What a Panic Attack Really Feels Like
I'm either dying or crazy.
Those were the words on repeat in my brain the first time I had a panic attack, the summer after my sophomore year in high school. I was at the Georgia Governor's Honors Program, aka "GHP," a four-week summer program for "gifted" kids that sounded really awesome when I applied. Two days in I realized I'd made a terrible mistake. I don't fit in, I remember thinking as I lay in bed that second night. I don't belong. Not here. Not anywhere. And then my heart started racing and my skin got way, way too tight.
It wasn't supposed to be like this. I'd pinned all my hope on this summer at GHP. It was here, sleeping in a college dorm, taking advanced classes in "Communicative Arts" with other Type-A, overachieving high school kids, that I would finally find My People, aka People Like Me, aka People With Whom I Wouldn't Have to Try So Hard.