Drivin' Me Crazy - Panic Attacks Behind the Wheel

There is a bridge over a very large river that separates my state from the next one over.  I suppose that if I was sitting on the bank of the river, I would marvel at the rise of the bluffs and the lazy pace of the barges quietly moving cargo down the river.  But – put me in a car and tell me to drive over that bridge and poof!  Those visions of loveliness are gone.  

I was probably 21 the first time I had a panic attack behind the wheel of my car. That was 30 years ago, and in the time between then and now, those attacks have ebbed and flowed, depending on the overall level of stress in my life.  But I’ve carried the fear of having an attack all of those years.  Not so much these days, thank God.  

At first, it only happened on the highway, at high speeds, and when there was a lot of traffic around me.  Then, when I went through a very stressful period of my life, it started happening all the time.  When I let myself remember, I can recall the verbal dialog inside my head.  People who have panic attacks are very sensitive to the way their body feels.  If I felt a little tense while driving, and if I started to experience a slight change in my breathing, a frightening litany of thoughts bombarded my mind.  It went something like this:  “I’m breathing kind of fast…oh no…I’m going to hyperventilate and pass out.  My car will careen out of control and plow into another car…or maybe several cars.  I will die and kill everyone else, possibly in a fiery, horrible death…”

Or here is another scenario my vicious mind would cook up:  “This highway goes down to 2 lanes with no shoulder….if I have a panic attack, I’ll have to stop my car and wait for it to pass.  (Notice I didn’t offer myself that option in scenario one.)  There’s no shoulder to stop on, so I’ll have to block the lane.  Then I’ll block traffic….I’ll hold up all of this traffic and create a huge traffic jam for miles….People will yell at me and swear at me and shoot me the bird and I will make people late for work, for parties, life or death doctor appointments, and lunches with old friends they may never see again….”  So in my head, my possible panic attack was going to lead to fiery death or planetary chaos.  

Wow.

Ok – here’s one other scenario I cooked up while driving my daughter and a little group of friends to a neighboring state for a camping trip. “I might have a panic attack, have to stop the car by the side of a road (likely in a dangerous neighborhood) with a carload of kids, and won’t be able to drive an inch further without feeling dizzy or sick, and passing out behind the wheel of the car (see scenario one).  I’ll have to explain to the disappointed kids, in front of my own kid, that I cannot take them where they need to go.  They will each have to call their parents and ask them to come pick them up by the side of the road because their friends’ crazy mother couldn’t drive.  Those parents will no longer trust the care of their child to me, my child will be embarrassed, and we’ll both be humiliated and socially ostracized until my daughter leaves for college.”  (And of course I wouldn’t be able to drive her to college because of the potential of fiery death, and she would be the only college freshman to haul a new comforter, desk lamp, and futon on the Megabus).  You can see where I’m going with this.  I’ve now added social ostracism to fiery death and planetary chaos.  And I did suffer.

In the midst of all these crazy thoughts, I continued to drive.  I had to.  I weathered panic attacks while driving over and over again.  A couple of times I did have to pull over to walk around, breathe deeply, and I dreaded getting back in that car.  I never had a fiery crash.  Planetary chaos never ensued.  Nobody laughed or pointed their fingers.  And when that day finally came, I drove my daughter to college.  

Here is what worked for me:  

Medication – about six years ago, when my world became really small due to the number of attacks I had per week, I went to see a doctor.  I started taking a small dose of an anti-anxiety medication before driving.  I had anxiety since I still worried about having an attack, but the medication kept me from going into a full blown attack.  Eventually, my brain learned a whole new pattern of thinking.  Driving no longer equaled fiery crash, planetary chaos, and social ostracism.  It only meant that I would get where I needed to go.  I relaxed.  

I accepted the need to take a break at times.  It wasn’t failure if I got anxious and had to stop and breathe.  It was smart – it was taking care of myself.  I have learned that I have a right to do this.  (I used to get really, really down on myself if I got that anxious. I now know that was a waste of time and energy.)   

Slowing down when I needed to, literally, especially on the highway.  Move to the right lane and slow down.  Sure you’ll be driving in the same lane as the older folks wearing hats, but...so?  And sure, someone behind you can think you’re being a pain in the ass.  Let ‘em.  One of the truly fine things about getting older is that you care less and less about what other people think.  (And if you notice out of the corner of your eye that someone is giving you the finger as they pass you on the left, ignore them.  Nothing is more infuriating to someone giving the finger than having it go unnoticed.)

