack, then you would know how scary they are.  If you haven’t had one, let me explain how they feel – well for me anyway.

Mine began by getting a very subtle sign somewhere in my body. It could have been a really insignificant muscle twitch for example and following that, I would feel a wave of “something” – a feeling - wash over me.  I would feel spacy, foggy, not okay and then start to panic and want to escape from wherever I was at that moment.

My understanding is that this is adrenalin which has begun to release through the body. I would then begin to feel dread and I needed to run to try and escape whatever doom was coming. My chest would tighten, I felt like I couldn’t breathe and I would feel like I was going to faint, or collapse and die and there was fear.  Lots and lots of fear.  And then, the cycle would start over and the fear of having another one these would take control.

At the time they started, I was in a teenage “relationship” with a boy just a bit older than me.  He was controlling, he was off the rails, he was constantly threatening or stalking or doing any other thing that is unacceptable in a relationship and when I was finally able to break free from it, I vowed I’d never put up with such bad treatment from a man ever.  And that was the case, till I found myself in a marriage with another emotional abuser.

It was hard to break free from this boy’s hold, and at times I was so frightened that I had to have people intervene or come and rescue me from a terrible situation he had put me into. But we continued to go on in this unhealthy relationship/cycle that saw me sneaking out at night and going for rides on his motorbike, wagging school to be with him or doing any other thing that I was doing under the power of his control.  The level of control and guilt tripping was something that no person, let alone a naïve teenage girl should ever have to put up with.  When he called, I jumped.

Before the panic attacks started and in amongst the chaos with this boy, I got my driver’s license and I’ll never forget the excitement of passing my test and having the freedom of driving.  One of the things about living in a small town was that things happened pretty easy and everyone knew everyone, and that included knowing the police who did the driving tests.  I remember the day of my test.  It was exactly my 17th birthday and I had been very diligent with my learner’s permit, practicing all the things I needed for the test.  I could do a hill start, reverse park, three-point turn. I could even clutch start a car if I needed to.  I’d driven on the main highway and through the back roads in the area where I lived. I was able to drive on all terrains and I was ready for this test.

On the morning my test was booked, I rang the local police station to check if they were ready for me to come by and do what I expected to be a very rigorous test.  They said there had been an accident they needed to attend to and asked me to come down a little later. I could barely wait, but when I arrived, the officer clearly didn’t have much time or interest in my ability or the importance of letting a 17 year old girl have sole responsibility over a vehicle, as the test was a no brainer.  All I had to do was drive up the street, go around the block, drive back past the police station, do a three-point turn and deliver the officer back to the cop shop.

That was it. I passed the driving test in all of about 10 minutes.  I used to think it was hilarious, as my friends all had to do the stuff that nightmare driving tests are made of, but not me, it was pretty much wham, bam, three-point turn and thank you mam!

The car I got to drive on the weekends was a Gemini station wagon that belonged to my nana’s business.  I would earn my petrol money by helping my nana do cleaning at their office. I was ace at cleaning toilets, and doing dunny duty gave me rights to use the car and have petrol as well.

I just loved driving and I would be allowed to use the car from Friday to Sunday afternoon.  On the first weekend I had my licence there was scandal, as I had spent $40 on petrol as I was having such a great time driving here, there and everywhere. My nana’s business had an account at the local service station, so I would just roll back in when the fuel gauge was getting low and top it up.  I never went that crazy again on the petrol but imagine with inflation how much my excessive petrol use would cost now.

The driving rules seemed pretty lax in those days and although this car only had two front seats, it was pretty normal to have a few people in the back of the wagon just hanging there as we drove around.  Seatbelts were mandatory, but some safety rules didn’t seem to exist.

My nana also loved that I had my license as it gave us freedom to go places.  I would take her to the nearby towns so we could go shopping, or just take her for drives.  She never drove, so having someone on tap was a great pleasure for her.

When it came time for my son to get his license, I was the one who gave him most of his lessons and I put him through the ringer.  It was a different time to learn to drive and I wanted to make sure he could handle everything that the big city might throw at him. 

