Perpetual Panic Attacks
I remember feeling like something bad was going to happen when Hillary’s mom dropped us off at Six Flags Atlantis. Hillary and I were 13 and we were there for an outdoor concert by Cheap Trick, a band we didn’t really know that was making a comeback in the mid-eighties.
Hillary and I were thrilled to be there. We splashed our way down the water walkway, or water sidewalk, or whatever the official name of it was. It was much needed as the pavement in the park was at least a thousand degrees and everyone was running around barefoot. We weren’t allowed to get on the slides with our shoes on.
We got to the concert site, behind a pair of water slides at the back of the park, early. So, since this was our first concert, we did the super smart thing and stood RIGHT IN FRONT of the stage. I mean like we were touching the stage. Neither one of us thought about the fact that other people, and lots of them, would be there soon, and those people might try to get close to the stage, too.
Soon, those other people arrived and crowded around us. When Cheap Trick started playing, EVERYONE pushed forward. I felt like I couldn’t breathe. I turned to the side and yelled at a woman next to me to LET ME OUT! She tried, but no one would move. My heart was racing. I felt like I could puke. There was no way I could get out.
Until Jimmy passed out. I didn’t know him. It was the summer before I started high school and he was a year older. I knew he was cute and unconscious. People were carrying him out of the crowd. I joined them. This was my ticket out. I told Jimmy about this years later and he insists his fainting was not drug related.
After that concert, I realized that I didn’t like being in the center of crowds. I also realized that I didn’t really like concerts all that much. I figured as long as I stayed away from those types of situations, that I would never feel panic like I did that day. I was wrong.
When I was 19, I started going to a support group for victims of incest. I figured since my step-uncle first assaulted me when I was 2, this counted as incest. Plus, it was my only affordable option. I met a lot of interesting women in this group and one of them became a good friend. She was older than me, and I don’t remember her name, but we talked on the phone frequently. Like many of the women in the group, her father was her abuser. Hearing those other stories made me grateful that my father did not do this to me.
Anyway, this woman, whose name I wish I remembered, was in the hospital at some point. I don’t remember why. I had talked to her on the phone and it sounded like she could use some company, so I went to the hospital to visit her. I didn’t know what I was walking in on.
I had seen my mom in a hospital bed a couple of times, with IV tubes in her arms. It didn’t bother me. But this woman had a feeding tube in her nose in addition to the standard IV tubes. For some reason, this freaked me out. I felt nauseated as soon as I saw it, and then I felt dizzy. I told her, “I’ll be back,” and I walked out of the room. As I walked back to the waiting room where my boyfriend was waiting for me, I stared down at the hospital floor. I told myself, “It’s OK to pass out here. There are doctors and nurses everywhere.” Somehow, I did not faint. I made it back to the waiting room and sat down on the floor. I hyperventilated and dry-heaved. My boyfriend sat on the floor next to me and put a trash can in front of me. After a few minutes of this, the cold sweat started and the nausea went away. I had no idea what had happened, but I was glad it was over. I vowed to never visit anyone in the hospital again. That should keep these weird attacks away, right? Wrong.
A few months later, I was in a biology lab class at FIU. I was eager for this class to end because I was going to hang out with my new crush afterward. Everyone in the class had a microscope on the table in front of them, and a lancet, alcohol swab, and Band-Aid next to the microscope. We were going to find out our blood types. What could go wrong?
I hadn’t even pricked my own finger yet when it started. First the nausea, and then the heart palpitations. I looked around the room and some goober in my class was showing everyone his bloody finger. Then, I noticed that everyone had blood on their fingers. It was 1991 and my first thought was, “Can I catch AIDS if I get someone’s blood on me?” I thought it best to excuse myself to the bathroom where I hyperventilated and dry heaved and splashed cold water on my face. Once I was better, I went back to class, asked my lab partner to prick my finger, and completed the activity. I was still pretty shaky for the rest of the class and I don’t remember what my blood type is.
A couple of years after that attack, I was married and pregnant with our son. We had been renting a one-bedroom apartment and needed to move to a two-bedroom. The man who owned the one-bedroom needed me to sign papers. (I don’t remember what they were; I just remember thinking this man was a giant douche canoe.) I wanted to send the papers so that they needed a signature for delivery because, again, this man was a dick and I didn’t want him saying he didn’t get them. So, my mom and I went to the post office while we were running other errands.
I noticed the heat when we were standing in line at the Hollywood, FL post office. There were a lot of people in line for some reason. Plus, I was pregnant. This was the only time in my young life that I was constantly hot. I’m usually the person wearing a sweater when it is below 75.
By the time it was my turn, the cold sweat was making my scalp tingle. By the time I walked up to the counter, I was hyperventilating. It is a good thing my mom was with me because she was able to speak for me to let the clerk know what I wanted. Both women asked me if I was ok, and I said, “Yes, I’m fine” because I just wanted to be done with this post office visit and be on my way. So, I stood there, visibly pregnant, sweating, and hyperventilating, and signed the registered mail paperwork.
During my adult years, I have had many panic attacks. My husband (my forever husband, not the first one) has sat on the bathroom floor with me many times, holding a cold, wet rag to the back of my neck and trying to calm me down. I finally discovered medication. I take Prozac and Wellbutrin daily, and that seems to be the right combination to keep the panic attacks away and keep me from being a zombie. I haven’t had a panic attack since 2019.
Chris and meds — that is what keeps the panic away. I love this guy!