I grip her hand for a second and scan the seating options. A floral print loveseat is flush against the wall and a burgundy chair hugs a corner. I hold back a joke about the window being my best bet.
“Thanks,” I say and plant myself on the chair. “I thought couches were just a cliché. I didn’t know shrinks or therapists actually use them.” I keep my tone light as I wipe my damp palms on my jeans.
“Maybe so, but it’s comfortable so I keep it around.” Her smile is brief and I’m worried she’s analyzing me for making jokes already.
There’s a short break of silence as she flips open a small black notebook on the table next to her. She lifts a pen and says, “I’ll be taking notes occasionally during our session, do you mind?”
“No, it’s fine.” I take a small sip from the half-empty water bottle I’d brought in.
“But don’t worry, I’m listening. I’m usually not much of a note taker except for first sessions.”
I say, “it’s fine” again.
As I’m wondering when we’re going to get on with it, she asks why I’m here.
“My mom brought me, so I guess that’s why.” My leather bag that I’d shoved in-between my thigh and the edge of the seat crowds me. I wedge it out and drop it to the floor.
Her smile is genuine. “You might not have wanted to but I’m glad you’re here. Jumping into the unknown is brave. What made you decide to come?”
I dig my palm into my knee to stop it from bobbing up and down. I don’t want her thinking I’m crazy. “Something bad happened a few weeks ago and all of a sudden I couldn’t breathe. I thought I was going to pass out but instead I just hyperventilated for a while and then I cried and it was over. My mom said it was a panic attack. She said maybe I have some things I should deal with.”
Donna nods her head. “Was this the first time you experienced a panic attack?”
“I guess I get panic-y about stuff. But I’m not really sure what you mean by a panic attack. I thought that was just a word for like, freaking out.”
Donna gives me another one of her soft smiles. She reaches for her notebook and paper, and says, “Tell me what happens when you’re feeling anxious or nervous.”
“Sure,” I say. I take another couple sips of water and wish I’d brought a full bottle. Apparently counseling makes me thirsty. “I get little stomachaches when I’m worried about something. And my heart races. Like, a lot. My hands get sweaty and sometimes it feels like I won’t be able to breathe. It can feel like something is clogging my throat and my lungs are having to do triple the work to, I don’t know, keep me breathing. When I’m really anxious, it’s like I’m seconds away from suffocating.” My eyes tear up. “I guess I’m just kind of a freak about some things, you know.”
She jots down a note or two, and then raises her head again. “What types of situations are you in when you get this anxiety?”
The view of the parking lot from the window up here is pretty clear and I wonder if anyone can see me. I slump farther in my seat. “All kinds of situations, I guess. Like going to parties or being at a party. Sometimes just walking into the cafeteria even when I know I already have friends to sit by. I feel like I’m overthinking every little thing, even when good things are happening. Sometimes it’s little things but then sometimes it’s not.” I rub my finger against the ridges of the water bottle. “I don’t know. This is kind of embarrassing.”
She tilts her head. “What do you mean by embarrassing?”
“Telling you about how I overreact to things. Some of these things shouldn’t bother me.” I frown and give the water bottle one last sip of air. I shake the empty bottle and drop it into my bag.
“It sounds like you’re an introvert and sometimes lots of people can be overwhelming. Why do you feel you shouldn’t be bothered by these things?”
“It just doesn’t feel normal. So many things stress me out. Usually it’s the stuff I told you about, but today I woke up and wasn’t even thinking about anything yet. My heart started beating really, really fast. It felt like I was having a heart attack or something. It was scary.”
“How did you know you weren’t?”
“It happened so fast that I didn’t have much time to think. I just had time to tell myself to stop freaking out. Then, as my breath started coming back to me, I realized that the whole thing felt a lot like the other times. Except this time I wasn’t even stressing about anything. No one was fighting, no one had just died, I just woke up.” I sigh and make eye contact before staring back to the floor and the scuffs on my old red Converse. “What’s wrong with me? Is this something crazy or do I have heart problems?”
“Well,” Donna smiles. “I’m not one for the word crazy, but either way, no. You’re having some physical reactions to your anxiety and you’ve probably experienced a panic attack or two. But it’s nothing you can’t handle.”