I think the hardest test I gave him was when I asked him to drive to the steepest hill in West End where we lived in Brisbane - it was called Sankey Street and it is a monster.  As we drove down the street, I told him to stop and made him do a reverse hill start park.  I could literally see the sweat dripping from his armpits, but he did it and then went on to do all the other stuff needed to be a competent driver and he passed his driving test on the first go. 

On the day he got his license, I asked him to stop at my work and when I got out of the car, he was like, where are you going? I said you have done the necessary and you are free to drive off as you have earned your stripes.  I never did check the petrol gauge at the end of that day and for all I know, he could have wagged it and gone driving all around town.

As a free and easy teenager and one who now had wheels, one of my favourite things to do, was to drive to the next town from us. We’d order pizza, go and get stoned on the headland and sit in the back of the car and watch the waves roll in as the sun set. After that, we would sneak into the local club. In those days it was easy to get into a club. There was no door bitch and there was barely a door man and we could always bluff our way in.  That was pretty much my Friday night when I got my license.

And yep, I did drive stoned, but I would never drink and drive.

My first drug experience was at about 16 when I smoked pot. The first time I felt nothing, but the time after, I did feel the high and I kinda liked it.  I loved how it made me laugh, and made me funny and made me confident, even though I was a gawky teenager.

My friends and I would smoke pot and it wasn’t an everyday thing for me, but in the small town where I lived, it was the thing. At that time, in the early 80’s pot seemed to be pretty harmless.  I never really heard of people in my peer group who lost their minds from smoking pot. Now though, drugs are next level and it’s even hard to believe that my own son had an addiction to something that is legal.

And *gasp* during this time I also tried hash.

I had a friend who lived in an amazing house down on the river in the next town.  They were the cool family.  They had a public phone in the house and you had to pay to make calls.  They were so cool that when it came time for the final year of high school exams, they hired a cabin at the caravan park just nearby so study could be done in a quiet, undistracted environment. 

That was clearly code for party time, as we would go visit and smoke pot.  It was at the cabin in the caravan park that I tried hash for the first time.  I do remember feeling really stoned, and I also remember seeing a grey fuzzy vision similar to what you see when a tv isn’t tuned into a channel and it looks just grey, fuzzy and makes a weird buzzing sound. There was definitely fuzziness to my brain and a little while later I had the urge to throw up.  And throw up I did and that was my experience with hash.  I still smoked weed, but never bothered with hash again.

I never saw myself as someone who would take their drug use to the next level as I was mostly sensible and probably scared of what could happen. After all, I did read Go Ask Alice and I didn’t want to be the girl who developed an addiction and then ran away from home. Actually, I did run away from home. Twice. The first time I was about 4 years old and I packed my little suitcase and ran away to the garage. I was adamant that I was leaving. And the second time was in my teenage misfit years. It only lasted a few weeks and I was back home in the safety and security of my perfect little pink bed.

Oh my goodness, when did this chapter become all about drugs, driving tests and cleaning toilets.  It’s supposed to be a chapter about panic attacks, but I guess those three things could make you panic a little and it was after my experience with some magic mushrooms that my panic began to take hold.

One New Year’s Eve, a group of us decided to have some magic mushrooms.  Like really, what was I thinking.  I hated mushrooms and I still do, but I had them anyway. I always say I’d rather suck a dick then eat a mushroom.  The gag that comes from the mushroom is much worse and both make me spit.

The group I was with (including the crazy boyfriend) cooked up a big batch of magic mushrooms they had picked from a nearby field and we were having them on toast as an afternoon snack. Because I don’t like mushrooms, I only had a little, but that was enough to ruin the rest of my night.

Before the effects set in, we drove off to get our place at the local golf club where they were having an outdoor event. We stopped for some beers at the pub, because having an hallucinogenic journey just didn’t seem enough, so why not add booze and for some, probably pot!  

We headed to the club, parked and just hung around our car for a while and eventually decided to go and get amongst it. I remember being out with the others and trying to have a good time, but it all just got too much. Too much noise, too many people and I just wanted to run. I never hallucinated, but I felt unwell and spent the rest of the night in the car thinking I was dying.  And that’s the same feeling I would get when I was having a panic attack.  It was fucking terrible.

