Like many life-changing events, this one happened on the morning of a tragically normal, insignificant, indistinguishable day at work.
I was feeling especially bitter about my life situation that morning, probably because I had come into work two hours late thanks to a couple of A+ drivers on I-30 who wrecked their cars so badly that all traffic came to a complete stop for miles. Don't worry, they ended up with only minor injuries. I, however, sat in my car listening to Cascada's Evacuate the Dance Floor on repeat because my brain decided the only way it would survive being trapped for two hours without the prospect of an exit was to shut down. I literally do not remember the time elapsed between 8am and 10am. Suddenly, my brain turned back on and I found myself exiting off of the interstate...thank God...or maybe not.
Upon entering my "office" (desk without filing cabinets in a reception area), I felt as dazed and confused as when I read my first college rejection letter. I couldn't get focused, I couldn't think beyond a few seconds of where I was or what I was doing. I suppose I just sat at my desk staring out the window at the Jiffy Lube for a good couple of hours, because the next thing I remember is being introduced to the marketing rep for a vendor my company carries. We had a meeting about something marketing-related, of which, I have no recollection. I'm sure I was babbling with glazed eyes the entire time, but I do remember being very aware of the trouble I was having getting my thoughts together and how frightened I was at being unable to control my lack of brain function. No matter how much I tried, I could not snap myself back into work mode. I was falling in slow motion and trying to play it off like my blasé attitude just meant I was too cool for school. Somehow, I made it through the meeting and immediately rushed back to my desk to sit down. My head felt like it was floating away, my eyes started to roll backwards, and I officially started to panic.
I put my head down so I wouldn't pass out and slam my face on the keyboard, but the world never went dark. My heart beat sped up like I was on Adderall, my toes went numb, and I could not calm myself down if my life depended on it. I usually have full control over my mind and body. You know in Kill Bill: Vol. 1 when Uma wakes up in the hospital and her heart rate races, reflecting her state of panic, and as soon as she hears people coming down the hallway, she slows it back down to resting mode in less than a few seconds? I can totally do that, I've tried it. I was in unfamiliar territory not being able to slow my own heart rate, so of course, I panicked even more.
I called my dad, the good doctor, and began describing my symptoms in a slightly over dramatic manner; "I'M HAVING A STROKE! I'M GOING TO PASS OUT AND LOSE CONTROL OF MY BODILY FUNCTIONS!" His trained response was to make it seem less like an emergency than it actually was, but my panic only worsened. Within five minutes, I was on the road to his office and full on freaking out...I probably shouldn't have been driving, but I come from a land where buildings are separated by miles, not blocks, and temperatures climb to 105° by noon. When I finally reached the hospital, I barged my way through every double door until I got to the exam table. Curled up in the fetal position and bawling, one of the partners in my dad's practice came in and said, "Well hey there young lady, I haven't seen you since you were a little girl!" Unable to wrench my muscles from their chosen position, I stayed curled up but instinctively responded with all the Southern grace that was ingrained in me to uphold, even in the direst of situations; "Hello, nice to see you, yes it has been a long time (tears flowing)!"
It turned out that I had had a panic attack and a few pills of Xanax were all that was needed. Until that day, I always regarded panic attacks as what happens when a person doesn't know how to deal with high stress or anxiety, a sort of hypochondriac excuse when life gets messy. Now I know first-hand, a panic attack is a terrifying, nightmarish experience that can happen to the weak and the strong. In the days following the attack, I felt like I was living life in a dream. Nothing seemed real, nothing seemed important; the sense of urgency and the obsessive compulsive attention to detail I had always possessed and depended upon were gone...but I wasn't so sure I wanted any of it back.
Today, over a month after the attack, I am a changed girl. The ability to focus came back to me, and slowly, life started to seem real again. Not just real; inspiring. A sense of urgency returned, but only with high-priority things like bills, putting gas in the car, and projects at work. The only thing that didn't come back was the anxiety, the nervousness, the unnecessary lingering over people and situations I could not control. I don't know how else to describe it other than it was as if my brain blew a gasket and somehow, the whole machine started functioning properly. I am not suggesting that a panic attack is the cure-all for everyone, and I don't even know how you would self-induce one, but mine changed me for the better. The panic attack saved me from myself by getting rid of the person I had become and taking me back to the person I always was. This new outlook on life is what I moved home to find, I just didn’t expect the world to fall from my feet in order for me to find it.
I suppose the next move is to take my new-found fearlessness and put it to good use, although I’m not in any hurry. I’m still marveling at the lesson I taught myself by blowing a fuse on that very normal, very ordinary morning at work. In just a short amount of time, I have already noticed how much more wonderful life can be when you get out of your own way. I guess I never really understood what it means to “believe in yourself;” those words became empty after too many athletes repeated them in Gatorade ads. However, that mantra is no longer a banal phrase, and that is really, really liberating.
