Panic disorder is both my heaviest burden and my biggest badge of honor. For the past few years, I’ve experienced increasingly frequent panic attacks and have developed a deep phobia of “the next one.” Unfortunately, the next one inevitably comes, perpetuating the painful cycle. This is the nature of panic disorder.
Since the onset of COVID-19, the space between “this one” and “the next one” has become shorter and shorter. When I’m in these moments, it feels like I’m fighting a battle in my brain — a battle between Brain A and Brain B.
Brain A is my “normal” brain, which is capable of logic and reasoning and a range of human emotions. Brain A knows that I am smart, I am loved, I am safe.
Brain B is the brain that takes over when I’m having a panic attack. Brain B is my fight-or-flight response. Brain B tells me I’m going “crazy.” Brain B tells me I’m worthless. Brain B tells me that this panic attack will be the one that pushes me over the edge. Brain B tells me I have to leave the situation immediately, lest I lose all my friends and have to move back in with my parents. Brain B tells me that I am panic and panic is me.
Although Brain B hits me like a hurricane —it makes me sweat, shake, vomit and cry — Brain B has never been right. Brain B always starts the fight, but it never wins. I repeat: it never wins. I share all of this in hopes that someone else with panic disorder will read this and know that you are not alone.
I spent a lot of time suffering in silence. I never talked about my mental illness because I was so ashamed. I mean, I have a disorder that literally convinces me that I’m “crazy.” Who wouldn’t be scared to talk about that? But through lots of therapy, support from friends and plenty of reflection, I am starting to truly believe that surviving panic disorder is something I can be proud of. Like, hello, I just won a war inside my head, thankyouverymuch!
Each and every time I talk about it, I feel less like an embarrassment and more like a hero. I don’t say this to minimize the life-altering pain that PD has caused me and will likely continue to cause me. I just hope that others know there’s someone out there who shares your pain, who sees your pain and who truly believes that our pain makes us more — not less — worthy.
This story was originally published on NAMI.org
This is a personal story which was written in the author’s personal capacity. The opinions expressed are the author’s own and do not reflect the views of different-stories.
