PS I'm Freaking Out Lyrics

Inside Out

Verse 1:

Inside out and falling backward,

I gotta ask if you're messing with me.

Cuz I can't trust my intuition.

Your tone of voice seems shitty and mean.

Chorus:

What would you do if you never met me,

How would you know how awkward someone else could be.

I’d say hello if the room was empty,

I’d say hello if there was nothin on T.V.

Verse 2:

Coast to Coast I've been a loser,

A creepy dude because I tend to stare.

But youre a ghost and I’m a spider.

search the world for someone to scare.

Chorus:

What would you do if you never met me,

How would you know how awkward someone else could be.

I’d say hello if the room was empty,

I’d say hello if there was nothin on T.V.

Verse 3:

Inside out and falling backward,

I gotta ask are you fucking with me.

Uh Oh:

Verse 1:

I try to make you out to be here.

I try to make it out alive.

I try to make you out to be here, but you’re not.

Chorus:

I guess I guess I found a reason, 

For spinning off again.

My brain will shift and split to pieces,

If the floors uneven.

I guess I guess I found the reason,

For spinning off again.

I swim through time and space in search of,

More oxygen.

Verse 2:

I try to keep myself inside here.

I keep my brain locked on the moon.

I try to make you out to be here, but you’re not.

Bridge:

Ooooh, ooooh

Ooooh, ooooh

I’ll make it

Classic / Pacing:

Verse 1:

I need you, to fade away. Behind a wall. Then maybe  you can stay

Hate this line, and I hate this place

I hate my spot in the human race. 

And I can’t sit still and I can’t think straight

I float away as the music fades and my brain evades

From a safety space. I’m spinning off and that’s okay.   

Chorus:

I’ve been waiting: pacing and debating if I should call someone for help.

Cuz I think I’m dying, curled up and crying and I’m sure I’m going to hell.

But I don't want you to worry about me, 

cuz then I've got you to worry about.

And I don't want you to worry about me, 

cuz then I've got you to worry about.

Verse 2:

I need you to fade away. Behind a wall then maybe you can stay.

Cuz  I’m a fire in a broken place. With chemicals pumping in my face

A medical concern a drunken pizza burn ,

I’m an endless stream and that’s okay

Bridge:

I don’t want you. And I don’t want me. 

And I don’t want you, and I don’t want me.

Rozwell That Ends Well (Bad):

Verse 1:

I try to do it all but I never seem to do enough.

Stealing minutes from the bottom of the hour.

I watch the clock from the bottom of the shower.

I try.

Chorus:

I’m stuck inside my head, I’ll make a home there.

But you can visit anytime. 

I’m stuck inside this stall, I’ve made a home here.

I threw away my time.

Verse 2:

And I’m fine, a little nervous that I never seem to do enough.

A little nervous that I haven’t gone to bed yet.

A little nervous that I’m gonna make a bad bet.

I’m fine.

Verse 3:

I try, to do it all but I never seem to do enough,

Breathing heavy when I haven’t made a move yet.

I’m breathing heavy but I haven’t made a move yet.

Something Better:

Chorus 1: 

There’s something out there shining a light from the space,

Telling us we don’t have time in this place.

Telling us all that we’re in love with our waste and it’s really a waste.

Chorus 2:

There’s gotta be something better than this.

Better than this.

There’s gotta be something better than this.

Better than this.

x2

Shape Shift (Rock on Gee):

Verse:

I have a reason, that shape shifts time that we believe in.

And I'm someone else now.

I lost my place again; my face, brain, mouth, and appendage.

And I’m someone else now.

I’m someone else now.

Chorus:

I don't want to be the only thing you ever think about, staring at the ceiling like you’re drifting off to somewhere else.

I don't want to be the only car that's in the roundabout, try to take my exit but I never end up getting out.

x2

Verse 2:

I found a reason to stay in the brain that I believe in.

And I’m something new now.

I found my brain again with my feet stuck firm to the pavement.

And I’m something new now.

I’m something new now.

Parrot Hat:

Verse 1:

Invite me to a party, but I didn’t want to go.

But she called me in a pleading tone, cause it’s a costume party and she’s feeling low.

I said I’d go and try my best, but I can’t promise I’ll get dressed.

I’ve got a hat in the shape of a bird, and I can put it on and be so awkward.

Chorus:

15 minutes in a parrot hat. 15 minutes or I’ll have an attack.

I'm standing in the corner with a bumble bee. Have another shot and I’ll try to be me.

15 minutes in a parrot hat. 15 minutes or I’ll have an attack.

Now I’m feeling loose, all the panic is dead.

And I'm dancing at a party with a bird on my head.

Verse 2:

Now I’m feeling more at ease, I go to find my bumblebee.

She talking to a mermaid, or something else from the sea.
I tried to make a joke with her, about how I'm a bird, and she's a bee.

She didn’t grin or laugh at that, but that’s okay because I've got my hat.

Chorus:

15 minutes in a parrot hat. 15 minutes or I’ll have an attack.

I'm standing in the corner with a bumble bee. Have another shot and I’ll try to be me.

