The most calming thing you can do in the middle of an anxiety attack is place your palm over your own heart, or someone else’s if they happen to be near enough. The simple act of reminding yourself that you’re a living, breathing thing with blood pumping throughout the scaffolding of your body can sometimes be enough to relieve you of dread.
So much is temporary. Rome burned for six days and seven nights. The stars live silhouetted against the sky until they flare and burst apart into the universe like melted candles into blackened cake. And every grain of sand known to man eventually washes back into the surf and is replaced by a new one. Anxiety may be a permanent fixture throughout your entire life, but its episodes are momentary. And although moments can be captured like photographs against the background of decades, the memories surrounding the image gradually fade, until all that’s left is blurred edges and bright lines. Ten years from now, your first anxiety attack won’t be as shiny or freshly-printed in your mind as you believe it will be.
So remember this. No matter how badly your body trembles or how short your breath pulls on its leash, this anxiety attack is just a photograph. It will lose some of its meaning as time goes on. It will fade. The album it’s tucked away in inside a small corner of your mind will no longer find use for it.
Wherever it happens- when you’re surrounded by a sea of people at a party or alone in your room, in the classroom as the teacher scrapes chalk across the board, inside the tiny bathroom of a rest stop far from civilization- remind yourself that whoever is in sight has felt anxious too at one point in their lives. Maybe not to the point of throwing up or shaking like a thunderstorm, but some of their anxiety has sampled a few bars from the soundtrack of yours. “I am not the only one who has felt this” is cliche but true. So even if you’re alone during the attack, or at least feeling like you are, you’ll realize you’re really not. Never have been, not now, and never will be.
The other thing is to find a safety word, a mantra. A word that makes you feel instantly calmer or at least more down to earth. A word that will pull you out of misery and back into reality with just a few syllables. Something as beautiful and long-winded as “ethereal” or “romanesque,” or even something as short and brusque as “lemon” or “cat.” When the anxiety hits, repeat the word over and over again until it stops making sense. It’s like the childhood game of saying “orange” so many times it ceases to be a delicious segmented fruit and becomes a cluster of meaningless letters. No matter how many repetitions have to come out of your mouth, no matter how many people stare or cover their ears, keep saying it. Force it out of your mouth even if you have to practically spit it into the air from between your teeth. Cling onto it until it does the trick and works its magic.
Safety phrases work well too. “This too shall pass” and “It gets better” are classics. Words already scream on paper, so imagine how much power they’ll have when they come pouring out of your mouth.
When the dizziness and sweating hits, find a home. Even if it’s a person. Find them. Curl yourself into their arms like a spiral sea shell and listen to their heart beat against the sand dune of their chest like tidal waves. Remember what the ocean smells like. Remember that being okay tastes like sea salt and fresh air along the shore. Take a little vacation from your anxiety; you deserve it.
It will end. It will end. And this time, it’ll be a good ending.