Although I experienced my first full blown panic attack twenty-two years ago, my first attack occurred when I was thirteen years old. That day is still vivid in my mind. I was called upon to read aloud in class, something I'd had no problem with in the past, but for some reason that day I found myself filled with a feeling of dread. I had read several lines from a book before I realized that my breathing was becoming laboured and I began to gasp for breath. This triggered other reactions and my heart began to pound and I started to shake. The teacher, upon noticing my discomfort, told me to sit down and for the next two years, I never read aloud again in class. The year I turned fifteen, the legal age to leave school, I breathed a sigh of relief. Two years of trying to explain why I was unable to read aloud had ended, but a pattern had been set which would continue for many years.
What caused this to happen to me? Maybe it was the stress in my family life as well as a total lack of self-confidence. I think that if I could have spoken to someone at that time, someone who would have listened to what I had to say and tried to understand what I was going through, just maybe my life may have taken a different course.
So there I was, fifteen years old and having to enter the work force in order to pay my way at home. I was lacking in skills and confidence and wished that I could hide from the world instead of having to face it. My first job was as a saleslady in a toy department. It was close to the Christmas season and as my supervisor was explaining my duties to me, I noticed that her voice seemed to be coming to me from a great distance. What was happening? For one frightful moment everything in the store spun crazily, causing me to stagger. I reached out for something to grip. After a few minutes ,the spinning stopped and I felt a cold sweat covering my entire body. I had an intense desire to run but knew I had to stay because my money was needed at home. Things eventually returned to normal and the remainder of my time there was uneventful.
Several jobs followed that one and each one ended when coping with my fears got to be too much for me to handle. I made numerous trips to the doctor where I searched for an explanation for my fears, yet I found none. All I succeeded in doing was to accumulate a large supply of pills. I didn't know what half of them were or what they were supposed to do for me and no explanations were offered. I lacked the confidence to ask the doctors. Who was I to question them anyway? After all,they were the professionals and they knew what they were doing, didn't they?
There were several periods during those years when the fears vanished. Days and weeks would go by when I felt quite normal; when I was able to function like most people, yet a lot of pressure had built up inside me during those years...pressure which had to be released. When it did release itself,I was totally unprepared.
I was in my early twenties at the time and working at a supermarket. After being there for several weeks,the old fears once again returned. Some days, everything around me seemed unreal. I felt separated from everyone and everything. It was as if I was separated from every one else, existing in a world of my own. My vision was blurred most of the time and a fine mist seemed to be placed in front of everything I looked at. I was very confused, frightened and concerned. I purchased a pair of tinted glasses, thinking that the fluorescentlighting might be contributing to my vision problem. I know now that what I was experiencing was the sensation of unreality, brought on by my constant state of high anxiety.
The day came when I knew that I was unable to cope any longer. Fear was dominating my every waking hour so I informed my employer that I was leaving. He was sorry to see me go for he knew that I was a dependable and conscientious worker; well liked by the staff and the customers. With the standing offer of a job there at any time in the future, I left the building and headed for the bus stop. What transpired there while I was waiting was likened to a nightmare. As I looked into the distance, hoping to catch a glimpse of my bus, the strangest thing happened. The whole world seemed to tilt at a crazy angle. It spun and swayed and then, before my eyes, buildings started to topple and fall down around me. I reached for the nearest pole and held on fast while rivulets of sweat ran down my face and body. I was consumed with an unbelievable terror; a terror that threatened to smother me. "Dear God" I thought. "What is happening?" I looked at the sky...at the clouds that scudded by so low that I feared that I would be lifted up and carried away on them. I looked at the faces of the people around me and wondered why their faces weren't registering the fear that had to be on mine. Was it only me who could see this? And if so,why? I closed my eyes and asked God to take this awful nightmare away. I kept my eyes closed for a long time. When I finally opened them, things were beginning to right themselves and soon there was no evidence of what I had experienced. The world had returned to normal and as the tears rolled down my face I was oblivious to anyone who might have witnessed my distress. All I wanted to do was to go home. I would be safe there.
I never mentioned this incident to anyone for who would have believed me? I wondered myself if it had actually happened and as the days passed I banished it to some dark corner of my mind and the memory wasn't released again until a passage from a book I was reading, once again brought it to the fore.
Several years passed and I eventually married and devoted my time to being a homemaker and mother to my two children. I did well for quite some time. Caring for my husband and children kept my mind occupied and left me little time to dwell on myself. Yet old fears die hard and once again they found their way back into my life...very subtly in the beginning and then with a vengeance. It wasn't long after that when my marriage fell apart and I found myself trying to raise my children alone. This responsibility laid the foundation for my first full-blown panic attack...the one from which I have never recovered...but that's another story.
My children were adults now and their demands for my attention were less. I found myself with a lot of time on my hands...time to think about the past years and where they had gone. Could they have slipped so quickly by while fear held me in its grip? For some time I wallowed in self-pity and wondered, "Why me?" Yet I refused to relinquish the hope that there had to be something more in life for me and, after much soul-searching, I found that something that I was so desperately seeking. I realized that I could put words together and make sense of them. I could even make them rhyme. I began to write poems and articles about family members for their birthdays or anniversaries etc. and they liked what I wrote and I was able to bring a smile to their faces or tears to their eyes. So, with the help of my daughter and son, I started my web page. I now had a purpose in life; a way to fill in the lonely hours. I knew that whomever read my stories and poems would have a better insight into this disorder; a disorder that can rob one of their youth and turn them into a shell of their former self. They would find out that they weren't alone and not have to go through what I did.
What do I have to show for my years on this earth? Two children whose mother was always at home when they ran in from school or play; a deep compassion for others; and the ability to understand how others are feeling.
The battle still rages within me but I now know that I have the strength to fight and eventually overcome this. That strength was with me all the time, wasn't it? For wouldn't I have given up long ago if that tiny flicker of hope hadn't continued to burn deep inside me, letting me know that with understanding and caring from others, it could be rekindled into a flame. How far might I have gone if someone had taken the time to comfort and listen to that 13 year old girl? It sometimes fills me with a deep sadness to think that I could have been an inportant part of society; a success maybe? But I'll never know, will I? So I'll have to be content with today for yesterday is gone, never to be recaptured.
by Eileen Power
copyright 1998