15 minutes in a parrot hat. 15 minutes or I’ll have an attack.

Now I’m feeling loose, all the panic is dead.

And I'm dancing at a party with a bird on my head.
X2   

Happy Dance:

Verse 1:

Face down, naked in an empty room.    

Wrist deep, drowning in a carpet doom.

Fuck me, I just want to be unknown

Face down, reminds me that we’re so alone.

Can you make that happen, before you go?

Chorus:

Checking in on me is fine. I,

Just wish I didn’t do it all the time.

Check in to see if I’m alive, am I  breathing right,

And still I choose to take my pills—put me in a trance.
Do a happy dance.

Verse 2:

Fuck me, I guess I’ll take a shot or smoke.

Face first, the bottles spilling down my throat.

Face first, reminds me that we’re so alone.

Wrist deep, in books that I forgot on loan.

Can you please close the door. Before you go.

Chuggy:

Verses:

Chuggy’s making lists of his anxieties,

As we sit in silence getting drunk at Applebees.

But now, I wonder when.

And I picture what we did at seventeen.

When we never questioned if we’d lose our sanity.

But now, We just wonder when.

We fidget and we fuss, wound up in watchfulness.

And I wonder what I’ve buried in my consciousness.

But now, I wonder when

My thoughts are backed by movie    strings,

Warning me of all the coming jump scares and screams.

But now, I just wonder when.

I’m scrambling the jets in my mind,

To track down and quarantine me,

And all my insanity.

Bridge:

I Can’t make it right...

Chorus:

You, you’re somewhere lost between a thought.

I’m feeling lost too, but I don’t, I don’t relate.

You, are someone else entirely. 

It’s true.

I miss, I’m missing you.

Synth thing:

Freaking Out

Verse:

All it takes is my heart.

Skip a beat and I’m lifted off my feet

From the yard. From a bar.
From anywhere at all

But they keep telling me you keep telling me they keep telling me

That—

Chorus:

I’m just fine, I’m just freaking out.

Vibrate My Bones:

I'm not really tired, I seem to vibrate from the bones. 

And I’ll be stuck to lie here after all the bars have closed.

Lying still until it takes me, pulls my feet into the ground. 

Muddy hands that grasp my ankles pull me farther from the sound.

But they aren't really trying, they seem to vibrate from their bones. 

I'm a ghost without a graveyard. I'm a saint without a Lord. I'll be rolled up in a corner cuz I'm always fucking bored.

Push me straight into the ocean, push me head first through the door.

I just can't escape the motion that seems to shake me to the pores.

PS I'm Freaking Out

This is a scary one to post for me, but all my friends have been bravely putting their art out there lately, so I will join the trend. At one point during an especially anxiety-filled few months I wrote a number of songs and began writing demos for an album. I sat on the idea for awhile until the world shut down. Then, I sat down and finished something, which is never an easy task but felt amazingly fulfilling. I’ll post the descriptions of the songs here and then the lyrics in a future post.

PS I’m Freaking Out

This is the story of an anxious wanderer dealing with the struggles of anxiety and panic in a world where they are woefully misunderstood.

Inside Out

The album starts with an ode to the awkward. “Inside Out” is a song of self-awareness. The narrator is describing his short-givings to a potential partner whom he will never meet. The narrator is aware that he will never take the necessary steps forward to progress this situation, and in his head, he plays out the excuses he’s come up with to justify this lack of motivation. 

Uh Oh

“Uh Oh” is a song of acceptance. Although the track comes early in the album, the narrator has come to terms with his mental health issues, and he’s in the first stages of recovery.

Pacing

“Pacing” rewinds a bit to the beginning stages of panic and anxiety. The anxious wanderer has just discovered how brutal constant panic attacks can be on his psyche and struggles with how much (if any) help he should seek. He feels the need to reach out but also wants to be left to “die.”

Rozwell That Ends Well

Track four expresses the frustration of having one’s productivity imparied by anxiety. Poor productivity is not only a consequence of poor mental health but also a source. The narrator describes his constant need to fill his time, however, sometimes no amount of accomplishment feels gratifying. In the chorus, he gives up and does nothing except scroll through his Instagram feed in a public bathroom stall.

Something Better

Nearly all humans have one thing in common: the belief that things will get better for themselves. This track makes a point to juxtapose lighthearted instrumentals with existential vocals.

Shape Shift (Rock on Gee)

Sometimes in the throes of an anxiety disorder, we discover things about ourselves that we didn’t know before. These new revelations can be freeing, or they can be frustrating. “Shape Shift” describes considering a new perspective while simultaneously wishing others not to worry—we’ve got this.

Parrot Hat

“Parrot Hat” is the first and only track on this album written as a narrative. The anxious wanderer has been invited to a costume party that he has no interest in attending. After being coerced, he decides he can attend for a bit before having to worry about having a panic attack. He phones-in his costume by wearing a bird-shaped hat and finds a comfortable spot against a wall to wait for time to pass. After meeting an interesting woman dressed as a bumblebee, he begins to drink, and the booze melts away his anxiety. The bumblebee eventually turns down the anxious wanderer’s advances, but he doesn’t mind. Anxiety-free and tipsy, he enjoys the rest of the party from the dance floor.

