What It’s Like To Have a Panic Attack

I’m a therapist by training. I’ve helped others who sometimes struggle with anxiety, depression and a number of other mental health concerns, including panic attacks. But I had never experienced a full panic attack personally until this past month. And until that experience, I did not remotely understand how truly scary they are.

Heading home from a pleasant vacation, my family and I switched planes at the Dallas/Fort Worth airport. We made it just before the doors closed, only to be greeted by sweltering heat inside the cabin. My teenage son took the dreaded middle seat in our row, and I sat by the window. My mouth was dry and I craved cold water like ice cream at the end of a 90-degree summer day. I sat wondering if it would remain this hot and uncomfortable throughout the flight.

And then it hit…seemingly out of nowhere. Everything around me swirled. I felt consumed by an overwhelming sense of being trapped in my seat, like there was no way to fully stretch my legs or arms, and the urge to do so mounted as the moments passed. I knew I couldn’t quite extend my legs completely because of the seat in front of me, but it was not as if I had no space at all. I certainly have been in more crowded quarters — like trying to use the toilet on a cruise ship. But for some reason at this moment, the thought that I was so confined was terrifying.

Then there was the matter of my shirt. I felt a compelling need to rip it off, which is not normally something I would consider. But all these constrictions felt so restricting, and I felt as if I were slowly suffocating due to the sense of my closed-in quarters.

An escape plan played on a constant loop in my mind, like a short clip from a movie preview. In the scene, I stood up quickly, forcefully climbing my way to the aisle. My shirt burst open, like Bruce Banner evolving into the Hulk, freeing me of another constraint as I chugged a bottle of ice cold water. As I replayed the scene over and over, I knew none of it was really an option. And rather than a liberating plan, it was an intense feeling of vertigo beckoning me to give in and fall from a sharp cliff into the void.

Every torturous second seemed like an hour, and the panicked feeling intensified to the point I began to worry it would never pass. Perhaps the scariest part was I knew it was happening in my head, yet I couldn’t stop it. I wasn’t actually overly constricted physically…I could move my legs and arms. It wasn’t the tightest spot I’d been in on an airplane. Cold water was only a few minutes away after reaching cruising altitude. But none of that mattered. For now, my own mind was controlling my fears and I knew it.

And I couldn’t stop it. I tried to use “tools” I would typically recommend to a a person in counseling who faces panic attacks…breathe deeply, picture happy things and realize you’re not in any actual harm. Think about how it all is contained within your own mind and would soon pass.

But none of that helped. Not at all, actually. Although I knew the notion was absurd, I began to wonder what would happen if this feeling never passed…if I stayed in a state of heightened panic forever. My brain told me that wasn’t possible, but it also told me it was a very possible outcome. Although my mind held the key to ending this nightmare of an experience, it was also my enemy, bringing me mercilessly to my knees.

Rather than acting on the elaborate escape plans rushing through my head, the only thing I could manage to do was put my head down near my knees and try to keep from bursting out in tears or screams. I became increasingly unsure I could keep myself from some sort of outburst. I was about to completely come undone.

Finally, after an eternity and then some, we were up in the air, although not yet at cruising altitude, and my wife, who sat on the other side of my son, noticed something was wrong. She pushed the flight-attendant button and told the woman who responded that she thought I was having a panic attack. For a fleeting moment, I worried who had overheard this statement and what they would think, but I quickly realized I didn’t care. I just wanted it to pass.

It seemed this wasn’t the first time the flight attendant had helped someone having a panic attack. She didn’t try to ask if I was alright or give me advice, she simply provided a bottle of cool water and a wet washcloth. Both had a surprisingly-calming effect and, like air slowly escaping a balloon though the tiniest leak, the panic began to subside. I drank the entire bottle of water and covered my face with the wet cloth for a moment.

I knew I was in the clear when my thoughts returned to a more measured pace. “I hope everyone knows this didn’t happen because I am afraid of heights or air travel. In fact, I fly a lot and this never happens. You see, we were running late for our connecting flight and …”

I caught myself mid thought. Here I was, someone who has advocated professionally for decades to end the stigma of mental health treatment, and I now hypocritically worried about what others thought of me. Would the flight attendants gather in the back and talk about the man with the panic attack? Would I be the subject of Tweets and texts?

But then the chatter in my mind faded, replaced by a looming fear. What if this all happens again? Something within called out to the retreating panic attack: “until next time.”