A VOLCANIC PANIC

 

It hit hard and fast, like a crocodile on the hunt.  It threw me into the throes of some great torment, and icy bullets of sweat poured from my body until I was bathed in some sort of Antarctic cloak.  My heart beat frantically, and with each passing moment my distress doubled down like the clenched jaws of some hungry predator.  What the fuck is happening? I yammered to myself.  I knew death was certain.  

I have suffered from anxiety for about thirty-five years, but never could I say have I suffered an actual panic attack. I experience fear that washes over me as I twitch and pace about in distress, but that is the extent of it.  Until yesterday.

My fingers grappled with the phone to dial for an ambulance, because I was convinced I was about to die.  I felt as if I was being eaten alive by a pack of wolves - slowly, then all at once.  But when my medicine kicked in, I had my answer:  a panic attack.

I now know why they are called attacks.  They come on strong and hard, like a linebacker.  I have been through life or death episodes - I once attacked two drug dealers with a hammer and barely made it out alive - but this was single-handedly the scariest episode of my life.  I knew for sure I was about to die, and I was scared.  

The medical establishment seems to not know how or why a panic attack can trigger the fear of death - what is the exact mechanism of this mysterious condition that it convinces its sufferers that they are about to die?  What other disease can play such a nefarious trick?

My father suffered from debilitating anxiety for most of his life, and it nearly ate him alive.  He tells me what I actually fear is not some existential or other threat, but the feeling of anxiousness itself.  He may be right; I find the nervousness that accompanies these episodes to be utterly intolerable.  

So what is to be done?  Shall we carry anti-anxiety medicine with us like some sort of Epi-Pen?  Can shrewd therapy deliver us from our anxious selves?  Meditation?  Prayer? Self-immolation? A good jog?  

The answer escapes me, but I do know that it is a serious condition with the power to debilitate.  It is intrusive, discomfiting, and powerful.  I don’t think you can talk your way out of an attack any more than you can douse a fire with a shot glass.  Exercise can quell those jittery neurons, and a good distraction may shorten its duration, but riding out the rotten wave may be an only recourse.  And when it finally subdues itself, carry on like the soldier that you are.