I changed my thoughts when they started conjuring images of catastrophic events.  Yes – this can be done.  Really.  First, you have to notice the crazy thinking when it starts, then immediately put the brakes on it. The next time you’re in a safe place just chilling or relaxing, take notice of your thoughts.  We all have things we like to think about when we’re relaxed.  Try to replace the crazy thoughts with those pleasant thoughts.  Or think of a benign issue in your life you’d like to solve - like how to organize your bathroom or deciding if that painting of a water buffalo would look nice hanging over your fireplace.  You can try distractions like listening  to an audio book,  thinking about a new recipe to try, playing I Spy with other people in the car, enjoy the scenery, singing a really bad song with stupid lyrics (try a song from the ‘80’s).  Consciously try to replace your thoughts of fiery death and planetary chaos when you feel them coming on.  Pull it back – you deserve to think about good things.  

Back to that wide river between my state and the next.  I struggled over that river many, many times, hands gripping the wheel, certain that I would get dizzy, pass out, and crash through the guard rail and plunge into the cold, dark water below.  It has never happened.  I’ve never seen it happen to anyone else.  Every day, thousands of people cross that bridge uneventfully.  The last time I crossed it, I had the clear memory of panic, but it didn’t spark the experience of panic. What a relief.  I was even able to notice a slow moving barge and those lovely bluffs as I crossed.  

Anxiety - what my father taught and didn't teach me

6/15/14

Today is Father’s Day, and I was thinking about my father as I rode my bike this morning.  He passed away a number of years ago.  My father was a good man.  He worked hard, and he travelled a great deal for his job, but he loved his family.  None of us had any doubts about his love for us.  

I have my suspicions that he also experienced anxiety - possibly even panic attacks.  He never, ever talked about it, but there were little clues that emerged over time that make me wonder if he suffered as I do.  I could be wrong.  

Over the years I have tried to figure out why I was never comfortable talking about my issues with panic and anxiety with my parents.  My father was a mental health professional, but he did not invite this type of conversation.  My father employed a “mind over matter” approach to life.  He even said this out loud  when we would complain about something physical - “Mind over matter kids”!  

Ok - this approach doesn’t work for panic attacks.  I know - I tried.  For years and years.  The message I received from my father was something akin to “stuff your feelings and deal”.  So I did.  What happened was that a little problem ballooned into a big problem over time.  I thought that I just wasn’t strong enough, that my mind wasn’t big enough to get over this matter.  These thoughts are not exactly confidence builders.  

I think I was throwing out signs that not all was well in my world.  Perhaps my parents noticed, and just didn’t know what to do to help me.  Perhaps it scared them.  I’ll never know for sure because my father isn’t around anymore, and I can’t have this type of conversation with my mother.  I cannot resent them, however.  Both of my parents had it hard growing up, and I doubt that anyone taught them or showed them how to deal with their own anxieties.  I have tried hard to be a different kind of parent to my own children.  When I began to notice signs of anxiety in both of them, I encouraged them to talk about it.  I got them help.  When I told them that they shouldn’t be embarrassed about needing help for anxiety, I listened to my own words, and started to seek help for myself.  How could I look at my own children and tell them that counseling and meds were ok for them, but not for me?  

My father taught me how to love, and he had an amazing sense of humor.  I am forever grateful to him for teaching me that humor is a perspective, and that it can be nurtured.  Maybe he knew that if you can laugh at something, it isn’t quite as scary.  Maybe he tried to teach me that by example.  Maybe he knew more than I thought.  

Postpartum Anxiety Blues -

When my firstborn came into my world 21 years ago, he captured my heart in the way that babies do - utterly and completely.  They don’t warn you in those baby books how fiercely you’re going to love your baby.  They should include a chapter called “Walk through Fire? Oh Yes You Will!”.  For me, that level of concern for my baby took a wildly unhealthy turn. I have seen it referred to as postpartum anxiety, and sometimes anxious symptoms are lumped under postpartum depression.  I called it “the anxiety channel”.  

