My First Panic Attack Changed Me

Be patient and tough; someday this pain will be usefult to you. - Ovid

If you want to conquer the anxiety of life, live in the moment, live in the breath. - Amit Ray

I don't have much to say at the moment. This is mostly due to the fact that I have a five-page paper to write by midnight, and that is after reading five different articles. I know most of you don't care, but my paper is for my qualitative research methods class, which is for my sociology major. The course is a writing intensive class, which means over the span of a semester, I will do mini papers that will lead up to one huge twenty-page paper. The topic I am researching is, "What impacts do art-based therapy methods have on individual mental health?" So far, everything I have found is fascinating, yet little research on this topic has been conducted, which makes my job a lot harder. At least I am learning about something I actually care about and will help me in my future career.

With all of that being said, I still have to read those articles and write that paper, so I will just give you dear readers my first experience with a major panic attack and a snippet from my diary/journal/whatever one wants to call it.

The picture here is the moment that caused my first major panic attack. It was my sister's wedding. I was to sing a song. I've sung in front of people before, so I wasn't nervous about that. All I really remember (this was two years ago) is my hands not being able to stop shaking for two days leading up to the wedding. I was in class and could not breathe. The night of the panic attack was the night before the wedding. I was just thinking. I could not stop thinking. About what? I don't remember, but I could not fall asleep because I could not turn my brain off. I felt a tightness in my chest for days. I could not breathe. While I was lying in my bed a night, I started to shake. I rolled over, put one hand on the floor, and started to reach for the air. I could not breathe. I could not breathe at all. I was shaking, crying, and gasping for air. My mom heard me by some miracle and rushed into my room. She told me to take a deep breath in and let it out. She kept doing this with me for a few minutes until the crying stopped. She then told me that all of this was the Devil attacking me because I made the decision to go into ministry (that didn't work out, but that's a story for another time). She prayed for me and left me all alone to go back to sleep. I wasn't crying anymore, but I was still shaking with a tightness in my chest that did not go away until the song I sang ended.

From the Confessions of an Artist:

I'm tired of being the strong one. I've always been "tough Sydney," but that title didn't fit the moment I had my first panic attack. I was always so sure about myself and my future. Then the thought of responsibilities with repercussions and wondering what on earth I will do with my life caused me to stop breathing, eating, and sleeping. The moment I did not have it all together changed me. I know nobody has it all together, but for a person like me, someone who will never be skinny, beautiful, clear-skinned, and popular, all I have is my confidence. All I had was my togetherness, my tough girl act. I lived the title so well. I looked at a challenge, grabbed it by the ball, and squeezed until I accomplished it with gusto. [Forgive this line, for there was simply no other way of stating it.] Now, here I am: tired, worn down, and hopeless. I'm tired of being in the middle of my family's drama. I'm tired of being fat with red bumps all over my body. I'm tired of getting zero romantic attention. I'm tired of being me. I'm worn down by my own actions. I feel like a lost cause even though my life has barely begun. All I want to do is get in a car, boat, train, bus, plane, etc. and leave. There is a great big world that I need to see and experience. Yes, a place to call home sounds nice, but only when I am done with the rest of the world. Some people might call all this hope, courage, or even self-centered, but I call it life.

Also, here are some lyrics to a song I have had in my head for a while.

Same Sydney

Does anybody care?

I am all alone.

I can't reach for air.

I'm a sinking stone.

I feel it all around

Every day I'm living.

I fall to the ground.

This depression is unforgiving.

Dazed

In a haze

I'm tired of being this new me.

Trapped

Feeling empty

I'm tired of seeing the same Sydney.

Again, I know all of this might discourage some of you, but if any one of you is battling anxiety or depression, you are doing great. Just remember that.

"But He said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.' Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weakness, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me." 2 Corinthians 12:9 ESV