I’m currently sitting in my English class. I have never been so aware of the existence of my heart in my chest, my entire desk is shaking because my legs are frantically bouncing up and down, and the dude sitting next to me is just staring at me. He knows. He knows I’m having an anxiety attack. He knows I’m trying and failing to control it. He thinks I’m crazy. I know it.
My heart is about to fly out of my chest, sweat is slithering down my back, and my hands are colder than a slab of dead animal in a freezer. My professor is talking, but no matter how hard I squint and stare at her, she — as well as everything else — sounds miles away. My ears are ringing, and everything is starting to move in slow motion. Is it possible to literally feel your blood coursing through your body? Because I can.
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At the top of my computer screen, I see that my boss has texted me. Something was wrong with my article from this weekend, and I have to revise it before we can push it through. Instantly I feel attacked, and I jump to the defense. I respond immediately, in all caps, and I don’t even process what I’m typing until it’s already sent. Crap. I shouldn’t have said any of that.
I try to type a message to my boyfriend but my hands are stiff and shaking uncontrollably. I ball my hands up into fists to try to get them to stop trembling, but that only seems to make it worse.
More people in my class are looking at me. One girl seems to show some concern, like maybe she understands what’s happening to me right now. But everyone else seems to just think I’m crazy looking. There’s no easy way to the door. I’m literally in the middle of the classroom. I can’t get out. I’m trapped. I’m going to be sick.
I’m crazy. I’m a crazy person. What the heck is wrong with me? Why can’t I control this? “No,” I think to myself, “that’s not what Scripture says. Take captive of these thoughts, fight back, you can do it.” I’m starting to feel overwhelmingly nauseous.
I know I won’t be able to make it to my next class, but what professor is going to understand and excuse “I had an anxiety attack in the middle of my last class and I could feel the world closing in around me and I couldn’t breathe and my head was about to internally combust so I won’t be able to hardly walk back to my car, much less to your class on the other side of campus.” Answer: no professor. I email her anyway, because what other choice do I have?
Everyone starts getting up and moving towards the door, and I know that means class is over. I try to move, but I’m not sure if my legs will be able to support me. I push myself off the desk and find that I have just enough strength to get me to my car. I spill out into the hallway and make a beeline for the double doors leading outside. I pretty much break out into a full-on sprint to my car, panicked that I won’t make it in time. I get to the parking lot and realize I can’t remember where I parked. I close my eyes and plead, “God, please help me find my car, I can’t do this.”
Immediately my memory is jogged, and I run to my car, fling open the door, fall into my seat, and slam it shut behind me. I try to take a deep breath, hoping that the fact I made it to my car without a total breakdown will be enough to calm my brain down, but it doesn’t work. I feel the tears spilling down my face, and I grab my steering wheel, rest my forehead on the top, and just let it happen. My hands find their way to ten-and-two, and I instinctively start running my fingers over the threads in the grooves of the wheel; it’s comfortable, it’s repetitive, it provides some sort of constant, and it’s enough to bring me down.
I sit there for a while, and then I drive home, feeling completely numb to whatever else is going to happen today. My phone keeps buzzing and lighting up with text messages, which only makes me more upset. But saying, “I’m having a bad day please leave me alone until tomorrow” doesn’t go down well with most people. Everyone takes it so personally, and then somehow the fact I am struggling to make it from rise to rest becomes all about the fact their feelings are now hurt.
All this because I misunderstood the requirements for a project due in two weeks.
