A year ago I was on a trip with my best friend in Big Bear, CA, the most lovely and beautiful place ever, and I had my first panic attack. Something triggered me during dinner, and for the next hour and a half to two hours, I could not slow down my heart rate despite exercising calming techniques. In the past I would have brushed it off and refuse to see a doctor, but this was one of the few times I listened to my body telling me something. I was actually scared.
Reflecting on this past year, it has been pretty rough, especially after talking with doctors and my therapist, learning about my severe anxiety and panic disorder, and ultimately trying to learn to live with it. I was prescribed with a daily medication for the first part of this year, and it helped. However, it’s a double-edged sword for me because I’m glad that I found something that mellowed me out—and there are days where I wish I still had them—but at the same time, I don’t want to be dependent on them. This debate in my mind toward the medication flip flops daily.