Today, as someone with a developmental disability, I want to put into words one of the long-standing constraints I’ve lived with: panic attacks.
This article is not intended to provide medical explanations or diagnoses. It is simply me putting into words my own experiences and understanding as someone with a developmental disability.
Furthermore, this article focuses less on “obtaining a diagnosis” and more on articulating how I’ve come to understand my physical experiences and how I’ve learned to live with them.
“Panic attacks” in parentheses
First, let me explain why I put “panic attack” in quotation marks. This can be expressed as:
“Probably, that’s what it is.”
In other words, within my own understanding, it’s an issue I can only explain by framing it as a recognition that remains purely “tentative.”
If I asked a doctor to write a diagnosis letter for panic disorder, I suspect they probably would. But when I consider what meaning that would actually hold for my future life, only vague conclusions based on uncertain reasoning come to mind. Is confirming a diagnosis a meaningful, effective step for me? I have to say, I have my doubts.
At least, in my life so far, I’ve never encountered a situation where I needed to prove the fact that I have panic disorder with an official document. The mindset I describe next is purely a personal opinion based on my own knowledge and experience; I have absolutely no intention of recommending it to others.
That mindset is this:
Even if I were formally diagnosed with panic disorder, I’d feel something akin to resignation, thinking, “So what? Will that change anything in my life?”
Therefore, to reiterate, what I refer to as a “panic attack” in this article is merely a provisional understanding I’ve arrived at through a process of elimination based on my life experiences—one that I personally find somewhat convincing.
My First “Panic Attack”
The first time I experienced this “panic attack” in my life was in my early thirties.
It happened suddenly one Sunday afternoon in early summer while I was riding my motorcycle.
I couldn’t breathe properly, feeling suffocated;
a cold, taut stiffness around the back of my neck;
a tight squeezing sensation slightly left of my solar plexus;
a slight nausea;
the outlines of sunlight in my vision became exaggerated, looking like countless sparkling pillars;
my vision intermittently blacked out (went completely dark);
a “cold numbness” like when you inhale freezing air deeply on a bitterly cold winter day covered my mouth and throat.
I pulled my bike over to the shoulder and curled up on the spot, but even after 15 minutes, 30 minutes, sitting still like that, the agony showed no sign of easing.
“I might die here,”
I thought.
I recalled a scene from Mario Puzo’s novel The Godfather. As I crouched there, I suddenly remembered that Vito Corleone’s final words during his heart attack were, “Life is so beautiful.”
But somehow, my body could move.
I could probably walk.
By sheer luck, or perhaps fate, I was just a few hundred meters from a general hospital that stayed open even on holidays. My vision kept fading in and out, but feeling my way along guardrails and utility poles, I managed to walk to that hospital.
By the time I finished several tests, my symptoms had completely disappeared. I had sort of expected it, but the doctor told me, “The tests show no problems. Why not just monitor things for a while?” Though I had some lingering doubts, I went home that day.
These heart attack-like symptoms would recur many times throughout my life afterward. Yet, even during that initial period, I think I somehow intuitively grasped a vague understanding: “This probably isn’t life-threatening.” During the first episode, I felt fear, of course, but there was also a sense of observing myself calmly from the outside.
I’ve heard the theory that “people with ADHD traits become exceptionally sharp-minded in situations that would cause typical individuals to panic and lose their composure.” I feel this idea applies to me. However, I’d like to discuss this topic in more detail another time.
Now, as I’ve already mentioned, this symptom has recurred many times throughout my life since then. I’ll describe its pattern of occurrence. My “panic attacks” generally happen most often when I’m out and about. They aren’t entirely absent when I’m at home, but the symptoms are usually much milder. Because of this, I personally feel that psychological stress is likely involved.
No Clear Answer
For me, “panic attacks” have been a constraint I’ve lived with for nearly 20 years, and now I can describe them objectively without much difficulty. But for my younger self, standing in this place of understanding was, of course, hard. So, I went to the hospital many times over the years for tests.
Each time, the number of tests increased. But the cause remained unclear.
At that time, I naturally had no awareness of something called “panic disorder.”
In addition to various hospital tests, I wore a 24-hour Holter monitor at home to collect data. Furthermore, to rule out the possibility of exertional angina, I carried nitroglycerin capsules with me at all times, taking them when an attack occurred. However, nitroglycerin had no effect on me, so that avenue was closed.
Ultimately, the doctor suggested a cardiac catheterization. However, the doctor also explained that this test places a significant physical burden on the body. For these reasons, I decided not to undergo the test. In a sense, it was procrastination.
The psychology behind this postponement was the thought, “Even if I get that test, it’ll probably just say ‘nothing wrong’ anyway,” and, as mentioned earlier, the faint yet clear realization that “I probably won’t die.” It was likely this sense of resignation and detached acceptance.
When it becomes vaguely apparent that the issue falls within the realm of psychiatry, doctors often begin to subtly distance themselves. I have several constraints beyond just panic attacks, and I’ve probably visited hospitals seeking answers to mysteries within the same context more often than the average person. Moreover, I’ve always been extremely sensitive to such distancing.
Please don’t misunderstand me; I have absolutely no intention of blaming doctors.
While it may be true that “medicine is an act of compassion,” doctors are also scientists, occupying one of the pinnacle positions in the sciences. Furthermore, considering the position of psychiatric care within the structure of Japanese medical societies, I believe this attitude from doctors is entirely natural and perhaps even an expression of their sincere commitment to science.
A Tentative Conclusion
Anyway, more time passed after that,
and though I don’t clearly remember when it was,
I had the chance to hear someone say,
“Could that be panic disorder?”
Looking into it along those lines, I found myself nodding in agreement quite often.
Through this process, I’ve tentatively settled on calling this issue “panic attacks” in parentheses.
Born with developmental disabilities and having lived with various limitations, this added yet another constraint to my list. Incidentally, the three main limitations I face are sudden fatigue, panic attacks, and irritable bowel syndrome. I plan to write about these separately in another article.
In my case, it took a long time to arrive at the understanding of “panic attacks.”
If, for someone who comes across the words I leave behind this time,
these words can serve as a guiding path,
then I’ll be satisfied.
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