Outrageous Panic in NYC

A couple of my known triggers for panic are crowds and unknown faces. I've always known that if I didn't have a specific job to do within a crowd, I get anxious for absolutely no reason, other than the sheer volume of people surrounding me. I privately call it "specific agoraphobia," because I don't panic if I have a specific task list to accomplish; I guess you could say that I'm so focused on that task list that I don't know when I'll fit panicking into my list!

New York City. The Big Apple. The City That Never Sleeps. Or, for me, the city that induces absolute terror. Crowds of people everywhere, and no eye contact whatsoever unless it's by accident or in the job description. I went to NYC with my university's student newspaper crew for a big conference of other student newspapers around the nation. I should have been thrilled with the opportunity to go to NYC; instead, I was petrified before we even began.

I'm not afraid of flying, nor of turbulence, nor of landing. Circling the Statue of Liberty was thrilling as we came into JFK International Airport. The cabbie, and other New York drivers, could stand to learn a thing or two about personal bumper space from the South, and speed limits for that matter, but it was interesting to cross the bridges from Queens to Manhattan at a lightning fast pace with seven other women.

We stayed at the hotel reserved for the conference, the Roosevelt Hotel. Nice place, reminiscent of the Swinging 20s, what with the Art Deco accent pieces, oriental-style carpeting, dark stained wood, stained glass, and brass fixtures everywhere. I could have spent our entire trip exploring that hotel with a critical eye to the crown moulding, the details in the wood panelling, and the light fixtures. Figuring out how to use a rotating door with a constant stream of incoming and outgoing people was tricky, but the doorman kind of figured out I was from upper-class but backwater South Carolina, and he always held the stationary door open for me. Sweet man.

I had no idea what was expected of me at this conference. There weren't that many sessions scheduled for copy editors, which I am great at by the way, and I had no time to gather my wits about me before I was thrust into the first of these breakout sessions. Perhaps if I had had more time to simply process where I was, I'd have gotten more out of these sessions, but I don't recall anything meaningful from them!

What I do remember is the Saturday night we decided as a group to head to an Italian restaurant, just outside of Times Square, to take advantage of our one university-sponsored meal. One of the members of the group had a grandfather who lived in NYC, and he recommended this place above all others in the city for where we were. I kind of wish it had been in Little Italy, but it wasn't.

Of course, being from out of town and wanting to make sure we had a table, our advisor, my mother, made a reservation for 30 minutes ahead of time. We immediately began our trek, and bobbed and weaved our way through multiple groups of people waiting in line outside restaurants and clubs of all sorts. I saw more skin on display out there in 30 degree weather in March than I generally do at the pool in August here in SC. I also accidentally caught the eyes of many people staring us down in that indefinable way of the world-weary and wary Northeastern US resident.

By the time we were halfway to the restaurant, I was starting to feel the panic rise like bile in my throat. My heart was beating to burst out of my chest and lay itself on the pavement in exhaustion. The rushing of blood in my ears was drowning out the encouraging cries of my companions, the staccato pattern of car horns honking, and the natter-nattering chatter of the people we wended our way through and around as a fast-moving water current breaks through a beaver's half-constructed dam, to only have it seamlessly come back together as the haphazard lines formed again behind us. My eyesight dimmed, barely registering the bodies we pushed through and around, and my eyeballs themselves felt as though they were made of molten lead. I saw the pinpricks of light at the edges of the darkness, a surefire sign to me that I was on the brink of losing control of my body and my mind, and my body felt as if it were simultaneously freezing to death and burning in a pit of lava. I burst into a cold sweat as I battled these internal elements, knowing I was as pale as death and looked as though I had just recently risen from the grave. My mother held one hand while the editor of our newspaper held the other, following the tiny form of our guide, the granddaughter, to our end destination.

We skidded to a halt outside the restaurant, and I could go no further. The crowd in front of this restaurant was milling to and fro like a wind-tossed sea, and the battle I was fighting with my body was done, my ship could not stand the forward momentum any longer. There were stools available, but I couldn't trust my body to heave itself onto one of those tall contraptions without spilling over the other side of it, so I wedged my hind end onto a bottom rung between the legs of the stool and held my head between my knees. I just wanted to lie down on the terra cotta floor tiles and let the waves of panic wash over me, taking me completely out of the time and place I was in, but my mother squatted down and held my head, thinking she would keep me shielded from my internal demons by blocking out the external forces that brought them forth.

I tried, feebly, to push her away, as over the rushing blood in my eardrums I could hear my companions asking what was wrong with me, and her response of, "She doesn't do well in crowds. I don't know what it is, but she just doesn't do well in crowds. Does anyone have any idea of when we'll get seated?" Meanwhile, the pinpricks were growing ever stronger and crowding what vision I had left, and I felt as though I were calling through a cavern as I asked my mother to please find me a glass of ice water or let me succumb to the lethargic sludge I felt my body had become. The concerns of other patrons were voiced, and through the din I heard the judging laser-sharp and shrill voice of some other customer, as loud as if it were spoken in my head rather than in the sea of people, "Well, if she doesn't do well in crowds, she's got no place in New York!" There was a sharp retort from one member of our party, which my focus could not find in the darkness that was overtaking me, so it enhanced my sense of shame that I could not stand up for myself to the harpy instead.

We were seated sometime after, and I sucked down the provided ice water as if I had just come in from the desert. The women all looked at me with various degrees of concern, and perhaps fear, and all I could feel was judgement from every corner. I averted my eyes from them, pleading with my mother with my eyes instead, to explain this, as I could still feel the hot and cold tendrils of panic shooting lightning through my frayed nerves, making my skin jump at the texture of my coat, my sweater, and my jeans, the feel of my hair brushing my shoulders, the infinitesimal pricks of nails and hair growing micrometers at a time, the sweat drying in odd places on my skin, and I felt my brain rattle against my skull, screaming at me how wrong this all was and that we should just go away for a while. I felt the marbles shift in my dry mouth, echoing in the cavern that was my ears, telling the women I was with that I would be fine, I just needed a minute to catch my breath.

I feel so ashamed of that moment, and so many others like it. I have no control over this feeling, and at times I lose all function and do not retain consciousness. It worries me, and makes me wonder what happens when I do lose myself in the dark. Even more concerning is my knowledge that if I had been the guide through the morass, I'm sure I wouldn't have had this particular experience to share with you.