New Normal
Don't Panic Text on Toilet Paper. Image/Markus Spiske.
By Jocelyn Paige Kelly
The first time I remember having a panic attack, I must have been about six years old. In the previous weeks, my body experienced aches and pains all over, especially in my legs. When I woke up, the pain was so intense and also in my chest. At this point, I could barely breathe, let alone scream. I remember trying to call out to my mom and not really being able to and being terrified. The fear ran through me like lightning. I remember that feeling the most. I waited for what seemed like an eternity for my mom to come into my room to get me ready for breakfast. It was a Tuesday, and it was the second week of kindergarten.
I remember my mom looking over me and realizing I wasn't well. My parents, I think, went into denial about what was happening to me. I went to the family doctor, but nothing came of it. Then, weeks later, on Halloween, they finally took me to the hospital, and I was there for about a week. They put me in the ward with the children who were terminally ill.
It's strange to be six years old and facing the possibility that you might die, and that day might come sooner than you'd hope. My parents had an emotionally challenging time seeing me in the hospital, so I spent most of my days watching TV or being lost in my own thoughts. I like to think of that time as a gift for building my imagination. During that time, I had no idea if I'd ever get better or if I'd ever walk again, for no adult could tell me what was happening to me or why.
Months passed after I recovered, and we moved to Vegas to a drier climate. I was then formally diagnosed with Juvenile Rheumatoid Arthritis, an autoimmune disease that is depilating but rarely causes death. It does cause shortness of breath from pleurisy, which is what I was also experiencing during that first panic attack.
I'd relearned how to walk again after treatment, but the emotional impact of what happened has always stayed with me. Panic attacks became something I got used to and thought were normal until I finally decided to see someone about it. I read about Panic Disorder in my early twenties and made an appointment to see a therapist. She diagnosed me on the first consult, along with high functioning social anxiety.
Because of my experience with heavy medications I'd taken for arthritis, I wanted to try therapy without prescriptions first. We did a treatment using a technique called EMDR (Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing) for about six weeks, and it got it under control. I felt transformed and that I had a new lease on life, restored confidence. Five years later, I went to another therapist for a slight tune-up, as they called it, but I understand how to manage everything. It'd been almost 20 years since I had a panic attack until this year. Thank you, 2020.
The thing about most anxiety disorders is that they are typically spun out of irrational fear. But this year has thrown me for a loop, and possibly others. What happens when your fears are not irrational such as being harassed or attacked while wearing a mask?
So, like everyone else this year, who are concerned about their health, I'm anxious. I'm also a high-risk person with an autoimmune disease. I couldn't help but wonder what this virus would do to someone like me and whether I would know if, and when, it was getting worse.
In March, when we started to shut down, I was okay. However, I had no idea how I would do emotionally with all this if it were long term. If the virus didn't get me, the relentless anxiety would. As long as everybody wore their mask, did their part, all for everyone's health, I would be able to manage. We all know how that story ends.
About two weeks into the shutdown, my employer (I work from home for a small local business as a social media and branding manager) called to let all of us know they had to reduce our pay and hours so they could keep everyone employed. Panic set in—the kind of terror that is genuine and cause for actual concern. But, it was not a full out attack. I remember telling myself that this was a normal response to existing fear.
Luckily, the shorter hours and dock in pay only lasted six weeks until their PPP loan kicked in, but it was incredibly stressful as I lost about 17% of my income. I even shut down my literary magazine, Helen, because of the financial stress and because I had to be honest with myself. If I had gotten sick or my mental health deteriorated, I didn't want the magazine's next issue in limbo with staff members reading; writers and poets waiting to be published. It was a decision made with logic and reasoning and everyone's well-being in mind, including my own.
All in all, I felt lucky. I still had a job, and I still had my health. For now.
I got into a routine of drinking a cup of coffee or tea outside in the morning to ground me. I'd focus on the horizon, the view of the mountains against the blue Nevada sky. I'd take deep breaths and feel my feet on the ground. This helped me, and it was just a few minutes outside every morning. Sometimes, I'd chat with my neighbor Kim who would be out on her balcony 12 feet away drinking her morning coffee and smoking a cigarette.
Kim is a survivor. She has lived with terminal lung cancer for a few years. We'd often chat about what was going on with the virus initially, but by late summer, she and her family decided they were tired of the pandemic. Coronavirus fatigue, as they call it. None of them at that time believed that the virus was causing people real harm, so none of them wore masks anymore.
As much as we have gotten along, her beliefs caused me pain and anguish and still do. I can't go outside my apartment with a mask on and not be harassed by her and her family. And you can't reason with her either about wearing masks. I've tried. I've even explained how a few of my friends are now long haulers and suffer severe consequences because of coronavirus. None of them were at high risk either or had pre-existing health conditions.
I've started to have anxiety tremors now. It's not surprising. I exercise on a rebounder to help cope with it, and it helps release some of the tension. I also take magnesium and Vitamin D. I know I should try and meditate more and practice progressive muscle relaxation, but I just feel more scattered lately. Collective trauma is a deplorable feeling.
One night I woke up in a panic, sweaty, and worried. I went to take my temperature. It was normal. I Googled any symptoms I thought I might have. Is that a scratch in my throat? Is that runny nose caused by allergies, stress, or is it something I should be anxious about? I felt dizzy. It was about 2 am. I went outside and took a few deep breaths and remembered that I also have Panic Disorder and suddenly found myself laughing, cackling even, in the middle of the night, to the delight of all my neighbors who I'm sure thought I'd lost my mind. After I went inside, I cried a little and went back to sleep. This is my new normal.
Photo/Jocelyn Paige Kelly.
Jocelyn Paige Kelly is a certified creativity coach and story coach who has an equal love for creativity as she does for stress management. Her additional background includes training in clinical hypnotherapy and in teaching self-hypnosis techniques. She is also a graduate of the intensive six-weeks Science Fiction and Fantasy workshop, Clarion West as well as the Tin House Workshop. Her short stories have been featured in Evergreen Review, Forge Journal, Cadillac Cicatrix, Willard & Maple, Dos Passos Review, Louisiana Review, and Red Rock Review. She is currently the publisher and editor-in-chief of Helen: a literary magazine.
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