My Panic Attack (4)

But there was one problem I felt unable to face. I had happily sailed through my music exams and the day came when I was told that I had to play the piano at assembly. To play in front of the whole school, knowing that many girls would be only too eager to criticise my performance, was unbearable.

Again the nights of frantic anticipation. I could imagine all the things that could go wrong. I could see all the gleeful faces as the whole school enjoyed hearing me make a fool of myself.

Why did I not just refuse to play? I could not bring myself to do it. I couldn't run away this time, so I cracked my thumb joint with a hammer. A difficult 'accident' to explain at the hospital, but I ended up with my arm in a sling and an overwhelming feeling of relief at the honourable way of escaping from my ordeal. I now suffer from chronic arthritis in my hand as a reminder.

II scrambled through my exams. There were too many gaps in my education for me to do really well, but at last I reached my final day at school... and I didn't want to leave.

Even travelling was no longer a bugbear. I attended a secretarial college, travelling into the centre of London every day. The fears were all behind me and I could look ahead to a future as a normal person. A relative in the Foreign Office got me a job in MI6. Sounds exciting, but it was basically just another secretarial post where I was very happy and made many good friends.

I was engaged to be married, although we had a five-year wait ahead of us as Michael had to get his law degree and qualify as a solicitor.

One winter's day I was just recovering from a bout of flu and waiting at a bus stop on my way to work. Disaster. Back swept the terrifying feelings that I thought had gone for good. I didn't know how to handle them and staggered into a shop, where I asked for a glass of water and telephoned for a cab to take me the ten miles home from the centre of London. Of course, as soon as I arrived home I felt perfectly all right apart from being a bit shaky. After-effects of the flu, I decided, and opted to take another week's sick leave to make sure I had completely recovered. I never dreamed that the old demon had raised its ugly head again.

I put the episode out of my mind and happily travelled back to London the following week. Back at the same bus stop, and my knees started to wobble and my breathing speeded up. It was all coming back. Luckily a bus came along and, jumping on to it, I broke the sequence of panic.
I couldn't believe I was back to square one, but I became increasingly worried abut my journey to work and organised my day around a variety of coping strategies. There was no way I could avoid the bus journey to the centre of hondon and, desperate for human contact, I would talk to anyone else standing at the bus stop. I always carried a newspaper to look at while I waited, and when the panicky feelings started to build up I would dart into the nearest telephone box. (How I would have welcomed a mobile phone.) I would telephone my mother, the only person who knew about my struggle. Having once suffered from agoraphobia in her youth she would talk me through the feelings and encourage me to keep going.

Every day was a continual fight against rising panic and feelings of unreality. Every morning I felt sick with appre¬hension but I was determined to hide my distress. I could not bear anyone to know about it and dreaded making a fool of myself in front of other people; I was determined not to draw attention to myself though I may have looked somewhat twitchy and uncomfortable to anyone who studied me care-fiilly as I stood at the bus stop. I carried a card on which I had written my name, address, date and destination.

When the real world started to slide and my memory played tricks I would read this over and over again to reassure myself that I really existed.

I would deliberately arrive at my office half an hour before anyone else so that I had time to have a cup of tea, sit down and recover my equilibrium. I loved my job and dreaded the fact that I might have to give it up, despite the misery of getting to the office each day. Sometimes when I felt really bad I would think of looking for work nearer home, but I knew instinctively that once I gave in the phobia would follow me; then I would give up the local job and retreat into my home. I had to conquer the problem before it conquered me.

I was not tackling the phobia correctly, any expert would tell you today. Face the panic, experience it and go through it, they would say - but I was trying to avoid it at all costs. Every time I experienced a severe panic attack I would become more sensitized and likely to have another one. Avoiding the panics enabled me to operate on an even level and live a normal life, but I am sure I would probably have overcome it more quickly had I known the modern way of going about it.

I combed libraries and bookshops looking for information about agoraphobia (panic disorder wasn't known to the lay person in those days). There was very little written for the sufferer, and what I could find frightened me even more.

I consulted a psychiatrist (I picked his name out of a newspaper, hoping to find an expert in his field). 'You are probably quite a nice young woman/ he told me. 'But you are obsessed with your symptoms which are caused by an anxiety state, and you will just have to learn to overcome them.' I had hoped some sort of treatment might be available but was warned off by the great man, who felt that as I did not appear to have any underlying problems and was managing to cope, any treatment might result in aggravating the condition rather than curing it. This was in 1953.

No treatment, just keep going! At least I had acquired one comforting piece of information: agoraphobia would not kill me and it would not ruin my life unless I let it.

Recovery would take me five years. It was very gradual but I tried to adopt an optimistic approach to life. Every day I would find something to enjoy. It may have been a compli¬ment - oh how vain I was! — it may just have been enjoying the music of the buskers on the way to work; I have always responded to any kind of music. One spring, Piccadilly Circus was filled with multi-coloured bubbles inviting the public to the Ideal Home Exhibition.

I talked to people - anyone who looked as though they might be responsive - so I was never alone. These tactics would do nothing for my panic attacks but they made me feel more cheerful. I learned to smile at everyone and was gratified to find that about 80 per cent of the public would smile back. Life was definitely looking up.

II still had trouble travelling around London. My office had moved to the bottom of Whitehall and I had to cross Parlia¬ment Square every morning. Sometimes I couldn't do it and would have to take a taxi, making some feeble excuse such as that I was late for an important meeting.

It was at this time that my future in-laws invited me to join them and Michael on a summer holiday to Wales. I gritted my teeth on the long journey but would not have dreamed of admitting that I felt nervous. My father-in-law to be had been my family doctor all my life — but I never consulted him about my agoraphobia!

I felt relaxed and at ease with my second family, but then Michael announced that he and I were going to walk up Snowdon. Remember I couldn't walk across Parliament Square without feeling ill. I was really stuck. No way was I going to let on that I couldn't face that mountain.
It could have been worse. I kept my head down all the way as I found the open sky too vast and overpowering. I had blisters on my feet and took off my shoes as I felt happier concentrating on my sore feet than on any panicky feelings.

I have photographs to prove we reached the summit, but I couldn't wait to get to the bottom again, pleased to find I felt a sense of achievement. Two weeks later I was back in a taxi circling Parliament Square to get to my office in Whitehall.
Gradually it all faded. I hardly realised how much I was progressing until it became obvious that my nerves were no longer dominating my life. It takes some time to appreciate that one is really free. The biggest bonus was discovering that all the other anxieties disappeared, and instead of being a permanently anxious person with many devastating fears I discovered that I had become less fearful than most of the people I knew, that having trained myself not to worry, I didn't worry. It is possible to change one's life around.

I have described how my life changed when I had overcome my fears, but my crowning success was my wedding day. Four hundred guests in a London church in the middle of Piccadilly - one of my 'panic spots' some years earlier. The service was long and I thoroughly enjoyed every moment without even a frisson of fear. My self-confidence was so high I felt like floating off the ground. I will never forget that day.



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