Oh no, not again!!!

Several months went by after the initial panic attack that I had, so I thought I was "in the clear." But, as we all are sometimes, I was woefully incorrect. The next panic attack happened with such a ferocity that I couldn't believe it. And it was followed by another one and another one, and so on. Pretty soon, I was having them every day, about 30 times a day. Some of the symptoms I experienced were heart palpitations (I always thought I was having a heart attack), hyperventilating, sweaty hands, involuntary muscle movements, disorientation, headaches, sweating, depersonalization, dizziness, shaking, and nausea. I cried and cried after each attack, dreading the next one, knowing that it was coming and it would be just as horrible the next time around. Life was miserable. I stopped going out, and home became my "safe place" (or as I look back on it now, my prison) even though I still had anxiety attacks there.

Panic attacks were still relatively new at this time. Some information was around, but not nearly enough. I decided to join a study to get some relief. Unfortunately, I got the placebo instead of the real medicine, and suffered for another 6 weeks as I had to leave the house to go to the clinician for my weekly study checkup. By this time, I had quit school and only left the house to go to work, where I suffered 8 hours a day trying to hide the panic attacks I had while I was there. I had also met someone through a friend, and he seemed nice enough on the telephone, so I agreed to a date. When he came to pick me up, we got in his car, went about three blocks, and I had a severe panic attack. I had to get back to home, back to my safe place. Surprisingly, this man (whom I later married) stood by me, and eventually, after getting to know him much better, he became a "safe person" for me. He was picking me up and dropping me off at work everyday because I could no longer drive. Why? Because I feared being a traffic jam and not being able to get to help in the event that I had that heart attack that I knew was coming. I mean, surely my body couldn't take much more of this punishment before it began to falter. But, my heart got rave reviews at the cardiologist's office, as did my other body parts while I went from doctor to doctor having every possible thing checked that could be wrong with me. I became a hypochondriac, and every disease, old and new, seemed to fit. Life was a living hell, and I couldn't escape it. Someone finally suggested that I go to a psychiatrist, and after my initial consultation, I began my introduction to the world of psychiatric meds.