Panic Attack Sad Quotes

The sky was so blue I couldn’t look at it because it made me sad, swelling tears in my eyes and they dripped quietly on the floor as I got on with my day. I tried to keep my focus, ticked off the to-do list, did my chores. Packed orders, wrote emails, paid bills and rewrote stories, but the panic kept growing, exploding in my chest. Tears falling on the desk tick tick tick me not making a sound and some days I just don't know what to do. Where to go or who to see and I try to be gentle, soft and kind, but anxiety eats you up and I just want to be fine.

Yesterday it was sun outside. The sky was blue and people were lying under blooming cherry trees in the park. It was Friday, so records were released, that people have been working on for years. Friends around me find success and level up, do fancy photo shoots and get featured on big, white, movie screens. There were parties and lovers, hand in hand, laughing perfectly loud, but I walked numbly through the park, round and round, 40 times for 4 hours just wanting to make it through the day. There's a weight that inhabits my chest some times. Like a lock in my throat, making it hard to breathe. A little less air got through and the sky was so blue I couldn’t look at it because it made me sad, swelling tears in my eyes and they dripped quietly on the floor as I got on with my day. I tried to keep my focus, ticked off the to-do list, did my chores. Packed orders, wrote emails, paid bills and rewrote stories, but the panic kept growing, exploding in my chest. Tears falling on the desk tick tick tick me not making a sound and some days I just don't know what to do. Where to go or who to see and I try to be gentle, soft and kind, but anxiety eats you up and I just want to be fine. This is not beautiful. This is not useful. You can not do anything with it and it tries to control you, throw you off your balance and lovely ways but you can not let it. I cleaned up. Took myself for a walk. Tried to keep my eyes on the sky. Stayed away from the alcohol, stayed away from the destructive tools we learn to use. the smoking and the starving, the running, the madness, thinking it will help but it only feeds the fire and I don't want to hurt myself anymore. I made it through and today I woke up, lighter and proud because I'm still here. There are flowers growing outside my window. The coffee is warm, the air is pure. In a few hours I'll be on a train on my way to sing for people who invited me to come, to sing, for them. My own songs, that I created. Me—little me. From nowhere at all. And I have people around that I like and can laugh with, and it's spring again. It will always be spring again. And there will always be a new day.

Describing a panic attack to someone who has never experienced one is impossible. However, to one who has, no explanation is needed. You just have to say the word “anxiety” and their eyes would light up with a knowing look.

When my grandpa died, I had this same fear. I love Grandpa so much. He was Mom's dad, and he was my favorite person in the whole world. He lived up north, between Grayling and the Mackinaw Bridge. He had, like, twenty acres. He had horses and dirt bike and all this awesome stuff. I'd go up there for weeks at a time during the summers, and he'd let me do whatever I wanted. We'd go hunting and fishing and four-wheeling, and I'd stay up till midnight every night. Then one day, he died. All of a sudden, just like that that. I cried for days. Dad kicked the shit out of me for crying, but I didn't care. I loved Grandpa, and he was gone. Then, like a month after he'd died, I had this panic attack. I couldn't remember what he looked like. I thought it meant I didn't love him, or that I'd forgotten about him. It was the only time Dad was anything like helpful. He told me you have to forget what they look like. Otherwise, you can't learn to live without them. Forgetting is your brain's way of telling you it's time to try and move on. Not forget who they were, just...keep living.

Suddenly, I felt like I could not swallow my food. I was scared that if I swallowed my foo I would choke. I didn't know what was happening. Had I forgotten how to swallow? Then, in addition to being unable to swallow, I forgot how to breathe. This was my first panic attack.

For example, if you feel sad or depressed, you’re probably telling yourself that you’ve lost someone you love or something important to your sense of self-esteem. If you feel guilty or ashamed, you’re telling yourself that you’re bad or that you’ve violated your own personal values. If

Yet an anxiety disorder is simply an experience that a person moves through, just like a period of grief or sadness. Would we give a person with a broken heart or someone suffering from grief a label for life? No, yet people who go through a period of anxiety sometimes end up believing that this diagnosis, this label, is now a part of who they are.   “HOW

People tend to overidentify with clinical labels once they have been given one by their doctor or mental health professional. Yet an anxiety disorder is simply an experience that a person moves through, just like a period of grief or sadness. Would we give a person with a broken heart or someone suffering from grief a label for life? No, yet people who go through a period of anxiety sometimes end up believing that this diagnosis, this label, is now a part of who they are.