Syntherlude

Synth driven instrumental.

Happy Dance

In track 9, “Happy Dance,” the narrator is explaining that it’s okay to want to be alone and to feel distress from time to time. The chorus of this track has dual meanings. The lyric “Checking in on me is fine” can be directed at an outsider, reminding them that it’s okay to ask questions and be there for the narrator in not-so-great times. It also describes a common habit of an anxious person: checking in. When one checks in, they might pay close attention to their breathing, thinking, or feeling. Any sore spot might be a tumor. Any missed heartbeat may be the start of a heart attack. The final line of the chorus explains that the narrator is happy to take a pill to take it all away.

Chuggy

“Chuggy” is about a good friend whose personality was changed by mental illness and the subsequent feeling of helplessness. 

Freaking Out

In the second to last and title track, the narrator accepts his panic attacks as another part of life. Although people sometimes don’t understand how he feels, it ultimately doesn’t matter. 

Vibrate My Bones

“Vibrate My Bones” was written while I was lying in bed searching for sleep but finding none. Sleep is the undead that refuses to rise from the grave to take the narrator into the next realm. 

Goodbye literal pile of shit, Hello Biden

I’m not saying that Trump directly caused me to have any panic attacks in the medical sense of the term, but has anyone else felt like the last four years have been one long flood of anxiety? I feel a weight lifted, for lack of an original metaphor. Thank you, Biden, for saving us from the walking pumpkin stress ball. When Kamala stepped onto that stage and began speaking—and I’m talking full sentences here—I felt myself tear up. I don’t think I ever realized the black cloud that was hanging over us every single day. But now, the administration that could barely put together a sentence is GONE. The endless pompous babbling is GONE. And it hit me. I wasn’t expecting it, but it hit me. I hope the environment will forgive us for the past four years. I hope the world can forgive us for the last four years. I hope we can forgive ourselves for the last four years and continue to embrace science and logic into the forever-future. Amen. 

Alcohol: Part 1 of an Endless Series

Alcohol. Booze. Liquor. Wine. Beer. Libations. Sauce. Hootch. Juice. The hard stuff. Man, it’s so cemented into my reality that I can’t even fathom a world without it. I grew up in a “heavy-drinking” state. My hometown once had the most bars per capita in the nation. It has one of the largest Oktoberfests (Notsoberfests) in the US. I’ve had jobs in establishments that serve alcohol since I was 15 ½. I attended colleges known for drinking. I currently work in a craft beer bar where my job is to talk about the flavor profiles of alcoholic beverages for eight hours a day (pre-pandemic). Alcohol is there. It always has been. 

Getting together with old friends is always a blast. I mean, who doesn’t like talking to old friends? We relive the hilarity, the adventure, and the awkwardness of times passed. However, every friend group that has conquered adolescence has one moment that changes the way they view past memories. For some it happens in high school and for others, college. That moment is when a group of friends starts collectively engaging in the consumption of alcohol. The memories change from a tangible narrative to a wispy tale floating just above reach. We jump and grab moments, but they always seem fragmented and unattached until they are put together into a single image made of a myriad of pieces by stories shared. Friends fill in the blank spots from the pieces you couldn’t catch. You do likewise for them. Is there anything wrong with this? You tell me. In a lot of ways, such is life.

This fragmentation of reality is fun. Like, really fun. Alcohol is fun. It gives courage, heart, and brain. It turns our finite lives into a yellow brick road of infinite adventure.

I want to talk about my experiences with alcohol and how alcohol influences, harms, and sometimes, accommodates mental health. As the title suggests, this is too big of a topic to assign to a single post. This is a series. Welcome.

You can sleep when you’re dead: by Ashley Sinclair

My Relationship With Anxiety: It’s Complicated.

Every experience with anxiety may be similar or different. I hope my experience can help you relate or we can help each other.

 The clock says 3:01 am. “Ok, so 2 hours and 59 minutes until my alarm goes off,” I tell myself. I toss and turn and eventually end up laying on my back staring up at the popcorn ceiling to try and make images out of the pattern to stop my mind from trembling.

 This was just like any other night, really. Honestly, I think my sleepless nights started when I was about 7. I formed almost OCD-like habits where I would make sure at exactly 9:30 pm, I was fast asleep. At 6:30 pm, I would make sure I had everything ready for the next day: my backpack was packed with tomorrow’s necessary school supplies, my alarm set, my clothes picked out, and my lunch packed. At 8:30 pm, I would get into my pajamas, into my bed, turn on my TV to tune into “Timon and Pumbaa,” “Pepper Ann” at 9 pm, and by 9:30, the TV sleep timer would go on and lights out.

 My first anxious thought or feeling that I can recall all started with “Pepper Ann.” When the theme song played at 9 pm, my heart would skip a beat nervously knowing I needed to fall asleep within the next 30 minutes. I have no idea why this was so important to me, but I felt as if I could not perform my best if I did not get an adequate amount of rest. As a 7-year-old, this was a little bit odd.

