Hannah O’Brien
Professor Holbrook
ENG 100 011
12 September 2024
Finding My Way Out
It starts with a tightening feeling in my chest like someone’s pressing down with all their
force, and I can't get them off. The walls begin to close in on me with passion as my vision goes
blurry with the tears that well in my eyes. My hands tremble: I can’t grip the foreign object in my
hand. “I need to calm down,” I tell myself, “This has happened before.” Within moments, I’m
being rushed to another room, surrounded by people I know but can’t quite recognize. “What if
it doesn’t leave this time? I’m trapped, and I can’t get out.” This day marked the start of
something I couldn’t understand—a struggle with my mental health that would stay with me for
years to come.
I had my first panic attack at the age of eight. The day it happened started like any other:
wake up, ride the bus to school, eat breakfast with friends, and so on. When I was sitting in my
music class there was a loud screeching sound outside. In less than 20 minutes, my classmates
and I were on a school bus confined to what felt like sardine cans of seats. “Three to a seat!” I
begged my teacher to tell me what was happening. “Face forward, inside voices!” This was the
first time I felt it: sheer panic. As my teacher adamantly refused to tell me what was happening,
my blood started to rush through my veins. I felt the sweat bead on my forehead, knowing I had
to get out. The 15-minute bus ride to a safe zone felt like 15 hours. The people around me
giggled with their friends as I reached for my throat to get rid of the choking feeling. Kids
Professor Holbrook
ENG 100 011
12 September 2024
Finding My Way Out
It starts with a tightening feeling in my chest like someone’s pressing down with all their
force, and I can't get them off. The walls begin to close in on me with passion as my vision goes
blurry with the tears that well in my eyes. My hands tremble: I can’t grip the foreign object in my
hand. “I need to calm down,” I tell myself, “This has happened before.” Within moments, I’m
being rushed to another room, surrounded by people I know but can’t quite recognize. “What if
it doesn’t leave this time? I’m trapped, and I can’t get out.” This day marked the start of
something I couldn’t understand—a struggle with my mental health that would stay with me for
years to come.
I had my first panic attack at the age of eight. The day it happened started like any other:
wake up, ride the bus to school, eat breakfast with friends, and so on. When I was sitting in my
music class there was a loud screeching sound outside. In less than 20 minutes, my classmates
and I were on a school bus confined to what felt like sardine cans of seats. “Three to a seat!” I
begged my teacher to tell me what was happening. “Face forward, inside voices!” This was the
first time I felt it: sheer panic. As my teacher adamantly refused to tell me what was happening,
my blood started to rush through my veins. I felt the sweat bead on my forehead, knowing I had
to get out. The 15-minute bus ride to a safe zone felt like 15 hours. The people around me
giggled with their friends as I reached for my throat to get rid of the choking feeling. Kids
