PANIC TUNNELS. Experiencing a Panic Attack.
“Tunnel Ahead,” the sign read…”Turn on your lights”. So she did. She was halfway grateful for the warning, although she knew that a warning was just that…a warning. It wasn’t a sign preventing the tunnel from coming, it was simply a sign that is was.
Her knuckles cautiously tensed, squeezing the steering wheel a little tighter; she adjusted in the drivers seat, making herself uncomfortable and alert. She had been descending the mountainous parkway for almost an hour, her trusty SUV hugging tight to the curves and twists in the road. It was late summer and early afternoon. The sun was playfully and artistically using the clouds to etch and paint shadows and highlights. Dabbling them perfectly within the rocky peaks and sloping valleys of her Blue Ridge views. Beyond every bend of the asphalt was a gift, a breathtaking glimpse of an ever-changing, magnificent, mountainous panoramic. She had found her breath among these hills and canopies of nature; her eyes were wide open, soaking in scenery and applying joy like bandaids to the gaps and wounds in her soul. Then she saw the sign.
The unforeseen warning had instantly sucked the mountain air from her lungs, jerking her out of the beauty and freedom surrounding her and back into the captive prison of her mind. That ugly prison where the grip of fear strangles all reason. Just like that, the well-intentioned warning sign had blinded her, narrowing her focus to the inevitable darkness of the tunnel ahead.
She could no long see the mountains, she could only see blackness approaching. She had barely caught a glimpse of the sign through her windshield. Her SUV had coasted by the warning, as innocent and carefree as the driver within. But a glimpse was all it took, the warning, the inevitable was now tattooed to her chest revving her heart rate and stealing her air. Her palms were sweating, slipping on the steering wheel forcing her to focus and brake hard as she turned into the sloping, sharp bend in the road. She desperately searched her rearview mirror for a place to turn around, back up, or pull over…something…anything to avoid the panic that was ahead. But the solid yellow line told her no. The path was too narrow and treacherous, with steep rock drop-offs and mountainous walls. Her throat was closing, gasping, screaming for help.
The only way out was through the darkness. Her vision was whirling as she lurched her car from the bend and faced her tunnel. Ahead of her was a black hole, a dark, scary underpass blasted through the mountain. She stared through tear-filled eyes trying desperately to see light beyond the blackness. She couldn’t see it, the tunnel looked endless. She was desperately alone. If only a car would pass…she could run to it, fall to her knees and beg for help. She didn’t want to die alone, and at that moment she felt like she was dying.
Her hands were tingling and shaking now. Numbness was creeping up her arms and smothering her common sense. She chanted to her herself over and over, attempting to convince her crazed senses that this was not real. The panic was winning. She was dizzy and lightheaded moving fast and reaching anxiously for anything that would distract her, mints…food…she frantically wanted to call someone. There was no phone service on the parkway. Her legs were shaking, leaping, and knocking the steering wheel sideways. From head to toe her muscles were tense, tight, unbendable. Somewhere deep within her she found the strength to press the gas pedal and steady her steering. She entered the tunnel. Crying and hopelessly searching for her brave she disappeared into her fear.
She knew she was drowning. The black blanketed tunnel was swallowing her, and she couldn’t breathe. She was spinning, terror-stricken, yet moving forward. She was swooning. Was she going to faint? She couldn’t. She couldn’t and she wouldn’t, those words were her absolute. Miraculously, in the middle of her darkness she unearthed her calm began to reclaim her senses. Slowly her short and shallow breathing became steady, growing longer and deeper with each inhale and exhale. Was it over?
It was still black as she rounded the dark, tubular curve. Looking ahead, her fear-filled tears gave way to tears of relief as a sunlit hole reached out its hand and pulled her out of her tunnel. She was on the other side.
It had been six years since her last panic attack. She stares at her computer screen, allowing herself to reenter the edges of the tunnels in her life. The panic attacks were real and they were scary. The jolting assaults quickly became heavy, too heavy, mounding one on top of the other interlaced with piles of debilitating fear. She remembers her Xanax, her protecter, her only way out… She never left the house without her Xanax, she couldn’t go shopping or travel without it. Her tears drip onto her keyboard, wishing desperately that she could go back and help that girl.
Tunnel after tunnel of thick darkness. Somehow she frantically survived one panic attack after another. There is a haze that has swallowed many of her memories, lost moments with her children, forgotten laughter. She regrets the fear, but she embraces her growth. Six years ago is was Jesus, not Xanax, that showed her peace. Jesus had covered her, gently, soft, and warm, like a cozy blanket, and given her rest.
She knew of Jesus during those many years, but she didn’t know Him. Her journey to Trust has been slow, subtle, but intentional. She imagines it is different for everyone, and just as indescribable as it is for her. She loves that girl, that girl who got lost in the tunnels. She now knows there is a way out. Fear no longer frantically drives her through her tunnels, it is now Hope that holds the steering wheel.
