I would become hysterically agitated at (seemingly) nothing when I was as young as eight years old. It wasn't until many years later- but before I was diagnosed- I realized I had been having panic attacks.
They became more frequent after I moved to Portland, OR from Michigan when I was 19 years old. Probably has something to do with the fact that suddenly, my very sheltered and naive young self was in a strange place, meeting strange people, and smoking a lot of pot (which I very soon became allergic to, along with anything from the cannabis sativa plant- hemp, hemp oil, marijuana, hash, you name it). Interestingly, smoking pot, for me, will trigger an instantaneous and full-blown panic attack.
When I was 22, my (then) fiancé's mother died. He was 21, his sister was 14. He was living in Portland with me, and his mom and sister lived in Texas. It was a very unexpected death, and she was only 46. No will. Needless to say, this was devastating to my fiancé and, to a lesser extent, myself. Della and I were great friends, she was an amazing human being, gods rest her soul.
I stayed strong for him, to the point that I didn't even let him see me cry at first. In my mind, what he needed was a "rock". He needed someone to forget about their own well-being and be there for him, and him alone. And I was- I took care of everything. I spent all my time with him. He didn't want to see people except me. I quit my job to fly down to Texas, we handled the situation.I wasn't worried about anything but my fiancé and his comfort for a long time. I hadn't had a full-blown in a couple of years.
When it hit me, it was the worst I'd ever had. Involuntary muscle spasms, tunnel vision, hyperventilation, tremors, and a near-total loss of coordination that lasted hours, and recurred. I couldn't walk or drink from a cup. This panic attack lasted two weeks before I sought help (I'd never been treated for anything related to mental health before), and was accompanied by severe derealization. I didn't eat for days at a time. When I did eat, it was mechanical- I had no appetite... I forced myself to eat because I hadn't been. I couldn't sleep for days sometimes, and when I did, it was in fits and starts- 20 minutes here, half an hour there. Wake up, panic. Lather, rinse, repeat.
My fiancé, although on friendly terms, still refers to it as my "overnight anxiety disorder", and feels that I made it all up. He maintains that I "wasn't there for him" after his mother passed and that, because I had been irritable and lashed out in the weeks leading up to The Big One (dun-dun-DUNNNN), that I made up the Panic Disorder, G.A.D, and depression I had been diagnosed with to conveniently explain it away. I'm still suffering, learning, trying. I know I have this thing for the rest of my life. It changed me. I'm not the person I used to be. I'm so much angrier, short-fused. I'm not the bubbly, joyful dissenter I used to be. I worry too much. I've gained 60 lbs.
But I'm taking care of my sh*t!