My Panic Attack

Welcome to the Buddhist Boot Camp Podcast. Our intention is to awaken, enlighten, enrich, and inspire a simple and uncomplicated life. Discover the benefits of mindful living with your host, Timber Hawkeye. I originally intended to record this episode back in March, but that's when the coronavirus hit the U.S. in full force, so I put it on the back burner to host live Q&A's instead, highlights from which are uploaded as podcast episodes.

But once our front doors open again, the sudden stimuli of crowded stores and roadways might overwhelm us, which brings me to this unlikely story I want to share with you about a panic attack that I had earlier this year. It turns out there's a good explanation for why it occurred, but it was quite unnerving when it was actually happening. What got me through it is what can get us through what's happening right now.

After six years of accumulating airline mileage points from flights and credit card charges, I finally had enough points to cover an absolutely free round-trip flight and five-week backpacking trip around the Philippines earlier this year.

And setting up a tent on the beach, or as I like to call it, a five billion star hotel, made the trip a Nature Lover's Paradise, but quite a few shots and vaccinations for things like typhoid and malaria were either necessary or strongly advised prior to boarding the flight. I am fortunate enough to not be on any medication, and I generally avoid

even taking aspirin unless I'm in severe pain. But considering all the time I was about to spend sleeping outdoors in a third-world country, I took the malaria pills for two weeks prior to departure, as well as during the trip, and for three weeks afterwards. I didn't bother reading the possible side effects because not taking the pills wasn't an option, but it didn't take long to notice that the pills made me sleepy, for example, so I just took them at night.

I later discovered they also cause vivid dreams and a slight fever, which was no big deal. The whole point of the trip was to maximize time on quiet, deserted islands for some peace and tranquility, and to avoid major, loud cities like Manila as much as possible.

Since as far back as I can remember, I've been hypersensitive to certain types of noise: the high pitch of CRT monitors, beeping alarms, the sound of someone snoring or chewing, the auditory assault of emergency sirens, screaming children, wind chimes, and even certain bird song, would all drive me crazy if it wasn't for two things: one, I can usually meditate and breathe deeply through the noise until it stops and I can return to the bliss of silence,

and two, I almost always have earplugs on me just in case the sound is louder than my meditation can soothe. Whether this misophonia is a symptom of being somewhere on the spectrum or something else altogether, avoiding noise isn't always an option, especially when dealing with major airports and public transportation. I can usually gear myself up prior to leaving the house in preparation for what's to come and wear noise-cancelling headphones, which more often than not keep my anxiety at bay.

Anyway, the trip involved wonderfully warm, ocean breeze on white-sand beaches, beautiful hikes in surprisingly freezing temperatures I did not expect to experience in the Philippines but enjoyed immensely nonetheless on a sunrise hike to one of the highest peaks in the country, clear blue skies, and great food.

Add into the mix one bad case of getting seasick on a boat between islands, two cases of food poisoning, which I actually think was from drinking the water, not necessarily from anything I ate, and you've got the complete experience, which was still great in the grand scheme of things. But, at one point, returning to the big, loud, and busy city of Manila after a couple of weeks of reading books in a hammock on a quiet deserted beach, hit me really hard.

The noise of construction, traffic, blaring TVs and radios, car horns, and the fast-pace of everything and everyone around me, shot my anxiety through the roof and sent me into the worst panic attack I've ever had. I'm not going to play it down for you; I completely lost it. I truly believed it was the end of Timber as we know him, that Buddhist Boot Camp would come to an end, and that I would have to check myself into a mental hospital

upon returning to the States... if I don't kill myself first. That's how bad it was! Suicide was more inviting than another minute of noise from which I couldn't escape even with earplugs or noise-cancelling headphones; I truly wanted to die. It was my lowest point and I didn't even recognize myself.

I mean, this is me we're talking about; the guy who feels anger threatening to surface and starts contemplating what other feeling I'd rather choose, but in this case, this down-to-earth guy you've grown to know over the years, was no more. What got me through the sudden spiral of mental instability as I was rocking back and forth, was repeating to myself: This is temporary, this is temporary,

this is temporary. Within an hour, I fell asleep, probably from exhaustion; it's incredible how much energy the body uses to feel something -anything- so strongly. When I woke up the next day, I was no longer on edge, but still seriously questioning my mental health. Was this my own psychotic breakdown? Is this what everyone was saying Brittany Spears went through in 2007?

It felt like years of meditation, mindfulness, and all the practice I've had to remain calm in the midst of chaos meant nothing. So, I decided to do some research and discovered that severe panic attacks are actually a common side effect from the malaria vaccine I was taking, and it all made sense. On the one hand, I was relieved that it was merely a chemical reaction to the pills,

but it felt so real. In the moment of panic, I couldn't access all those other parts of my brain that would have otherwise kicked in with logic and reasoning to talk me off the ledge. But whether real or chemically induced, the mantra "This is temporary," helped me through it all. "Temporary" can mean a minute or two, an hour, a week, a month, a year, or a lifetime. No matter how you look at anything, everything is in constant flux.

I guess what pleasantly surprised me the most is how quickly I was willing to accept my mental breakdown prior to falling asleep.

I contacted a friend who recommended a therapist I could see immediately upon returning to the States, I asked another friend whether the mental institutions depicted in movies resembled the real ones he sees in his medical practice, and it all reminded me of the near-drowning incident that I described in my memoir, and how I merely observed what was happening rather than reacting to it.

I guess I wanted to share this story with you because perhaps all of the years of mindfulness practice DIDN'T go out the window in the moment of panic. In the gap between impulse and response, I didn't react to what was happening, I reminded myself how temporary it all was. Mindfulness and meditation can really help us, not in the moment of meditation, but at some point down the road when we need it most.

It got me through the four hours of being seasick on the worst boat ride you can imagine, it got me through the panic attack, and it got me through the whirlwind of change to which I returned when I got back home. For starters, I found out that I had to move out from where I'd been living for the past 2.5 years, but rather than react or dub the unexpected experience "terrible" or "unfortunate," I found a new place to live that is everything I've ever dreamed of.

And then this coronavirus exploded, and I can't think of anywhere in the world where I'd rather be quarantined right now. So, yes, all Buddhist Boot Camp in-person events have been postponed, but in addition to this podcast, online posts, and monthly blog, all of our events are now online through YouTube for the foreseeable future that anyone can attend from anywhere in the world.

But Buddhist Boot Camp is also technically the smallest bookstore in the world with only two titles so far, so if you've been considering getting a copy of Buddhist Boot Camp or Faithfully Religionless for yourself or for a friend, then now, more than ever, please show your support by ordering an autographed copy of the book from BuddhistBootCamp.com and I will personally sign each copy, package, and ship it to you.