I Am Flight

Fight, Flight, Freeze… the three trauma responses that I have heard about for years. I wish these three, along with the other trauma responses, did not even exist. But they have to, right? Because if we did not have trauma responses, our kind, humans as we know it, would never have made it to present day 2023. Our ancestors were rough and tough, and without the internet to look up “How to dodge a bengal tiger” back then, the good Lord gave them the almighty amygdala to activate the fight, flight, or freeze response. The activation of these trauma responses has kept our species going, but just like some organs and teeth, maybe our amygdala missed the memo to tone it down a little now that we are in the year 2023. We are not dodging bengal tigers. Why does my mind hold onto that? What is wrong with my mind?

I am flight.

The flight trauma response is activated by the almighty amygdala due to a threat, perceived or real, where my body is flooded with the stress hormone so that I can physically or metaphorically run. I physically run. I run fast, and I run far. I run to escape the feelings of panic. I hate the feelings of panic. I hate feelings of panic whenever there is no threat that I can find. Why is my heart flip flopping while I am sitting alone on my couch reading a book? Why does it feel like I cannot take an adequate breath to fill my panicked lungs with oxygen? Why are my hands cold and trembling? Why can I not think straight or focus? Why am I getting tunnel vision? Why am I dizzy? I must be dying. I know I am dying. I am scared of dying. Should I call 911, or is this truly a panic attack? How do I know? All logic is gone. 

I am flight. 

It starts with a wave of nausea in my gut followed by a disturbance in my regular heart rhythm. Maybe it’s a skipped beat, or maybe it is an increase in heart rate. My normal resting heart rate of 55 is suddenly hammering away at 110 beats per minute as I sit here with my book in my lap. I can actually hear it hammering away. Lub dub, lub dub, lubdublubdublubdub. I feel heat mixed with an eerie prickly, tingling sensation rise from between my shoulder blades to the back of my head. I know the worst is coming... this is the impending doom. I physically feel my throat narrow; I am breathing faster now in an attempt to gulp down as much oxygen as I possibly can. I am panting, and I am dizzy. “SOMETHING IS NOT RIGHT” my mind is screaming. I believe it. I know it. But wait… why am I panicking? I am sitting alone on my couch reading a book. “WHY AM I PANICKING?!” is the one clear thought I can get out. I am going to pass out. I am going to die. 

I am flight. 

I have experienced this before. I know what this is. Give it ten minutes. It will peak in ten minutes, and it will subside. I can do this. I can handle this. I can do this. I can handle this. My thoughts become a blur of “I AM DYING” to “I HAVE GOT TO GET OUT OF HERE” to “I CAN DO THIS; I AM FINE”, and it is torture. I hate this. Why me? Why me? Why me? My palms are sweaty; I am trembling all over. I place two fingers to my radial pulse and still feel it hammering away. My watch shows 132 beats per minute now. Why is this taking so long? But, in reality, it has only been 4 minutes. Time does not seem real. Nothing seems real. Derealization is making a grand appearance! The peak of this panic attack will be in 6 more minutes. I can do this. Oh my God, I have to escape this. I can do this. 

I am flight. 

I have to escape this, so I am now flight. I physically run. I grab my phone and my emergency pills, and I run to my safe haven. I run to the forest. I run through the cold drizzle of rain. I run barefoot. I run wild; I am wild. I loathe the idea of relying on my emergency pills. I want to beat this myself because I know that I am capable. I know that I can beat this on my own. I can do it. But… I can’t. I cannot do it right now. The mountain is too tall. The panic, like a mountain, looms over me. It is taunting me… picking on me because I am weak. I am too far gone. I cannot beat this on my own. I am frantic now. I stop running, and I sit on the soggy ground. I close my eyes. In a feeble attempt to ground myself, I dig my fingernails into the wet earth. I want to cry, but the tears will not come. I want to claw my way through the earth. I want to bury myself in this forest. I hate myself. I hate this life. Why can’t I be normal? I hate this so much. I hear my heart continuing to hammer away. I check my watch… 166 beats per minute. Shakily, I untwist the cap on my emergency pills. The little white pills spill out into my trembling palm. I try to swish around enough saliva in my mouth to wash it all down. Down, down, down. 

I am flight. 

I lie back on the soggy ground. The drizzle is a steady sprinkle now. I close my eyes, and the drops of cool rain gently kiss my eyelids. 15 minutes, I think… 15 minutes until I feel peace. My body relaxes into the earth. I hear the melody of rain against the leaves. I unclench the bottle of emergency pills in my hand, and I let them roll onto the forest floor. I allow my mind to take me to a beautiful place, a place without fear or panic. I am thankful now. I do not hate myself, nor do I hate having to rely on my medication. I am thankful that I have these pills to pull me back from the dark abyss. One pill is all I need, and one pill is all I have taken. I can think clearly now. I am coherent. I am able to take deep breaths, and I am thankful for the oxygen that is now entering my body. In, out. I breathe easy. My heart rate is slowing. I am thankful; I am full of peace. I am okay.

I am flight, but I am okay. I am still here, and I will continue to climb this mountain one day at a time. I can do this. I breathe in; I breathe out. I relax. Panic is gone.