After that night, panic attacks became part of my new normal and drugs were no longer on my to do list.

My panic attacks would strike anytime, but initially were most severe when I was driving.  I would need to pull over to the side of the road until they passed and sometimes, it could take so long as they would come in waves. They then began to show up at anytime and anywhere. I’d have them on nights out when I should have been having so much fun, and people would have to make sure I got home safely – because I thought I was going to die. I’d have them at work and remember one time having to be taken home, because I had an attack in the bathroom – and thought I was going to die.  One occasion I even asked for people to call an ambulance as the feeling like I was going to die, was so strong. What the hell was wrong with me?

These horrible things went on for 10 years and at times beyond and during one particular attack, I did actually call an ambulance when I was having one at home.  I had been feeling inspired by my aunty who was visiting and she was going crazy with the housework. The things she could do in a day would earn her the title of domestic goddess for sure - the washing, ironing, folding, cleaning and cooking all looked effortless, so I decided to do as much housework as I could and then when I stopped – BAM. The worst of the worst panic attack arrived and we called an ambulance.  Moral here is that too much housework is dangerous stuff.

How do you explain to the emergency service call centre, that you think you are dying, but maybe not dying, but are really scared and can you send help?  They arrived (without the sirens) and checked me over, but couldn’t find anything wrong.  They suggested I visit a doctor and off they went.

I had mentioned my symptoms to other doctors over the years, but nothing was ever investigated.

After the ambulance ordeal, I did see a new doctor to talk about what happened and to see if he could help. We had to find out what was wrong and he could see that I was in a lot of distress so offered me some Valium to help me relax, and after taking half a tablet, it confirmed to me that I just can’t take drugs. Valium is supposed to relax you, but for me, it just made me feel more anxious, but the Valium incident aside, he was the one who I attribute to helping me get some answers.

In order to get a diagnosis, I needed to have some tests to make sure there wasn’t actually anything wrong neurologically.  I was sent to a specialist who wired me up like a lab monkey for an EEG to look for anything that may be amiss in my brain.

I also underwent a serious of other tests where the doctor asked me to do things such as follow a pencil with my eyes or walk in a straight line, and he banged my knee with the reflex hammer thingamyjig. The knee isn’t anywhere near my brain, but they did every possible test to rule out some underlying issue.

I think it was in this appointment when my mum was with me, that the magic mushroom incident came up.  We kind of laughed about it, but could they have been the reason for how I was feeling?  Was I having some kind of flashbacks?  Time would tell!

When my results came back from the EEG, I was in for a shock.  I was told there were lesions on my brain.  What did that even mean and what would it mean? I remember that night being in a bit of shock, and as a young single mother, wrote a makeshift will on a piece of paper in case it was needed. I didn’t have anything of monetary value to leave, but I would be leaving behind my young son, so needed to make sure that he would have someone to watch over him in case things were looking grim for me.

After further investigation, it turned out that the lesions were nothing to worry about and when all the results came in, I was diagnosed with panic attacks.  I’d never heard of them before and after 10 years of living with this constant demon, they now had a name and it was time to rid myself of these fuckers.

In the process of learning to overcome them, they actually became much worse and turned into agoraphobia.  Agoraphobia is where you avoid or fear situations that can cause you to panic.  They call it fear of open spaces. The fear intensifies when you feel there is no place to escape or get help if needed, so you then begin avoiding places or doing things that might cause an attack to happen.

It was the most debilitating period of my life and although I still tried to do as much as I could, the fear of impending doom would continually plague me. 

Even now, some 25 years later, I still occasionally feel the need to flee if I am in a crowded place or find myself in certain environments.  I can now rationally talk myself through it and tap into the things I learnt all those years ago to be able to move on from it.  But even when you know what it is and what to do about it, it is still scary.