My brain worked overtime conjuring up horrible things that could happen to this tiny, vulnerable little bundle that I was charged with protecting.  It struck me how helpless my son looked in my arms, and the world I knew suddenly seemed fraught with danger.  The endless loop of frightening scenarios played in my head all day, and all hours of the night when I was up feeding or soothing him.   I left a tape in my VHS player (Yes, VHS.  This was 21 years ago, people!!) that I could play in those dark nighttime hours.  It was a comedy, and as soon as I nestled in to feed my son, I pushed the play button, and could distract myself with a few moments of laughter to drown out the anxiety channel.  I could switch over to the comedy channel for brief moments of time.   Unfortunately it seemed that every time I turned on the real tv, there was a news or talk show that dealt with another potential hazard to babies and children.  I’ll never forget surfing the channels one day, and stumbling on a talkshow about sexual predators.  I quickly changed the channel, only to find a segment featuring baby and child abduction.  My worry started to expand - not just to my son as a baby, but my son as a toddler, then as a child, than as a teenager, and on and on.  And I was robbed, by my own mind, of being in the moment with my new baby.  

I tried to reach out to let other people know of my distress.  My doctor, a parent, a friend - all of whom responded with “well, that sounds pretty normal.”  It was NOT normal, but I guess you had to be inside my head to know that.  I recall the blackest day - I had just put my baby down for a nap, and was lying on my bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to shut out the thoughts.  And I had that most awful thought - there is a way out of this.  If it doesn’t stop, or gets worse, I can silence all thought.  Ironically, just knowing there was an exit door made me relax.  (Literal exit doors make me relax too - but I’ll go into that more when I talk about my troubles in theatres and restaurants.)  I knew I was not ready for the suicide option - I had a baby who needed me, and I couldn’t abandon him.  So I put my head down and made it through each day and tried to let some light into my world.  

How I wish I could go back and talk to the “new mom” me.  I would tell her to gather all the information she could find about anxiety. I would tell her to be a little more assertive with her doctor.  I would tell her to journal out her fears - hold them up to the light, then shrink them down.  I would tell her to reach out to friends - not to suffer alone in silence and put on that mask of “yep, yep, doing great over here”.  I wish I had believed that people wouldn’t judge me if I told them the truth.  And that many people know first hand about obsessive worry.  I would tell “new mom me” that there are going to be some rough days ahead - stretches of real things to worry about, and then moments and hours of genuine joy in watching them grow up. And that life only comes at you one moment at a time, then one day at a time, and the majority of those days are just fine.  And you will find others who are struggling and you will reach out to each other and get through.  

I almost chose not to have another baby.  I didn’t think I could go through that hell again, but I armed myself with postpartum info and gathered my courage.  And I’m grateful to have my other “baby”, a beautiful 18 year old daughter.  

Mind over obsession - the bike ride I almost missed

7-28-13
I live near a river, and by good fortune I also live close to one of those bike paths that used to be a train track.  The path winds down in a gentle slope from my house (which is awesome on the downhill start of my ride, but killer on the uphill end of my ride) down to the river.  The path goes through a beautiful wooded area, then follows the curve of the river.  Ducks and geese graze (DO ducks and geese graze?) along the side of the path.  Hawks circle overhead, and children play and scream and laugh on the playgrounds that I pass.  Teenagers sneak a smoke on the path in little clusters.  

It sounds idyllic, doesn't it?  But when I went riding yesterday, I missed all of it.  I was deep in thought about a personal issue.  I was turned it round and round in my head, chewed it over, replayed scenes in my head that were distressing, and imagined all kinds of troubling potential outcomes to my problem.  In short, I was obsessing.  It's funny how I can be in the thick of obsessing and not even know it.  Why is that?  Because that's just what my brain does.  It always has.  It's my normal.  My default setting.  Comfortable, but not really.  

But I caught it - caught the obsessive loop mid bike ride.  I stood back and realized that I was drowning in a whirlpool of troubling thoughts that spun around me.  I shut my eyes for just a moment. (Just a quick moment since I was speeding along a bike path - I didn't want to fling myself into the river and end my ride with a swim.)  

Now, one thing I am learning is that pulling myself out of that whirlpool is not easy, but it can be done.  (I didn't believe that when I was younger, but I do now.)  It's not enough to shut my eyes and turn my head away from the troubling thoughts (the way a baby turns away from a spoonful of mashed peas - lips pursed, face all scrunched up).  I have to replace those thoughts with other thoughts.  I try to find something positive to obsess about.  As I write this I'm realizing how strange that sounds.  Or, ideally, I try to just be where I am.  