 Fast forward some years, knowing I still had similar struggles, but my habits started changing. Enter in the good ‘ol college years. Ah, yes. The scent of stale beer and more sleepless nights. At least I was not alone on the sleepless nights part anymore. Here, I felt more accepted, as if my sleep anxiety (is that a thing?) was more normal, hence my anxiety about sleeping lessened.

 I would have “waffle ceiling talks” with my dorm roommate. (Our ceiling looked like waffles/no more popcorn ceiling.) Or, I would chat or text others. I would maybe read or do homework (emphasis on maybe). Sometimes I would go to the library that was open until 2 am. Also, this is college, so let’s be real: I went out sometimes too. Really, I had plenty of options, so it seemed as if everything would be just fine. The quote I lived by was, “You can sleep when you’re dead.”

Panic Room: by Ashley Sinclair

As a kid, I grew up watching horror movies. I mean, I don’t think that’s totally normal, but it’s not super weird in my opinion. It was an easy creative outlet in a sense for my imaginative, growing brain. I always found it interesting how many of these movies had similar storylines (say teens on an adventure) with a similar ending (they all get killed except for one or two). I was excited from the adventure, yet comforted from knowing what was going to happen. Is that a weird thing to say about horror movies?

Maybe my anxiety stemmed from horror movies. What about Halloween? I’ve always for some reason enjoyed Halloween. I love the fact that it is a day where you don’t have to worry about anything or anyone judging you. You can do or be whoever you want! I don’t mean to go into the history of Halloween or anything like that; just the general aspect of Halloween as a whole. Nowadays, I’m still intrigued by like, The Walking Dead. Again, I’m not sure why, but I’m just noting this as maybe some of this has to be related to my anxiety.

 One of the movies I remember most, is “Panic Room.” There I was, at 12 years old, laying out the velvet blanket on the living room floor, excited to heat up my Pizza Rolls in the microwave and get this movie started. This was a typical Friday night for me, whether with my friends, parents, or myself.

 I remember the scene vividly where Jodi Foster and Kristen Stewart are sitting in the corner of the panic room, waiting for the intruders to find them. I remember the feeling I felt. It felt similar, it felt like real life. My palms were sweaty, my breath was short, I could feel my heart pounding. It all went away once this scene was over. What I didn’t know, was this was just the beginning.

There’s a first time for everything: by Ashley Sinclair

Someone was stomping on my chest. Was it an elephant? Did my dog step on my chest when I was asleep? Was I making this up? I couldn’t tell. Nothing seemed real. Then I felt my skin start to tingle with sweat. My palms were shaky and my breath shortened. I couldn’t breathe. Oh my god, I couldn’t breathe. Mom? Anyone? Is anyone home? Oh my god, I’m going to die in the living room. I’ll just sit down on this couch. Is that what it is? I don’t know. I don’t care. Help.

 This was how my first panic attack that I can recall felt. I don’t remember exactly what caused it; perhaps maybe my mind thinking of the zillion things I needed to accomplish that day (I’m a perfectionist with feeling like I need to do ALL the things). I just remember not knowing exactly what was happening or when it was going to end. I felt a sense of relief and confusion once it did end.

 I went about my day and coming weeks as if nothing had happened until I talked to a friend with a similar experience. He told me he had experienced something similar and we really didn’t know what to do or say, but I just remember him telling me, “There’s a first time for everything.” Unfortunately for this experience, this was also not the last.

You spin me round right baby right round: by Ashley Sinclair

Fast forward some years again to last year, through a solid maybe 20 or so similar experiences of panic attacks at this point, and I am on the couch again (in a different living room this time).

 “Should I go to the hospital? I can’t see my hands. Why do my hands look like they are swimming?” I remember thinking, struggling to hold out my arm. I was so dizzy, I had to sit down on the couch. This experience made me pilot into a full-blown panic attack, so again, naturally, I thought I was dying.

 This time was different. It lasted for what felt like hours. I’m not exactly sure how long it lasted, but this is just how it felt. I was 99% ready to have an ambulance come get me, but the 1% stopped me because 1) I was out of state/had just moved from Wisconsin to Florida so I had no idea of my surroundings and was not confident in this and 2) what would I even tell the doctor? That I was dizzy and my hands were swimming? I’m sure they would send me to some mental institute. So, I rode it out.

 This individual experience was something new that I hadn’t experienced before, compared to my other panic attacks. Usually, my panic attacks consisted of feeling like someone was stabbing my heart (I imagine it feels like a heart attack), tingling of sweat perspiring throughout my skin, and shortness of breath (the scariest part to me). The shortness of breath usually led me to go outside away from everyone and everything, put my hands on my head, and walk around and breathe the cold air until I could catch my breath again. Now, I recently moved to South Florida from Wisconsin, which is a whole other story, so I unfortunately cannot breathe in nice crisp air anymore.

