P.A.N.I.C.

Image by Mitchell Krog

Originally Written Oct 2010

How many days has it been since i forgot what it was not to fear? I know it was 2 summers past when the Panic came back with a ferocity I will not soon forget. Six hours of unrelentless terror that had no face, for it came from within me.

I had managed to go many years without knowing him. Panic is an old friend, or an old enemy, but I know him well. I have know him since I was 8 years old. It is hard to imagine me without Panic, but I existed for a time that way. I had hoped that he was gone for good, but it was not meant to be. It seems now that he has me again, he refuses to let go.

It was miraculous how he disappeared the first time. I fell in love. And the Agoraphobia and Panic that kept me in my house terrified, was pushed back and I flew to a far away land where either could rarely find me. I had a chance to experience life as I have never know it before. I felt normal. I could travel, I could talk to people. For a time.

I returned to my beloved home in the Appalachian Mountains, knowing that the possibility existed that Panic would find me again. I was stronger, I told myself. I could fight. And for a time I did. 

Then in the perfect storm, the perfect circumstances, when I least expected it...among laughter and friends, it hit me like a heart attack. In a way, it was a heart attack, for it took my very life, my ability to live a normal life away from me yet again. Those few years of knowing what it was like to do things without fear....gone.

Panic takes my breath away. It locks me in my bedroom afraid to move. In the midst of panic, the slightest movement, the most minute touch, the quietest sound, sends uncontrollable shivers down me. Waves of nausea and inexplicable fear course through my body and I know terror with an intimacy I do not want. I hide in any corner, curled up in a ball, waiting for it to pass.

In my 6 hours of terror, my worst episode ever, I finally reached the point that I truly believed it would never go away. I begged, pleaded with God, in simple childhood speak, "please take it away, please take it away, please take it away, please take it away, please take it away....". One hour became two...became three, became four, became five, and then six. Finally, with an exhaustion once unknown, it eased.

I try so hard to forget that day, and I cannot. I can't forget the episodes that have occurred time and time again after that. I can't forget the terror of being 40 minutes away from home and that time feeling like endless eternity. I can't forget the dry heaving on the side of the road as I tried to judge when I could drive like a bat out of hell to get home, or when I must stop to puke.

I try to replace new memories with the old ones, but when something that effects your entire being with such ferocity, it must be replaced with equally strong good memories. So I must get the strength to walk outside again, and make those memories.

The world seems such a strange place to me now. My world has been this room for untold weeks. And yet in order to live, I must go out there. I tell myself I have been out there before, and have been okay. I was more than okay for several years, and I can be again. Sometimes, I wish Panic had a face, so I could avoid him. If I saw him coming, I would walk the other way.

Mental games do so much. I know this is inside me, and I am the only one who can fight it. I am a warrior. I have made it 30 odd years in this battle, yet I get so very tired. The day to day living that seems so simple for many others, such as walking outside, going to work, going to the store or out to eat, takes an emotional and mental battle that makes this warrior a child far too often.

I look at myself now, and I feel that I have aged beyond my years. I look so tired. Yet what choice do I have but to continue? I can give up, and let go of my life, but I have fought so long and hard to live. I just want a moment to breathe because I want to, not because my body automatically does. I want to forget what it feels like to be afraid. I want to feel safe in a moment of sweet love.  I want to go to work, and do my part, and make a difference without being afraid of doing normal everyday stuff. I want the life I deserve to have. And the scary thing is the only person who can make that happen is me.