I keep reading bits and pieces about mindfulness - the ability to be fully alive in the moment.  I intend to keep reading up about it - but on this bike ride, I thought I'd give it a try.  It was the perfect summer day in the midwest - 75 and low humidity - a respite from the stinky hot humid days we 'd been having.  I focused on that, and on the sun sparkling on the river, and the winding, wooded path, and cool breeze on my face under the shadows of the trees.  I passed the screaming, laughing children under the watchful eyes of their mothers who chatted together on benches.  I skirted around the huddles of teenagers, and got close enough to smell the cigarette cloud that clung to their clothing and hair.  I passed the grazing geese and ducks and watched their babies peck at the foliage by the river, and wondered if "graze" was the right word for what they were doing.  It felt good - really, really good.  I am lucky that in my world I'm usually pretty safe.  (It's not that way for many in this world, and my heart aches for those people.)  If my head stays with the rest of me, it should follow that I shouldn't be so worried, shouldn't it?

July 6th Panic on a high wire - why I couldn’t watch the Grand Canyon crossing

July 6th, 2013

Panic on a high wire - why I couldn’t watch the Grand Canyon crossing

I had no intention of writing anything about the recent high wire crossing over the Grand Canyon, but my head has latched onto it and cannot let it go.  (Obsessive thinking, anyone?)  Before it was aired, I had little desire to watch it, but I got sucked into the hype.  So that evening, I watched Nik Wallenda take about 100 steps over the canyon, then left the room.  I wonder how many other people who have experienced full blown panic attacks had to walk away.  Sure- I feared for this man’s life, and didn’t want to watch him plunge to the canyon floor in case of a misstep, but the experience of watching him touched a deeper fear that I did not yet understand in that moment.  So instead I watched my daughter watch the TV from the safety of my kitchen.  

If you’ve ever experienced a panic attack, you know that it can feel like you’re walking a wire - just trying to get from this point to that point without falling over.  

It was difficult not to put myself in his shoes.  Mr. Wallenda is obviously a much cooler customer than I am, and is far more in control of his nerves than I have ever been or he never would have pursued this endeavor in the first place.  And the guy was nervous - you just had to listen to the audio to pick that up.  Of course I would never walk out on a high wire over the Grand Canyon - the most obvious reasons being that I’m not a high wire walker, not trained, not strong enough, and I just don’t know how.  Most people don’t.  But add to that the anxiety monster - I would get about 10 steps out and begin to fear having an anxiety attack.  That would be my greatest fear - not the winds and the updrafts (as described in dramatic detail by Jim Cantore), not the wild shaking of the cable under my feet, not the potential of a sudden thunderstorm (also described in dramatic detail by Jim Cantore) - but the fear of fear.  Mr. Wallenda had every reason to be nervous about real potential dangers.  That’s healthy and normal and is what helps us to survive in this world.  But fearing fear.........not healthy.  

So I have to marvel at what the man accomplished.  Sure - it was an amazing physical feat, and I’m so glad he lived to kiss the ground on the other side.  The mental task is almost beyond my comprehension.  Even if I knew how to walk a wire, I would have walked about 10 steps out, and the internal dialogue would have started.  “What if I panic?  What if I panic?  Am I panicking now?  Oh my God am I getting dizzy?  I think I am.  What if I get dizzier?  What if I black out?  I’m gonna die.  Oh look...there’s an eagle!!”  Ok - I wouldn’t have noticed the eagle.  I would have been too busy looking inward, trying to figure out if I was getting dizzier or possibly blacking out, and about to plunge to my death. Or even worse - embarrass myself!  On national TV.  

Actually, I never would have been able to take that first step. Those of us with panic disorder tend to work ourselves up into a frenzy well before the feared event. We simply imagine it, and the stories start. (They are stories because they aren't real - our brains create all of these possible horrible scenarios that have not yet happened, and will likely never happen. More on that later!) And when the stories start, we are robbed of the wonderful present, even if we're in the safest place in the world.

6/17/13

The black hole of Obsessive thinking

It’s exhausting - thinking about something over and over again - and over again.  And my obsessive thoughts have never been pleasant thoughts.  (It seems wholly unfair - why couldn’t I think obsessively about a good hair day, or how pretty the green leaves look against the blue sky?)  My obsessive thoughts do not inspire joy.  They are usually dark and full of what ifs.  What if I get carjacked?  What if develop a life threatening illness and have to stop working and lose my job and my house?  And these thoughts whirl in my head around and around like the wheel in the hamster cage.  

The worst of it happened right after I had my first child.  Most of us have heard of post-partum depression, but I was blindsided by post-partum anxiety.  Not long after my sweet little son was born, I started having dreadful thoughts about all of the terrible things that could happen to this vulnerable little life.  I was powerless in the grip of these thoughts.  It felt like there was a TV in my head that was turned 24 hours a day to the anxiety channel, featuring shows that illustrated all that could happen to a helpless infant.  And it wasn’t a small 9 inch black and white tv - it was a big honking 80 inch flat screen in HD.  