Dying on a highway in Tennessee: by Ashley Sinclair

My most recent full-fledged panic attack was a couple of months ago. When I say “full-fledged panic attack,” I mean all out, like I’m dying type of attack. I sometimes have mini panic attacks where I have shortness of breath because I work myself up, but I’m not going to focus on that.

 A couple of months ago, I was driving back to South Florida from Wisconsin (yay 27+ hours straight), and at one point I had to pull over because I suddenly got dizzy. I pulled the car over and started freaking out. Why am I feeling this way? What is happening? Then, it happened. My breath became shorter, someone started stabbing at my heart, and my palms started perspiring. No, no, no, no. This can’t be happening now. Oh my god, I’m dying, I thought, as I got out of the car and semis flew past me at 90 mph. I stumbled over to the field on the side of the interstate and thought, I’m dying. Where even am I? What is my obituary going to say where I died? I asked Josh if we were nearby a hospital. He said we were somewhere in the middle of nowhere Tennessee and there was a hospital about 50 miles away. Ok, so I’m definitely dying on a highway in Tennessee, I thought. After pacing back and forth throughout this random interstate field for a while, I eventually got in the passenger side of the car and had Josh start driving to the nearest hospital until I felt OK again. I closed my eyes and tried to take deep breaths as much as I could. Eventually, as with every panic attack, it ended. I did not go to the hospital yet again.

 A couple of hours later, the sun went down, and the music on the radio turned to static, except for one station. It was some talk show, which I wasn’t super thrilled about, but whatever. I was half listening until I heard the word “anxiety.” My ears perked up as if I were a puppy hearing a noise for the first time. “Anxiety gave me a path to God that led me to share with others what I’ve experienced,” a man’s voice said. I later heard that this was some professional football player (sorry I don’t remember who) and he was talking about how he dealt with anxiety and panic attacks. I remember him saying, “It felt like someone was jabbing me with a knife in my chest. I didn’t know what to do, and it was affecting my profession. I eventually got help and now that I realize what it was, I want to be able to share my experience with others and help each other out.” That right there is what I would like to do too.

Surroundings: by Ashley Sinclair

People without anxiety or people who have not experienced panic attacks really don’t know what it’s like. I mean, I’m not certain because I am one of the people who has panic attacks and anxiety, but from talking with others, I realize they don’t know what to do or how to understand it.

 I hope that my previous posts gave you a glimpse into what it’s like. Besides all of the usual symptoms, the other thing I notice is as much as I love English (rock star English class nerd here), my anxiety makes me very confused with English or just language in general. I sometimes feel as if I stumble across my words. I tend to think to myself, am I even speaking English? People just respond with general answers, scared to dig into my brain fully to understand.

 Sometimes it’s nice to be alone when you have anxiety, but sometimes it’s nice to not be. As I said, I hope this helps people understand a little more. It definitely helps to have a support system in life, overall.

 I know that I personally struggle with how to tell when a situation is worth the anxiety or not; however, most of the time I feel as if I cannot control how I react. For example, phone anxiety. Ugh. I dread the phone. It totally gives me anxiety, as I’m sure many millennials experience as that’s just not really our culture anymore. But, phone anxiety should not be stressed upon. What about a category 5 hurricane hurdling toward your city as your first hurricane? Sure. Now, constant worrying or imagining negative outcomes with situations, should that be stressed upon? Probably not, because why would you create these nightmares when they most likely will never happen? Because my brain thinks it’s fun. Maybe I watched too many horror movies. Maybe I just need to write more. I don’t really know, but it sucks. If you have any advice on what to do when your mind starts creating these negative outcomes, let me know.

 So this leads me to today. Today, I consider myself a South Florida native who has found her happy place. Yep, my happy place. Kickboxing has turned my life around, physically and mentally. I won’t go into details about it, but it definitely gives me an outlet and a support system. That doesn’t mean that my anxiety has just gone away, but it definitely has lessened.

I think one of the biggest themes in my life regarding this so far has been tied to perfection as well. We grow up always striving for that “A” in school and in life; “A is for perfect” or “A is for anxiety”? I think we should have the “A” stand for “amazing”—amazing thoughts turn into amazing actions, which turn into an amazing life.

-Ashley Sinclair

I want to thank Tripp Watson for letting me write this for his blog, and honestly, for sparking me to start up writing again! This is my first piece I have written in an extremely long time. One of my favorite quotes is, “Reading is like breathing in; writing is like breathing out.” I can finally breathe out again. How amazing is it that no matter where we are in the world, we can all come together somehow, whether for good or bad or something in between. I hope we can make it count.

Introduction: My Panic Story So Far

Let's just jump right in. Anxiety disorders are the most common mental illness. Let that sink in. Marinate in it. That stat blew my mind. Nearly 20 percent of all Americans deal with them, and they suck (that is my nonprofessional opinion). But get this! They are highly treatable, yet only about a third of people who suffer receive any treatment. It was only through mortal distress that I sought help. If things had never escalated to a point where I feared for my physical well being then I’d still be suffering to this day.

“Panic was a bitch until I made it my bitch.” 

