Panic Disorder and Treatment

"I'm driving slowly on 295. I can't keep my eyes off the digital clock on the dash. I try like hell to stop peeking at it, but as the minutes tick by I can feel my stress level rising. "If I'm late for work again, it'll be a written warning this time."

I've been late several times this winter and it's always due to snow or ice covered roads. Today is no exception. It's been snowing since 6:00 am, so I left at 7:00 am, an hour early. Usually this is plenty of time, but the freezing rain that fell last night, combined with the fresh snow, has iced the highway. It feels like a skating rink. The bald front tires aren't helping. I'm all over the highway, trying to maintain control. I'm gripping the wheel so tight my knuckles hurt.

I slow my speed, glance at the clock again..., I feel the adrenaline rush and realize. It's happening."Oh Crap! Not today, not now!" My vision blurs. My heart starts to pound as the panic overtakes me. It sets in like a tidal wave. "I am going to die." They'll find my body slumped over on the seat, no pulse.

I slowly pull the car to into the breakdown lane, put it in park and lower my head. I try to collect myself and close my eyes. A minute passes. I lift my head but it continues to spin, my eyes squint at the glare from the snow as my thoughts race. I dig inside my purse for the Alprazolam and struggle with the cap. I take out two tablets and swallow them dry.

The traffic is moving too fast. The roads are slick, but people continue to fly. I peek out the rearview knowing full well seeing the oncoming traffic won't help the panic attack. "Maybe death will come in the form of an out of control tractor trailer." I wonder helplessly.

I've been in the breakdown lane for five minutes now. Cars race by, shaking the Corolla. I take long deep breaths. I crank up the radio to drown out the thoughts speeding through my head. "You're not going to die, get a grip" I say calmly. My heart rate begins to slow. My head begins to clear. "It's over."

The Problem

That is a real account of a panic attack, one of many that I've experienced. Panic and anxiety have been a part of my life for more than ten years. They began when I worked for busy retail chain. I worked sixty hours a week with non-stop tension. I spent most of my day on the phone, calming customers down. If they weren't calling, they were standing in front of me berating me at the top of their voice. This was the beginning of my relationship with panic.

Ten years ago, after several months of panic attacks, I called my doctor. The doctor prescribed Paxil and Alprazolam. Paxil for so called depression (I knew I wasn't depressed) and Alprazolam for the panic onset. For the first week or so, the Paxil made me feel "weird." I experienced strange thoughts and slight paranoia. I took them everyday as th doctor ordered, but woud still have panic when I attempted to go to sleep. Small, consistent panic, every few minutes I would gasp for air. The pills weren't working...

One evening after work with friends, I had a couple of drinks. I seemed to feel much better if I added a drink or two to the equation and didn't suffer my nighly panic ritual at bedtime. I felt indestructible. Pretty soon, this would become my daily routine. The panic stopped, but soon would be replaced by something even more dangerous.

Family and friends worried about my appearance and obvious weight loss. I told them I was fine and said whatever they wanted to hear. After all, was it really their business? I had lost a lot of weight. I was always pale and usually woke up with my brain stuck to my bed pillow. Little did I realize how messed up I had become. I knew I was headed for danger, but by this time it was my life.

This toxic combination changed me. I was no longer the same person. It caused me to lose all my inhibitions. I did whatever I pleased. I went from practical and responsible to a person I no longer recognized. I lived this way for more than a year.

The Revelation

I remember my last day at the store. I had the med and alcohol hangover. I was exhausted. I was burnt out and sick. My body felt old, my brain felt fuzzy. I felt like I was on the brink. I knew I had to stop.

I quit my job that day. I tossed my keys to the assistant manager and walked out the door. When I got home, I flushed all the pills down the toilet. I called a good friend to come and stay with me for a couple days to "watch" me. I went through some nasty withdrawals. At the time I didn't realize stopping my medication without medical help was a stupid decision.

Physicians don't recommend stopping these types of medication unless you're in rehab, or you're weaning yourself off. Doing so can result in racing thoughts and seizures. I didn't want to wait to wean myself off, I just wanted to stop, I had finally scared myself straight. I was fortunate, I had no seizures.

Several days later, I began to feel normal again. I found a new job, which I liked much more. I didn't have panic attacks for a couple years and thought I was okay. They came back...

The Right Physician

When the panic disorder resumed, I knew I needed to see a doctor and made the appointment. She's a local doctor from a small town with an Ivy League education.

She spent a great deal of time helping me understand my disorder and didn't minimize my situation. She's taken a vested interest in helping me to "live" with my anxiety. I owe her a debt of gratitude for her brilliance and tenderness. How did she help me?

On my first appointment, I explained my problems to her. I told her of the deep rooted fear I had with pill addiction. I told her all the sorted details of my personal life and shared some of my most shameful moments with her. She listened to every word, never interrupting. She patted my shoulder while I cried. She empathized with me and never sat in judgment.

Before prescribing treatment, she explained what Alprazolam is prescribed for and how, when taken in timed doses, will ease panic disorder. She calmed my fears and sent me to see a therapist. She didn't think I was depressed, she thought I was nervous and high strung. She was concerned about my constant worrying. After all, panic comes from stress...

I began therapy and only took the pills as recommended. I stopped my alcohol consumption completely. After many therapy sessions, I now understand what my triggers are. I know I am capable of handling all life has to offer, the good and the bad. I understand that none of us is perfect and we all make mistakes. I understand that my life is worth living, and worth living well. Today, while I would like to say I no longer have panic, I can't. I do still suffer from attacks, but they are short and minor compared to previous attacks.

The truth about Panic is complex. Treatment is different for everyone. Drugs merely mask the real problem. Panic disorder, Generalized Anxiety Disorder, or GAD as well as serious depression must all be handled on an individual basis. These problems are serious and can lead to bigger health concerns.

The Good News

Panic disorder can be treated. Therapy is an important part of the equation. You cannot determine why you have panic disorder unless you dig deep inside of yourself and discover what created it and what exacerbates the problem. Therapists allow you to express your fears, your dreams and your disappointments. Therapists root out all the junk in your head and help you get to the truth of who you are and who you want to be.

Therapy and medication treatment have opened up a whole new world for me. Since therapy and gaining control over my disorder, I see the world with different eyes. I dream, I accomplish and I know now, it's okay if I fail. I can always try again. I am no longer that nervous worrier. I am a great example for anyone struggling with anxiety; I am the end result of stellar medical care.

You don't have to suffer alone. Seek help for your problems now. Don't wait, time is of the essence.

* If you or someone you love is struggling with depression, anxiety or drug and alcohol addiction, seek medical advice immediately.