First things first...

Most of us who have an anxiety disorder, OCD, and anxiety disorder, or any other disorders think WE are crazy and alone. We worry that someone will find out how crazy we are and our lives will be ruined (IF we are fully functional). Let me tell you right now that you are not alone and that so many people live with these secrets because of how "normal" people would view us if they knew. Well, there's no such thing as a "normal" person. Almost everybody has something going on in the emotional realm that's out of the norm, and if they haven't, they haven't lived long enough yet....give them time and they will. If nothing else, people suffer from depression -- many, many people. I have bouts with it and have since my first panic attack. But the one thing I've learned is that even though I might be down, I'm not out. You can always find something within yourself (healthy) or outside yourself (not quite as healthy) if you must to drag yourself out of the quicksand called depression. Don't give in to it. Anxiety and borderline personality disorders are hard enough without that particular component.

The first time I had a panic attack, I was 18 years old, working full time, and going to school full time. And I was as healthy as a horse (at least physically). I had no way of knowing that I was so affected by all those times when I was growing up and heard arguing and fighting and saw violence and was scared to death. Now, you might be thinking that you didn't have all of those things growing up in your house. And maybe you didn't. Maybe you just had a parent who wasn't as nurturing as they should have been. Maybe you were molested. You might have witnessed something traumatic. But there was definitely something in your past. I knew there was in mine, but everytime things became bad in my house as a child, I "swallowed" the pain. I just refused to think about it. And I did that over and over and over again. And it worked, or so I thought. How was I to know that all that pain and all that emotion could not be forever stifled. One way or another, you are going to feel it. And if you wait too long to do so, and don't deal with the pain of your childhood or whatever it was that you went through, it's coming back for you. It shows up in the way we trust, the way we have relationships, and in everything we do. Even when you swear that you'll be a much better parent than yours were (and you may be), some of what you went through will come out in your parenting. The most important thing is to stop denying the hurt and pain from the past. Acknowledge it, accept it, and get ready to deal with it. Because until you take this first step, you are far from understanding the disorder that is caused.

I'm sorry, I keep digressing. The first time I had a panic attack, I had worked all day, it was raining and I was parked far from my car and had to go directly to Spanish class. I was late, so I ran part of the way because I wasn't able to find a good spot in which to park. When I got to my class, I sat down, opened my book, and tried to concentrate. I was out of breath, breathing hard. But since I had been running, it really didn't phase me that much. After a while, however, I noticed that I was feeling a little bit lightheaded and strange. I picked up my books and left the class before it ended, heading to my car. Fumbled with the car keys and when I tried to open the door, I found that my hand was shaking. What was going on? Finally got into my car, and immediately my right leg began to shake violently, followed by my hands. My chest began to hurt; I couldn't breathe. A heart attack at 18? No way! I started my car and began looking for the hospital which was just a few blocks away. But nothing looked familiar anymore. I couldn't find it, so I kept driving -- looking, searching. Finally, when it felt like my head and chest were about to explode, I began to try to hit other cars that were driving towards me so I could get someone to help me. Fortunately, they avoided me, and I made it a couple of blocks to a gas station where I called home for help.

My dad and my brother came to get me. They took me to the hospital where a doctor checked my vitals, and told me to sit there. Sit there? I'm having a heart attack, damn it! Somebody needs to help me. Seconds turned to minutes, and minutes turned to hours. When the doctor finally came back, he checked my vitals again (which were all normal by now) and announced that I'd just had a panic attack. A what??? Yes, a panic attack. He said that it might be the only one, or somewhere down the road, there could be others. Why, oh why couldn't it have turned out to be that first possibility?