That phrase was going to be the main theme of this project, but I think it’s important that we remember that recovery—or lack thereof—is a rollercoaster. Even while writing my own story of overcoming anxiety, I felt anxiety. Some days I feel like a pile of goo that anxiety has chewed up and spat on the floor. Its symptoms are an army of the undead that rise again and again after even the greatest conquest. But we go on living. Some days we are a pile of goo, and that’s okay.

I hope to accomplish three things from this blog:

1. Tell a chronological story of how anxiety came about in my life.

2. Share in common experiences with others suffering from anxiety and panic.

3. Teach the techniques that worked for me to overcome panic attacks.

If even a single person stumbles on this site and finds some peace, I’ll be content.

Part One: What's Up With My Asshole?

So, where did this black hole spiral into discontent begin? It wasn’t a floodgate that opened all at once but rather a slow leak that went unnoticed until, one day, I was up to my neck.

The first indication that something was awry began not in my brain—but in my ass. It’s important to keep in mind that I in no way connected these first issues with anxiety. One of the main themes of this story is the slow, creeping nature of anxiety and panic—it would be a lot shorter story if I had been educated about the nature of my symptoms in advance. Unfortunately, that’s not the timeline we are living in. I never thought I’d be writing these words, but I think it’s time we get back to the question at hand; what was wrong with this guy’s ass?

One day, I noticed I was “regular”. Like really regular. Like going six times a day regular. The problem (if that was not already a problem) arose when my regularity became irregular. I wouldn’t know when it was going to hit, but I knew my window of opportunity to find a bathroom was beginning to narrow. I’m talking about taking a walk to nowhere one minute to taking a brisk jog to the bathroom the next.

After dealing with this for awhile, I found I was forcing myself to use the bathroom before leaving the house. I had no doubt that this habit was inconveniencing those around me, but I lived in fear that the “worst” would happen if I didn’t try. (Bring this guy a pair of fresh pants and get him out of here asap “worst”.) Of course the worst would probably never happen, but now I believe that this was my first induction to the anxiety cycle. 

It was about a year or so later when I made one of the best decisions of my life. I dove deep into veganism. No, this story will not be laced with vegan propaganda—there are plenty of blogs out there that cover that topic. However, after my transition to veganism, I was no longer “super duper regular”. The transition wasn’t difficult; I had toyed with vegetarianism on and off in the past and landed on a primarily pescatarian diet after moving to Portland, but my dairy intake was at an all time high. Bean and cheese burritos, baby! 

My life steadily improved after switching to veganism. I lost a little weight, felt tranquility in my mind, and most notably: felt no bathroom anxiety. I deduced that I was lactose sensitive (a nice way to say shitting a lot) and in my mind, veganism had cured me. This is probably a major reason why I hold my diet choices so dear to me. They allow me ample opportunities that I took for granted in the past.

Little did I know this was a band-aid on a bullet wound. My body and mind had discovered a new technique to get my undivided attention and was prepared to use it. So where did panic enter the picture here? It didn’t yet. That comes later. It comes in a fucking maelstrom of disruption to my otherwise mediocre life.

Part Two: Panic at the Food Court

Let’s set the scene. I am visiting my hometown for a wedding. Things are good at this time. Traveling had been relatively stress free.

(By the way, don’t get me started on all the issues I had with traveling. Seriously, it sucked. I booked flights based on how close to the bathroom I could sit. I stared at the fasten seatbelt light in a cold sweat, unsure if I would make it until it turned off to get to the bathroom. Of course as soon as the light flickered out I was fine—no need to use the restroom at all. Anyway, I’ll touch more on traveling in a future post. Okay, back to it.)

I had some butterflies in my basket, but overall, I felt pretty okay at this time. It never really crossed my mind that anxiety could be a culprit to my various new neurosis. Anxiety means stress, right? But my life was going great! I had moved to a new city with my loving girlfriend and obtained a fun job. Nothing was causing me any stress at all, and again—stress leads to anxiety—right? I was ignorant and uninformed.

The wedding was typical. We drank. We danced. We drank a little more. Enter a black curtain drawing across my memory and opening again to the light of the next day. Anyone who has ever had a hangover knows the basic desires that flood your mind the moment your eyes flutter open. Hunger and thirst consumed me. There are not a lot of choices for vegan food in my hometown, so I ended up at a Mongolian grill in the local mall. My last supper before my life would tilt shift into absurdity was actually pretty amazing. Unfortunately, I didn’t enjoy the contentedness that comes with a freshly filled hungover belly.

As we were leaving the mall, I felt a sensation hit me that I had never experienced before. In fact, calling it a sensation would be a gross understatement. I experienced dying, or so I thought at the time. The best way to describe the commencing experience would be someone shoving me from behind unexpectedly. I instantly felt the gravity of the universe pulling on me. I lost all my breath. My heart felt like it had stopped. I shriveled to the floor, sure I was having a heart attack or some other cardiac failure-to-operate. I’d heard stories of athletes’ hearts suddenly stopping despite being in perfect health. I could visualize my obituary. And then it was over—as unexpectedly as it started. I sat on the floor panting. The friends I was with were, understandably, confused and concerned. One friend happened to be a nurse and did wonders comforting me, talking me down by reminding me that I was likely dehydrated from the wedding and in need of water and rest. That didn’t feel true in my heart, but I accepted it as fact and went on with my day, shaken but resilient. 