My brain didn’t have a choice - it had to be tuned to the anxiety channel.  For brief periods of time I could switch it over to a different channel - the comedy channel when I saw something humorous and could muster up a brief laugh; the cooking channel when I needed to conjure up a nice bland dinner that wouldn’t cause the baby to drink spicy breast milk.  I had to stay away from any news sources whatsoever.  It seems that talk shows were riddled with stories of potential hazards to babies and toddlers.  I recall one day when I turned on a famous talk show that featured tragic stories of babies that were killed by common household objects.  I turned to a different talk show that  featured stories about children who had been kidnapped and never recovered.  Those night time feedings were the worst times for me.  I had a video at the ready to pop in the moment I woke to my son’s cries of hunger.  A funny video - thank YOU Steve Martin!

The sadness for me in looking back on this time is that the anxiety- those damn obsessive thoughts - robbed me of soaking in those precious moments with my baby.  I did my best because - wow - I loved that baby more than anyone told me I would. But  it’s difficult to be in the moment when you’re locked in an endless loop of useless thoughts.  Inconveniently, my brain was set up with picture and picture. As much as I would try to focus on that baby, or something sweet and funny he had done, there was that anxiety channel running it's endless loop on the same screen.  

It was torturous - so much so that I recall with great sadness the one afternoon I sprawled out on my bed and stared up at the ceiling, and I felt locked in to my own head. I thought there was only one way out, and that was to quiet my brain forever. I considered the thought, but looked over at my sleeping baby in his cradle near the bed, and knew that I could never abandon him. So I pushed the thought to the back of my brain - in the file designated 'for further consideration if desperately needed" 

and I pushed on.  

And then one day the volume was softer, and the 80 inch high def had turned into a 9 inch with the rotary dial.  It became easier to switch channels.  And slowly my brain became quiet.  Rest became easier.  I started to realize that dangers lurked around my precious baby, but he had a protective family, a watchful mother, and family and friends who valued his little life and supported his growth.  

I believe it was about the time I started sleeping through the night and weaning him on to the bottle.

I had to think long and hard about whether I could put myself through this again - about whether there would be a second child in our family. I armed myself with information about post-partum depression and anxiety. I ignored the doctor's insistence that what I had experienced was "normal". I wonder how often women are given a pat on the back and sent away with the words, "don't worry so much....you're quite normal", even when they go home and sprawl on their beds and consider suicide as an antedote to all his "normalcy".

I did work up the courage for a second baby, and I'm so glad I did. The second post partum experience was not nearly the darkness of the first one.

To this day, the obsessive thoughts will rev up during periods of my life. Now I'm able to step back and say..."hmmm.....who turned the anxiety channel back on, and why?" It's a barometer of my overall level of stress - a signal that I need to address or change something in my life. And it's no longer a trap.

6-8-13

Wow - time got away from me.  I wrote that first entry because I have a lot to say about anxiety, and wanted to finally get it out.  So what happened?  I got busy at work.  And anxious.  And sleepless.  

I know a lot of people who deal with anxiety - just everyday people who hold jobs and go to school and run to the grocery store.  Most of my fellow worriers seem to deal with sleeplessness in some way.  Some of them toss and turn trying to fall asleep.  Others manage to get in a solid three to four hours, then wake up in the wee hours with no one to talk to and really bad tv, and then the worry wheels start to turn.  

When I was a kid I was afraid of the dark.  I needed to have the door open just enough so that the hallway light shone full on my face.  I would lie in bed watching the shadows on the walls.  I would try not to look at the Charlie McCarthy ventriloquist dummy seated on a chair across from my bed because I was sure his creepy little mouth would start moving on his own.   Worries from the day would transfer into worries about tomorrow.  It seemed that I had no choice but to worry - it was my default setting.  So as soon as I learned to read, I turned to books at night to occupy my mind until I was so tired I couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer, and it was only a short leap from awake and worry to sleep and nightmares.  Yay!

I used to grab a stack of slim paperbacks just before bed, and stash them under my pillow.  I read by that light in the hallway until my parents came up to bed, when I would shove the books under my covers and throw myself over them.  I was good at feigning sleep - work up a little drool on the pillow, slow my breathing.... no problem.  When their bedroom door closed, I pulled out the books once more.  I knew those books backward and forward.  Once I fell asleep, I slept until morning, which seems like a luxury now.  But more about that later!