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The term “panic attack” invokes images of mental illness like psych
wards and straight jackets. But for many people, it’s a frequent occurrence that can be
controlled and might not interfere much with daily life. Commentator Kaitlin Ugolik talks
about her experience with panic attacks, which started at a young age.
I was eight years old, in the happiest place on earth. My parents had taken me and
my younger sister Anya to Disney World. We were too scared to go on rides, so as a
compromise they took us on the monorail that takes visitors through each of Disney’s
parks. We were particularly afraid of a ride called Space Mountain, because we’d heard
it was not only fast, but dark. When the monorail cruised through the Epcot Center ball
and the windows went black, I got suspicious. My parents reassured me again and
again, but an irrational fear began to take over.
Then I the voice on the intercom say it. Space. Mountain. My stomach dropped
and my pulse quickened. I started to cry hysterically, which made Anya start crying. I
yelled at my parents, over and over “YOU TRICKED US! YOU TRICKED US!”. How
could they do this?
Of course, they hadn’t done anything. We were still just on the monorail, which soon
made its way out the other side of the Epcot ball and into the sunlight. But I couldn’t calm
down. This wasn’t
just a tantrum. Something had a hold on me, something out of my control. We got off
at the next stop, and my parents rushed us out of the park.
I never panicked like that in public again, but it continued to happen in private. At
random moments, I would feel a sense of dread, my heart
would race, my hands would tingle and I’d sob uncontrollably. It only lasted for a few
minutes, but afterward I felt drained, physically and emotionally. It didn’t start to get bad
until middle school, when a friend told me he wanted to kill himself. When he started
to describe what he thought death would be like, how it would “feel,” my imagination
ran away with me and I started having attacks regularly. Here was something I really
couldn’t control, and I couldn’t stand it. I would close my eyes at night, trying to sleep,
and feel a jolt as my anxiety took over and I convinced myself I was going to die right
then. But after a few minutes it would pass, and I would be ashamed. So I kept it to
myself.
When I was in high school, my parents noticed my panic attacks. I was lucky that they
understood – members of my family had struggled with obsessive compulsive disorder
and anxiety herself. My parents – and I – had hoped that I’d miss out on that family trait.
I was determined to be “normal,” and to act like the confident, independent person my
mom had taught me to be. But after a lot of discussion, I finally agreed to let her take me
to a doctor.
He put me on a low dose of an antidepressant. It took me a long time to get used to the
fact that I needed something like that. I felt like taking those pills was a weakness, but
I didn’t like panicking either. Throughout the rest of high school and college, I learned
what triggered my attacks – lack of sleep, too much caffeine, movies or conversations
that encourage obsessive thoughts. I also learned that my anxiety didn’t make me who
I was. The truth was, I WAS confident, I could be independent, and I really was happy
most of the time. But even when I went several months without an attack, anxious
feelings were always in the back of my head. It was especially hard to go to places
where I’d had a panic attack, like my car, or a school bathroom, Or Disney World..
In 2008, my family went back. It sounds silly now, but I was really nervous to return to
Epcot. Not because I was still afraid of roller coasters, but because the place kind of
symbolized this painful thing I’d been carrying around with me for 12 years. I was still
having panic attacks occasionally, and I thought the memory of my first one might trigger
something embarrassing. But by that time I’d mastered another trick to averting a panic
attack – facing my fears. My sister Anya and I rode Space Mountain the first chance
we got. The ride itself was pretty anticlimactic, but as we zoomed through the artificial
night sky, I thought about how far I’d come, from accepting that something was wrong,
to learning to control it. I still panic sometimes, but less dramatically, and less often. The
people I’m closest to are remarkably understanding when it happens, It turns out that I
do have the confidence and independence that my mom wanted me to have.
After the ride, Anya and I took a picture together to prove that we’d done it, grinning with
our thumbs up.