I experienced my true last supper the following afternoon. (It was lunch, but let’s not allow that to ruin my analogy.) I was with a dear friend and his wife for an Americanized Mexican meal when my body began to feel abnormal again. It’s difficult to articulate the physical symptoms I was experiencing, but a general chest discomfort might be an acceptable start. My heart began to feel different. I felt chilled, short of breath, and pardon my vulgarity: really fucking shitty. Cancer, probably. Or so I thought. I called my mom and told her how I was feeling and she insisted I go to the hospital. I argued because I was out of state and really didn’t want to pay the hefty bill, but eventually she insisted and offered to help with the money. I politely returned to the table and casually asked for a ride to the emergency room—if it wasn’t too much of an inconvenience.

“I think I’m dying. Please and thanks.”

Part Three: Hospital Hoedown/ Emergency Room #1

“I can’t catch my breath, and I feel really dizzy,” I told the receptionist behind the desk in the urgent care wing.

“Fill this out and we’ll be with you soon,” she responded and pushed a clipboard of paperwork toward me. I found a seat and sank into it. After an unpleasant but not terribly long wait, I was called into a room to be examined. 

I was given a series of questions, tests, and X-rays over the course of the evening. The doctor performed a few tests specifically to see what made me dizzy and what didn’t. She seemed to be getting satisfaction beyond the professional level from this, but I get it; it was hilarious. I was a Weeble that wobbled and then did fall down. Of course everything came back normal. The doctor said I was likely suffering from vertigo and wrote me a prescription for some pills that would ease the dizziness. I called my mom to inform her that I was not dying—as she had assumed earlier in the day. I felt relieved but not overly eased. 

I returned to my friend’s house, slumped on his couch and stayed there for the remainder of my trip. I was fielding a constant flow of texts and calls regarding my availability to hang-out before I left the state, but I wasn’t entirely sure how to respond to the inquiries. I ended up going with an old reliable: I was feeling under the weather. The friend who I was staying with was happy to watch tv and relax on the couch with me. We had already had an eventful weekend and a bit of rest was welcomed by all. Thank god, because I was starting to wonder how I would survive a two hour drive to the airport and a 3 hour flight home feeling the way I did.

Through a combination of breathing exercises, pills, and good old fashioned white knuckling it, I made it home. This was the true beginning of my panic cycle. My body had found a way to incarnate my anxiety in a way that grabbed my attention. It had discovered the panic attack. It was as if before this my body simply poked and prodded to try to get my attention, but I would brush off its advances like a mosquito. But the panic button… well, that button worked.

Part Four: Downward Spiral

Day to day life was becoming arduous. I spent a lot of time in bed and hoped for sleep to bring me to a new, stress free plane. My daily routine was changing.

After a few dizzy spells on the highway, I decided that I should stick to smaller city streets. I'd try to find a ride if I had an obligation, but often, I’d just find an excuse to bail. I blamed vertigo frequently these days, but in my heart I felt there was something else at play.

As things progressed, it was more than dizziness I had to contend with. I couldn’t deal with waiting rooms or lines of any sort. I was terrified to make appointments for fear of being unable to escape. Escape what? I didn't even know. Something as mundane as a haircut sounded daunting. Dizziness was combined with other panic symptoms, and I began to spiral. 

I started having trouble getting through my work day. This is when things got serious— my livelihood was at stake. During my shifts I was constantly fighting with panic symptoms. I was often unable to catch my breath. I was dizzy, fuzzy, tight in the chest, and unable to focus. Customers would talk to me, but I was miles away. There was a sprinkle of bathroom crying sessions spent on the floor of my grimey bar restroom. “What the hell is happening to me and when will it end,” I would think, head tucked between my knees. After calling in my support staff early a handful of times, I decided I had to ask for a leave of absence. 

It was about this time that my most troubling symptoms began, but I think they deserve a post to themselves. So, let's dive in next time.

Part Five: Rock Bottom

Say what you will about my melodrama—the following is true to me.

I know what it feels like to die. My mind told my body it was dying multiple times a day. I know what it feels like to be a non-native speaker. On more than one occasion my mind convinced itself that it no longer understood English. The people around me carried on their conversation with no idea that I couldn’t understand a word they were saying. I know what it feels like to be someone else. My mind separated itself from my “self” as if I was a passenger taking a terrifying ride in a foreign body: John Malcovich style. I’d lose myself multiple times a day and be sure my mind wouldn’t return to the body it came from. 

I don’t want to sound overly dramatic, but it’s important that I reveal how intense my sensations were at this time. No one could tell me what was wrong with me, and I was constantly certain I was dying or losing my mind.

I mustered the nerve to go to the doctor, and I was finally informed that my situational anxiety had progressed to a panic disorder. All I knew about panic attacks at the time came from tv and movies. A character—usually weak physically and mentally—would find themselves in a stressful situation and resort to breathing into a brown paper bag. I didn’t know that my panic attacks were a defense mechanism for my body. I didn't know that there was more to anxiety than needing to breathe into a bag.

