What was that?

I was in Toronto taking photographs for a friends barbershop. I had gotten a coffee from the Cannon that morning, picked up my pal from his house, and began to make the trek into the city. It was overcast and rainy, I had 2 missed calls from my accountant that I intended to take care of later that day. All in all, a very typical day in my life. The photoshoot began, it was hectic but a manageable form of hectic. I was loading film, taking headshots, re-loading film, taking more headshots, trying to make jokes, sweating, re-loading more film when about 3/4 of the way through the shoot something hit me. Like a miniature steam train just barrelled into my chest and blew its airhorn right into my brain. My face went blank, I tried to regain composure, but something in me knew that if I didn’t leave that room right then and there I was likely going to die. I told the next person in line for their headshot that i’d be right back and I hastily made my way through the line of other barbers waiting for their turn and jogged outside and to my car. The sudden rush of urgency began to leave and I felt ok again. That was weird? I went back and finished up the shoot. By the time i’d finished and was ready to head home, the steam train had returned. This time, it was bigger. I half ran to my car without saying anything and waited for my friend to get in the passenger seat so I could get home as fast as I could. I needed to be home. I didn’t know why, I just knew that I couldn’t be here. I needed to get out and that was that. I needed to run. The traffic to the highway was bad. I kept looking left and right down the various streets and began to plan out my escape. “If this traffic persists, i’ll just pull off and make a run for it down that street, it looks empty enough” were the types of thoughts clouding my brain. Why is my heart racing? Why am I sweating? Did I have too much coffee? Is something wrong? I need to get out of here now. By the time I was driving on the highway, I couldn’t control my breathing. I was breathing as though i’d just finished a marathon (at least i’d assume so, i’ve never run a marathon). My friend looked at me and said “are you having a panic attack?” and thats when it suddenly became clear what was happening to me. I was having a really, really bad panic attack. I hadn’t had one in about 14 years and couldn’t even remember what they’d felt like. My last panic attack struck me when I was a teenager and it was more of a one and done sort of situation. I figured and hoped thats what this one would be as well. I got home, hugged my wife, and went to bed - being at home had instantly relieved the “I need to get out of here” mindset that had rushed into me.

Unfortunately, it was not a one and done. For one reason or another, this panic attack came as more of an entry into living a panicked lifestyle. The next wedding I shot, I had a massive panic attack, almost worse than the first one. I still made it through and managed to get by. I remember thinking “oh, this is here now” and almost began having panic attacks at the thought of having panic attacks. It was a very grim summer in 2021 and I wasn’t sure how to get through it. “It’ll stop eventually, just carry on” was my first self prescribed medical advice. This, surprisingly, had lacklustre results. It is such a hard feeling to describe to someone who’s never experienced a true panic attack. You feel as though you are going to vomit, shit, scream, run, and die all at the exact same time. Its so overwhelming that I guess your mind tells you to run away from it? There is immediate danger right where you’re standing, RUN. The summer went on and I felt worse and worse. I didn’t like leaving my home even just to get groceries. I had a panic attack at indigo and had to race home as fast as I could. I started not being able to enjoy the most basic elements of every day. A friend wants to get a beer? No way, no chance. Thats not a risk im willing to take right now - far too dangerous. We need balsamic dressing for a salad? Woah now, ease up - thats a no can do from me! Of course, I would attempt most of these things. I’d get in the car - start driving and just slowly wait for it to hit me. If I made it a few blocks I would gain this false confidence that I had beaten it. It was gone - finally. Thats generally when it would hit the worst. By the fall I realized it wasn’t just going to leave me alone like I had hoped. I talked to my doctor and got a prescription for Clonazepam which is a drug that  massages your amygdala while whispering in its ear “shut the fuck up, please”. It really works. It was the first time I had felt some hope that I was going to be able to live a life and “be myself” again. After that, I found a therapist. Therapy, my dudes, is euphoric. If you’ve ever even been on the fence about wanting to try therapy, jump off and google “therapists near me” immediately. This is where I learned everything I currently know about how to stop a panic attack and while it isn’t always easy - I am in a completely different state of mind today than I was a year ago. I still get panic attacks, they still suck, but the confidence that I can punch it in the face with breathing techniques is all I never knew I ever wanted. I don’t fully know why I’m writing this blog post but I guess if you’re a fellow pal or human that suffers from panic attacks, just know that you aren’t the only one. One of the toughest mental gaps I needed to overcome was that I felt like I was the only one experiencing this and that no one would ever understand what I was going through. The steam train still hits me and I do still feel like im going to puke and shit while running in a straight line to home but I now know that its only here for a station stop and then its on its way. Love ya!

3 YEARS LATER//2025

Well, I’m still around. My kids are older and more independent, my book review life has unintentionally and unexpectedly gotten fairly big, and I still shoot people in love (photographically) for my career. My beautiful wife still spends her time knitting and laughing with me, and my dogs are loud and weird. If there’s an alternate universe and my 34 year old self is reading this, I am sad to let you know that the panic is still kicking, and it’s kicking hard. I don’t want to be too hard on myself here (or do I?) but I definitely let things slip. Little warnings pop up at times and places I usually don’t expect. Reminders that I should slow down, take care of myself, and go back to therapy. Why did I stop going to therapy in the first place? Well, I started feeling better. I was “cured”. I was all better until I wasn’t, which really wasn’t long after I’d stopped. I would say my anxiety free stretches last longer these days, which is positive, but that my downfalls do the same, which is…not positive. I sometimes worry that I come across as too intense about panic attacks and the ways they impact my life. There are worse things in life, always. The problem is that I know this and it still doesn’t help at all. A few weeks ago I started getting the cyclone pit above my stomach that indicates something is coming. This one was different though. I can’t properly explain how - it just was. I put my shoes on and took a walk to the park. I took off my shoes and put my bare feet in the fountain, hoping the shock of the cold would shoot me out of it. I tried forcing smiles to fight it. I sat on a bench and practiced box breathing. Panic destroys your stomach and the public washrooms at the park are gnarly (to say the least) which also wasn’t helping. Just the thought of having to use one and the possibility of ending up with a life-threatening disease sent my heart racing. Nothing was dissipating this one. It was a fairly terrifying feeling but you know what was rad? I walked home, sat on the couch, and watched a movie. It eventually ended. They always end and they never last forever. It can be hard to remember that in the moment sometimes. This may not be the most cheerful 3 years later update. I don’t think it needs to be. The old me would probably just lie and pretend that everything was getting better and everything is fine. I think being real with myself is going to help me move forward.

There’s someone thats been here all my life. I love them - and now they’re dying. I’ve had quite a few perspective giving moments happen to me these past few years but this one has really shifted what is truly important to me. My wife and our two dudes love me a lot. It’s the most real feeling I've ever felt. They are, without question, the most important people in my life. Cliché or not, it is the truth. I feel an urgency to give them the most bright version of my best self in every waking moment. I start therapy again in a few days and I feel good about it. I wouldn’t say I have “A lot” of friends that I can talk to, but I have a few and thats all I need. There are a lot of great things going on here - right? I don’t want to be annoying but if this resonates with you and you aren’t sure what to do, please do talk to someone. Thanks for reading this. I hope to see you in another 3 years and I hope to let you know that I’m “cured”. Love ya!