Another thing that still occasionally happens to me is when I am driving. I can still get that feeling of panic.  I hate being in heavy traffic and at times it has caused me to stop on the side of the road and wait it out while trying to push myself to keep driving. It certainly was a challenge and my brain would know that there was nothing to hurt me, but my body would just not move.  The fear is irrational, but the feelings that come with it are real.  I would even avoid certain roads, to avoid having an attack as there were definitely triggers that happened if I had to drive in a place where I had had an attack before.  It’s amazing how a 10 minute drive home can turn into an hour or more, just so you avoid any perceived triggers. One day I could drive along a certain road without any problems, but the next day, forget it, it was torture.

My first step towards recovery was being referred to an amazing psychiatrist. I credit him and his very holistic treatment plan that enabled me to learn to manage, live with and eventually pretty much eradicate the panic attacks.

My treatment consisted of three very simple things.  Thankfully, no medication was required to control these, but a lot of brain rewiring was.

I was helped firstly by talking to my doctor and talking a lot about anything and everything.  He wanted to know all my family history and all the things that could possibly be causing me stress. Hmm, that was quite a long list when you put it on a piece of paper. Along with the previous things I have shared, there was also the stress of becoming a mother, ending the relationship with my son’s father, more moving, more uncertainty, lack of confidence and self-esteem and the panic itself. Stress is a major contributor to many of the main things that can kill us and I was seriously stressed.

Secondly, I was reminded that I needed to just slow the fuck down.  The world wasn’t going to end because I didn’t fold the washing, or I was running late for something and any other self-imposed pressure I was bringing into my life.  

And thirdly he asked me to go to the Department of Health and buy a relaxation tape.  Yep, in those days, we had tapes, but I didn’t understand how a recording of someone talking was going to help.

I went to get the tape and it cost five dollars. I only had 10 dollars and the lady at the shop didn’t have change, so she kindly gave me the tape and sent me on my way.  Oh the guilt I felt about getting this tape was over the top, because back then, I wasn’t really in touch with my gratitude capability.

I’m glad I wasn’t prescribed any kind of medication which in hindsight seemed surprising, as making my way through this time in a more natural way has no doubt helped to strengthen my coping mechanisms, as I had to really use my own self talk and clarity to see me through. This was resilience building 101.

As I mentioned before, things got much worse before they got better.  When people have panic disorder, their body is so wired up to the stimuli of this continual cycle, that when they start to change their thinking and habits, the desensitisation process seems to really exacerbate the whole situation and my panic symptoms seemed to ramp up.  It was relentless.

I hated being alone, I barely slept and when I did, I would wake up through the night and would constantly be checking my pulse to ensure it was not slowing down.  I would hold my hand on my heart feeling each beat and hope that the next wouldn’t be the last. I would feel so much fear that at any moment I felt like I would go crazy or worse still, would collapse and die.

I tried to do many of the things I needed to do in my day-to-day life, but the thought of leaving the house became hard.  I didn’t know from moment to moment when I would have a panic attack and if I did, where would I escape to. In my mind there was nowhere to escape to that would be the right place, so I began to avoid places that I knew might be triggering. That’s a common symptom of Agoraphobia, you avoid places or situations that might cause you to panic and make you feel trapped, helpless or embarrassed.  This is a severe mental illness and unless treated can have lifelong implications. 

Even though the rational part of my brain was living in the free world where I had things I wanted to do, the irrational part of my brain put the brakes on things before I even got to leave the house.  Can you imagine how strange it must feel to try and step outside, but having this feeling of being stuck in quicksand in both your body and mind and being unable to move. There was a chocking sensation in my body that just kept me frozen.

This whole experience was just terrible and one day I was talking to my brother-in-law and telling him how I really thought I was going crazy.  His wise words were that if I was going crazy, I probably wouldn’t even realise it.  Wow, that was really true so I quickly took the going crazy feeling out of the equation and with that I was able to bring some more rational thoughts back into my mind.

I would have regular visits with my psychiatrist who constantly reminded me that this was just panic and it can’t hurt me and I would use the relaxation tape over and over and over again.  I had a beautiful rocking chair that my grandmother gave me and I would go and sit in it at all times of the day and night and just listen to my tape.  I really learnt the art of full body relaxation.

I knew that I did not want my world to become smaller – it felt small enough already, so I worked really hard to understand this disorder and do my best to overcome it. I would continually push myself to rationalise the fear I was feeling and how it wasn’t really real and that I would be okay.  Afterall, it was just panic.

