The Beauty of Anxiety

I suffered from severe anxiety on and off from the time I was a small child, which peaked in 2003 with full-blown panic disorder. I wrote about this in my book. Panic, in fact, was the catalyst for my memoir because it was a desire to understand the source, to stop the fear that made me reflect on decisions that I thought consciously would best be forgotten. Up until I began writing, in fact, I was ashamed of myself and my decisions.

What happened when my panic disorder began placing me in emergency rooms and causing me to veer off the road when driving home, was that I was forced to revisit my past and to reevaluate my life. Believing I was going to die at any moment, I began to live in constant fear. And when one feels such things, it is difficult to talk out. Yes, I did engage in cognitive therapy and I meditated and began a religious yoga practice. I did everything people say to do, but the panic continued to arrive. It came on like an explosion from within, without warning, and it would color the world around me so that everything seemed threatening: the driver beside me, the customer in line at the bookstore, the song on the radio—would they be the last people I saw, the last song I heard, my last image of the world?

As quickly as my panic began to consume me that summer, toward the end of the year, it began to fade. I told myself mantras, told myself that I was safe, that death was not something to fear. I reconciled with my fear of death by accepting that death was inevitable, and it was not something to be combated with fear. This is all very logical, easy to say now; but trust me, it was no easy realization. I knew this same information while I was in the midst of panic, and yet, I couldn't see beyond my fear. So what changed? What clicked in my mind that allowed me to accept reality and not dwell in my fear?

It took, as any redeeming story, a journey. I went where I never thought I would to find the answer. I went within. Consequently, I began to write, honestly, without filters, without adding glamor. I wrote Musical Chairs.

Those who suffer from delusions or severe panic are highly creative. It takes a lot of mental energy to convince yourself of an altered reality, after all. So the key, in my experience, is to channel this energy into something else. To find the source and explore it through art, through expression in some medium, but to do so honestly. A metaphor can only do so much for a person. It is only when you look at your anxiety head on that its secrets will begin to emerge.

This is in no way a call for everyone to write a memoir. Not everyone is a writer, after all, but I think the lesson is transcendent. Panic means there’s some energy within that needs an outlet. It’s welling up inside, and therefore in order to get over it, it must be released. This energy is a remarkable gift, and can be utilized to do great things. For me, it fueled writing; for others, it may fuel a spiritual journey or a change of lifestyle. Whatever direction you’ve always wanted to go, and never did, your anxiety is yelling at you to go, do. Use the energy, it's a gift. 

Panic (An Epilogue)

The question I've heard, more than any other since my book was published is "How'd you get over your panic disorder?"  And I will attempt here to answer.

Before I answer, a disclaimer: I will never write a self-improvement book or spiritual book for the following reasons.  1. I am not one to dole out advice on "how to" get over panic or anxiety because I am not wholly sure that I really "got over" mine.  Perhaps it just ran it's course, after all.  Or, perhaps it was a combination of things that I do not have the formula for.  2. Everyone is different.  3. Who knows, it might come back.

OK, so now that that's out of the way...  No, I have not suffered from Panic Disorder since the summer of 2003.  I almost brought a panic attack on, however, when I wrote that opening scene of Musical Chairs because I meditated on that day for hours, trying to remember exactly what it was like so that I could recapture the fear, and in a small way, the sensations did come back.

Because I open with this scene and then close with a loose sort of resolution, which covered more than panic, but an entire lifestyle shift, I will take this opportunity to explain my prescription for coping with the attacks while they lasted.  No, it wasn't anti-depressants or anti-anxiety medication that did it.

I began with a bunch of false starts with various psychoanalysts.  I've said this often, but it's worth repeating: finding a good psychoanalyst is like finding your significant other.  It's magical when it happens, but there are a lot of people who just fall short of establishing that perfect balance, that perfect rapport.  Besides, many psychoanalysts are a touch insane (there's a reason people like myself were drawn to study the subject, after all).

I found a therapist I didn't like, but who knew his shit.  He was a cognitive therapist, and although I did not get better under his care, I credit him with giving me the tools I needed to cope with panic.

A panic disorder begins with a quickening of the heart rate and a sort of change in vision or perception of the scene around you.  Things become magnified or the pace and rhythm of the world is quickened, and it's because sensory perception is off--suddenly the person suffering is in fight or flight mode, and yet in daily life, such as a work setting or driving down the road, this can be perceived as the body's failing in some way, and often the thought is that the person is dying.  This thought will then quicken the heart rate and breathing further and proceed to freak the person out even more, until the attack peaks.  Most attacks last for 10-20 minutes at most, but this time span does not make the experience any more bearable.  Logic, as far as I remember, goes out the window, and the last thing a person thinks is "Oh, not to worry, this will be over soon."  Instead, she thinks "The doctor is wrong, I know my body, I'm going to die." And hence, the panic continues.

So logic does not cure panic.  In panic, there is no room for it.  What there is room for, and this is a technique that the aforementioned doctor recommended to me, is repetition.  The repetition of anxiety is inevitable, and to counter-act these thoughts of doom and demise, a person must be armed with a sort of equally repetitive script.  Mine went as follows: "I am in control of my own thoughts.  I am not worried.  I am in control of my own thoughts.  I am not worried...."

Seems overly simple, right?  Well, that, it was explained to me, is the key.  A person must come up with one or two lines to always repeat to his or herself when the panic begins.  So, when I would begin to feel a chill and the racing of my heart, I would begin repeating this mantra Ad nauseam, until the attack was over.  This didn't work the first time, but after the third or fourth time, I began to recite the mantra, almost in a chant, and it slowly began to be something that came as quickly as the panic had, a programmed response.

I also repeated anti-worry mantras at bedtime and during the day, when I remembered, thinking this would be a way to prevent future attacks.  It was my personal meditation and chant, and I think it was incredibly important that it was short and easy to remember.

The other thing I did was reduce the amount of caffeine in my diet.  This was a prescribed lifestyle change that I have since turned my back on, but at the time I think it really did help.  I merely replaced my lattes with decaf lattes (which still have caffeine in them, especially if you are used to Starbucks or Dunkin' Donuts) and then, eventually, to black and green tea only.

Finally, I wrote about it.  Every time I had an attack, I would get out my notebook and jot down the sensations, as soon as I could.  This put them in perspective, and helped me to know what to expect when another attack came on.

So again, this is only what worked for me.  I would like to credit therapy, but the truth of the matter was that I began with so many therapists and only continued seeing most of them for a handful of sessions that I'm not sure that I was a model patient.  I did get a bunch of helpful information in these sessions, however.  I also did my research online and found chat rooms for those with severe anxiety, conversations in which I never partook, but I always found solace in hearing others' similar experiences.  So here's mine.