How to look a demon in the eye It’s easy to want to run away from bad feelings. When we feel sadness or fear we greet them as problems to be instantly solved or dismissed. I can remember that when I was first in the middle of a deep depression, I wasn’t just feeling depressed. I was feeling depressed about feeling depressed. Anxious about feeling anxious. And so, inevitably, the negative feelings kept on multiplying themselves. The key to recovery lay in acceptance. This was the paradox. To escape depression I had to get to a point where I accepted it. To stop having panic attacks I had to get to a point where I almost invited them. I would feel that sudden heightened alertness symptomatic of panic, and I would say to myself I want this. This is not a strategy you should necessarily follow. And I certainly don’t mean to belittle the horror of a full-blown panic attack. I know as well as anyone how utterly terrifying it can be to feel trapped in your own mind when it is in total freefall. But after a hundred or so panic attacks I realized something about them. They were self-referential. They fueled themselves. I mean: the panic became worse because I was panicking about the panic. It is a rolling snowball of its own making. But if I stopped myself being frozen about the panic, if I melted into a state of acceptance, the panic snowball ended up running out of the ice-cold terror and couldn’t grow. Eventually it would float right through. My mind would watch the panic rather than fight it. A totally different type of engagement. Sometimes, situation permitting, rather than trying to ignore the panic or walk it off, I would just lie down on the floor and close my eyes and really focus on it. And when you really analyze fear you realize, first, that it is only a natural part of us. And second, that it is the sister of hope. Because both are born from the uncertain fabric of life. In Tibetan the word re-dok is a portmanteau of the words rewa (hope) and dokpa (fear), acknowledging they coexist and both stem from essentially the same thing—uncertainty. When we analyze rather than evade our darkest fears, we learn that even our largest demons are not as invincible as they first appear. Often, when we stare at them, deeply, they disintegrate before our eyes.

I don’t know which bipolar me is going to wake up in the morning: the me that feels good or the me that is not sad but not motivated either. Then there is the depressed me. I wake up with negative thoughts. I sit on the couch doing nothing and look forward to a nap and then bed.

It was strange. The words “panic attack” were thrown around so often that I used to think nothing of it, applying the expression to the most trivial things. But now whenever I heard it, my stomach turned itself into knots. I used to be bulletproof, and I didn't even know it. Describing a panic attack to someone who has never experienced one is impossible. However, to one who has, no explanation is needed. You just have to say the word “anxiety,” and their eyes would light up with a knowing look. A mixture of “Welcome to the club” and “I know it sucks, but at least you're not alone.

I’m afraid to ask for what I need. I’m afraid of my survival seeming selfish. I’m afraid of my mental illnesses. I’m afraid of my sadness. I’m afraid of my anger. I’m afraid of the things that I want. I’m afraid of what people will think of the things that I want. I’m afraid of what people think. I’m afraid of my voice. I’m afraid of saying the wrong thing. I’m afraid of saying the right thing. I’m afraid of not knowing what the right thing is. I’m afraid of taking up space. I’m afraid of public transit. I’m afraid of the dark. I’m afraid of what men have done to me in the dark. I’m afraid of cisgender white men. I’m afraid of saying not all men and then having my face held down in the dirt by another man. I’m afraid of sex. I’m afraid of never getting over my trauma. I’m afraid of putting things down. I’m afraid of letting things go. I’m afraid of the emotional abuse I knowingly allowed myself to endure. I’m afraid of what I will let myself go through for love. I’m afraid of global warming. I’m afraid of being queer in public. I’m afraid of kissing someone in front of my mother. I’m afraid of not unlearning the bad things my parents taught me. I’m afraid of having children. I’m afraid of living alone. I’m afraid of checking my bank account. I’m afraid of wearing shorts in public. I’m afraid of driving. I’m afraid of driving and wanting to crash on purpose. I’m afraid of going to the doctor. I’m afraid of a doctor telling me to lose weight instead of listening to my concerns. I’m afraid of chest pains. I’m afraid of panic attacks. I’m afraid of not having health insurance. I’m afraid of moving away from home. I’m afraid of staying at home. I’m afraid of never loving someone as much as I loved the last person who broke my heart. I’m afraid of never being understood. I’m afraid of being understood. I’m afraid of forgiving too easily. I’m afraid of losing touch with my brother. I’m afraid of love. I’m afraid of other things.

Think of your life problems like different sounds coming together: depression is like a sad, deep sound; anxiety feels like a fast, nervous beat; panic attacks crash in like breaking glass; anger and frustration blast like loud horns; and money problems whisper like a quiet flute. Each problem on its own feels too much, but together they make up your life's song. As you learn to handle these problems, you can turn this mix of hard times into something meaningful. In facing these challenges, you might find strength you didn't know you had.