I really began challenging my thinking and instead of thinking about why I couldn’t do something began to think about why and how I could.  I would continually remind myself that I would be okay and I would set small goals.  The weird thing about panic disorder is that on any given day things could be fine.  I could go anywhere, do anything without a thought of panic, but in a moment, it could all change and sometimes even food, or other stimuli would trigger an attack.  My thoughts changed from “what if I panic”, to “so what if I panic”. Panic could never physically or mentally hurt me.  It was just a giant fucking inconvenience.  And the symptoms of panic are something that you can’t actually create no matter how much you try.

I don’t think people really understood the very real feelings I was experiencing from this illness and they couldn’t understand why I sometimes just couldn’t do things that others were doing – but I did try.  I really felt sorry for my son who was always witnessing these terrible moments and worrying what might happen to me, because at any time I could be overcome by sheer panic and that was scary for me, so it must have been horrible for him.

I can’t recall exactly when the turning point towards serenity was, because it was a healing journey that happened in small steps. As the state of desensitisation began to subside, the attacks became more manageable and eventually lessened. But even then, there always felt a need to remain on alert.

I continued on with my very simple treatment plan and would at times force myself to take the routes or go to the places where I felt most uncomfortable. I would then cheer myself on when I had achievements that to others must have seemed strange, but to me were massive milestones.

The techniques I learnt have certainly remained with me and cemented the ability to tune into an ultra-relaxed state.  This has no doubt helped me cope with just about anything. I don’t ever want to go back to that level of distress and being chill makes life much easier.

Another wonderful technique I used which I guess was my entry to the world of self-awareness or mindfulness was to learn to pay attention to my body. And the trick I used was to set my alarm every hour during the day and when it went off, I would stop what I was doing and pay attention to how my body was feeling.

If you were to stop what you are doing right now, in fact stop what you’re are doing right now and take notice of where your shoulders are. Are they feeling nice and loose and relaxed, or are they up so high that they are brushing against your ears and so tight that it is restricting all the blood from flowing freely throughout your neck, head, chest, arms and every other part of your body?

Acknowledging how I was feeling every hour was one of the best things I ever did, as it became a natural reminder to check in on how my body was feeling and this mindfulness began to grow.

I don’t know when the last time was that I had a full-blown panic attack but I do know that during my marriage when my stress level was so high for so long, I always felt something bubbling under the surface, like a pressure cooker that could blow at any time. I had to be really conscious of remaining calm and finding ways to minimise stress because I knew what was at stake and believe me it was hard in that environment.

I would never wish panic attacks on anyone, but the good thing is that they are totally treatable and they can go away, and if like me, you manage to do it in a really natural way, then great. But if you find yourself going down the pathway of using medication to help you alleviate them, then so be it. The main thing is to do what it takes to be able to live with normality and without the fear that panic brings.  

I never in my wildest dreams thought that doing something as simple as full body relaxation could provide a result so life changing and freeing for me.  It was the happy ending I needed.

To this day, I still have the tape and have even converted it to an MP3 and keep it on my phone.  Although I don’t use it to manage my panic attacks any more, I do use it to just enjoy the beautiful blissful feeling of being so relaxed that your body feels light and free and I think it’s a really great practice to do.  It’s different to meditation as you aren’t focussing on your breathing and stilling the mind.  With relaxation you are just purely focussed on relaxing every muscle in your body to the point that you feel as light as a feather.

We have so many wonderful wellness tools available now that I didn’t have back then – google for one, and I am so glad that I learned grass roots skills to deal with stress, anxiety and overwhelm and could rise above the odds and navigate my way through that period and many others in my life

On reflection, that time certainly helped to build my resilience and gain perspective on what I should invest my time and energy into, but I wouldn’t say I was grateful to have gone through it, but it certainly helped to give me invaluable skills that helps make life easier.

As I said goodbye to my panic, I began to say hello to a brand new life and one that enabled me to start my journey of healing, self-love, and making my world bigger as I took the steps towards becoming me.

Now let’s get back to the journey that is taking me from where I am to where I am meant to be.