In which I have a severe panic attack on an airplane...

I know it seems like a LOT of people say they suffer from an anxiety disorder of some kind. (Fun fact: it's not all THAT uncommon.) If you have it, anxiety can be a horribly crippling mental illness that seriously affects your everyday life. Unluckily, I suffer with anxiety to varying degrees. Luckily, it's usually not too bad. I spent two years on medication though and through that and assorted other things (yoga, changing my diet, meditation, etc.*) it pretty much stays in check. Sometimes though... Sometimes it really sucks. Today was one of those days.


I should back up and tell you that I was stuck in Florida for an extra day and a half because of Tropical Storm Debby (bitch). I was supposed to fly out Sunday afternoon and (after sitting in the airport for eleven hours...) our flight got bumped to 8:30 this morning. It rained more than I've ever seen on Sunday and yesterday was so windy I thought I might blow away. Then the power went out in the hotel. Needless to say, I was not thrilled at the idea of being in the air even before I went to bed last night. I've always had some apprehension about flying, but in the past few years I felt like it had pretty much run its course. This morning I got ready and had some coffee and went to the airport with my mom and things seemed to be going smoothly. Then we boarded. While I waited on the jetway I could feel it wobbling in the wind. The minute I stepped onto the plane my chest tightened up and I felt nauseous and the only thing I could think was: They're going to seal us in here and we are all going to die on this plane. Irrational? Yes. Could I help myself? No. I looked at the faces of everyone I passed as I made my way to my seat, wondering how they would react when the plane started to go down. Of course, we were seated in the emergency exit row and just after the flight attendant asked me if I was willing and able to help in case of an emergency, I lost it. I swallowed hard and managed to mutter a quiet "yes" With my hands balled tightly into fists, I breathed rapid, shallow breaths. As soon as she turned around I started silently crying. My head was pounding, my stomach had twisted itself into a knot and I couldn't make any of it stop. I just sat, jaw clenched, staring unblinkingly, trying my very best to not vomit or sob. For over an hour. My mom tried desperately to calm me. Nothing worked. And then, out of nowhere, I started to feel better. By the time we landed, I was fine. I was exhausted and had the faintest headache, but I was just fine.


I know that anxiety is something I'll likely have to deal with in one way or another for the rest of my life. I was a worried kid (one time when I was six, I called my grandparents, who live in Chicago, to COME TO MY HOUSE AS SOON AS POSSIBLE BECAUSE I COULD NOT FIND MY MOTHER ANYWHERE. Everyone involved was a little peeved when it turned out she was just in the garage...). I was a nervous teenager, and I am, occasionally, an adult who has full-blown panic attacks on airplanes. The thing I always have to remind myself of though, is that in the end, I'm always fine. Although I can't control my physical or physiological reactions to anxiety, I know that eventually, I will be okay. 

Eastern Iowa is gorgeous from the air...

The Mississippi River.

This photo was taken after I regained control of myself...

*I do not in any way claim to be a mental health professional. These are just things that seemed to help me.