“It is a rough road that leads to the heights of greatness.” — Seneca
Remembering one of the worst experiences of my life was not easy. I wrote out, to the best that I could, a panic attack I experienced at the Art Gallery of Ontario in Toronto. Maggie my fiancee, being a huge admirer of great art, decided to invite me to an exciting exhibit displayed at the gallery. I joined her. While walking about the exhibit, a sudden wave of panic took over me. At the time, I had no idea what anxiety or panic was so it completely took me by surprise. I misinterpreted the anxiety I felt that day as something life threatening, as many anxiety sufferers do. I talk about the experience of that panic episode below and hope that it shines a light on what panic truly feels like to someone who knows nothing about it:
Back in 2016…Maggie and I are walking and looking at the art in the exhibit at the AGO. Then it happened…
I could not get a handle on the present. A sudden feeling came over me – out of the void. A concern. An overwhelming sense of impending doom shook my body to its core. I walk away from Maggie. I feel like I should get away from this place. But I can’t. If I do, she will not like me. If I leave, she will think I am a big fool. So I’ll stay and maybe if I walk into this other room by myself, I can get myself together.
I walk further away from Maggie. I turn the corner of the exhibit and enter another room in hopes of getting myself together.
It wont go away. My racing heart is pounding out of my chest. What if I collapse dead right here in front of her and all these people? What if I faint? I feel dizzy.
I walk out of the room back to where Maggie is. The sensations are not going away. In fact, they are getting worse.
This is not good. This is a nightmare. I’m trapped. I feel so alone. Be still Brad, look at the paintings and pretend the paintings are poetic.
I stand a few feet from Maggie, putting on a mask, pretending to be normal. It seems like I am admiring the art, but I am focused intently on my bodily sensations.
Paintings, ha, thats nonsense, I am about to die right now. How can I enjoy myself here. It’s obvious, my poor health has finally caught up to me. But I don’t want to die now, I want to live some more. I must get out of here, but we just got here….she will hate me if I leave. Maggie will think I’m lame and uninterested in these paintings. She will find someone else who is interested. Why would she want to stay with me? Look at me. Oh god, how on earth will I be able to go to my schooling next week (I signed up a two week camera trainee coarse to better my chances in getting into the camera union)?
How do I face that school program when I am in poor health? Maybe I should walk closer to Maggie and compose myself – act as if I am enjoying the exhibit. My throat is dry, I must get some water. I am having trouble breathing as well. What if the smoke from the fire I had earlier in my backyard has something to do with it. What if I inhaled too much of the smoke? I must get some water. I feel sick. What if I throw up all over the floor? How repulsive would that be for Maggie to see, for all these people to see? No one should be with me. Why should they? There is no doubt Maggie will leave me anyways. Why am I even here? Am I just lying to myself and her? Wasting another day again. But what about my heart? There is definitely something wrong with it. It hurts. I must sit down.
I sit down on a bench. Maggie, looking concerned, walks over.
Oh no, she must think I’m bored. How do I tell her I am ill? Ah yes, I am definitely going to faint any moment. I must get out of here.
Maggie sits beside me. “Are you ok?”
I know she can see my concern.
“I feel funny”, I say, lightly expressing my internal state so she doesn’t judge me too harshly.
“Is everything ok?”
I put my hand on my heart.
“Well, my heart is beating quite fast.”
She places her hand on my chest.
“Yes, that is fast,” Maggie says with concern.
Then, I feel a wave of warmth flow from my chest to my hands and feet. The sensations in my body enhance.
I knew it was bad. She’s right, I am definitely ill. But Maggie can help, she is the only one close to me who can.
“Can I lay my head on your lap?”
“Yes,” she says, with a worry on her tongue. “Should I go get you some help?”
Oh this isn’t good. Maggie doesn’t know what is happening. I certainly do not want attention from others. They will think I am weak and a fool! What a dumb fool I am here, dying in front of all these people.
I want some water, I say. I sit up and Maggie walks out of the room.
I sit there in agony. I am sweating and my body feels heavy. I lay my head back down but on the bench.
Everyone must think I am a fool. But I am ill and so that doesn’t matter. Who cares!
Maggie returns with water and I see the worry on her face. I take a drink.
I tell her I am having trouble breathing, that it must be the smoke from the fire I had earlier. She agrees but with doubt and confusion. She comforts me some more. I lay my head back down on her lap.
I wait for my body to relax itself but it doesn’t. I can’t relax. I am ill and afraid. I jolt my head upright.
“I must get out of here and get some fresh air.”
I begin to walk to the exit. My legs, they’re like noodles. I walk faster believing I wont make it without collapsing. The world begins tilting under my feet, but I manage to make it.
I dig into my pocket and pull out my phone.
“I need to call my folks,” I say.
She gives me some space and I walk into another exhibit.
My parents will provide me with the answers. I call, they answer. They tell me it’s panic and to sit down and breathe. I can’t. I feel so light headed and dizzy. I believe this is much more than anxiety. I have difficulty believing them. I am looking for a quick fix. Desperately!
After 20 minutes of reassurance from my folks, I proceed to the exit. My parents’ wisdom was not enough to lesson my symptoms. I feel the weight of 100 lbs on my shoulders. I can barely lift my feet. I could faint and puke at any moment. In a drunken haze, I make it to the exit.
There, Maggie is sitting on the steps, waiting. I sit next to her and lay my head on her shoulders.
She asks, “How are you feeling?”
“Exhausted.”
How am I going to manage school this week? Maggie must think I am a fool. What if she leaves me because of this? What exactly is wrong with me? How am I going to get home feeling like this? My thoughts keep pounding me down into a dark hole.
The uncertainty of my future shakes me to the core. I do not know what is to come. I feel alone, ashamed, confused, and desperate to find the answers to my condition.
We walk in silence along the busy streets of Toronto. I feel exhausted and embarrassed. The day is coming to a close. I make it home and I feel safe. I am back in my safe zone, free of the chaos that consumed me for most of the day. A huge relief washes over me. This is nice, for now. Little did I know I had a lot more anxiety challenges in store waiting for me. The chaos was not over, only beginning…