Enter into my life the glorious SSRI. (All hail the SSRI). I was medicated. I was diagnosed. I was still having panic symptoms, but I could brush them off because of some great resources and helpful therapy. One thing that still sticks with me to this day is a quote from my clinic’s therapist.

“Discomfort, Not Danger.”

I found myself repeating this quote often over the next few months.

“Imagine,” she said. “The discomfort you’re feeling in your chest. Your chest is where important organs operate: your heart is pumping blood and your lungs are breathing air. If either of those fail, you’re toast. So, when something feels off in your chest, it’s reasonable to freak out. Let’s remember that these sensations are only your body pumping adrenalin at a greater rate and dealing with stress in a way that’s meant to get your attention to prepare for fight or flight.”

“Correct,” I said. “It’s the literal fucking worst,” I said some iteration of that.

“Now imagine," she continued, "that same discomfort manifested in your left big toe. Would you still find yourself at the hospital? I think you’d write it off as a sore toe and go on with your day. Try to remember that these sensations you experience are no more dangerous than discomfort in your big toe. Discomfort but not danger.”

That clicked—I had a new weapon against anxiety. A damn powerful one at that. Panic attacks came and went like a passing breeze. I sent panic symptoms on their way as soon as they showed their ugly faces. I was, for all intents and purposes, cured.

I was CURED! 

Not really. That doesn’t happen. But I was a lot better. I was able to go to work. I even began feeling so good that I drove for Uber—a feat that I could not have fathomed a few months prior. I felt pretty good for about a year, but just as the angry bee stings twice, panic showed its damned head again…

Part Six: Emergency Room #2/ Fuck Me

Approximately a year after the events of my previous post, panic symptoms began messing with my head again. I felt the dizziness (vertigo?). I felt chest tightness. I felt impending doom. I asked my doctor for an increased dose of my daily SSRI, and he agreed that it was a good idea as my dose was pretty low to begin with. This is about when my chest pain began.

A dull ache began to arise near my sternum that occasionally manifested as a sharp jab. I tried brushing it off as another symptom of anxiety, but it became clear that it was something different. By this time I was very well acquainted with every “panic feeling” in my repertoire, so I thought it would be strange if a new one appeared out of the blue. I made a lot of excuses for my chest pain. I go to the gym; maybe I hurt it there. Maybe my rib was hurting because a back muscle was too tight. Maybe it was stress. Maybe it was nothing but my mind fucking with me. Maybe this. Maybe that. I had no idea, but it was becoming troubling. 

One day while at work, I felt a sudden, sharp jab on the left side of my chest. I lost my breath and my balance. I placed one hand on a chair and one on my chest. I felt my face lose color and my breathing lose rhythm. Something was wrong. Something was different. My coworker saw me and said I looked ghostly. I couldn’t stand up straight and I couldn’t concentrate—my only thought was that I should get to a hospital. I had to do some creative texting to get the rest of my shift covered, but I was able to skip out and drive to the emergency room (again).

The sliding doors of Urgent Care slid open with a hiss revealing a contrasting world than the sunny spring day I stepped out of. The hospital interior was an assortment of soft blues and grays. When I approached the front desk they hailed a wheelchair immediately. Have you ever looked so bad that someone made you sit down? It’s not exactly complimentary. However, the good thing about checking yourself into emergency with chest pains is that because of their potentially fatal nature, you get to skip to the front of the line. 

It wasn’t long before I had was adorned in a hospital smock, given an EKG, blood tests, and an IV. As my test results began to stream in as normal, I confided in a nurse about how bad I’d feel if I checked myself into the hospital for anxiety again. He told me it happened often and reminded me that most people don’t get such thorough testing done on a regular basis; I should enjoy the peace of mind of knowing I was healthy. He asked if I had a ride home, scolded me for driving there in the first place, then gave me some “happy pills”. I drifted into a medicinally induced nap.

Part Seven: Cured Again, Maybe?

After my second trip to the emergency room, I began to feel significantly better again. My chest pain remained, but I accepted it as a skeletal or muscular issue and didn’t stress about it. 

Let’s take a moment here to remind the viewers at home that stress and anxiety are not synonymous. Although I toss it around casually, feeling stressed and feeling anxious are two completely different entities. Believing whole-heartedly that you are about to die and being unnerved by a busy week are two situations that should not be compared. I’ll get back into the distinction between the two in a later post, but for now, back to the show.

Actually, this act is over. We've reached the present. It’s been well over a year since my last hospital visit. I continue to take SSRI’s and continue to suffer from the occasional anxiety, but something is different now. I have confidence that I didn’t possess in the past. I know what is happening to my brain. I’m educated. This education resides in the same brain that sent me to the emergency room twice with concerns for my life on this mortal coil. Some days are better than others. I wish I could say that the worst is behind me, but honestly, I don't know. Some days I'm a pile of goo, and that’s okay. Life is complex. Let’s enjoy what we have of it.