I sat hunched over my desk, papers and books strewn about. As I began flipping frantically through papers containing information about feminism and famous feminists, my brow furrowed, and I suddenly remembered that I had more to work on than my English research project.

I shifted my attention over to the thick textbook resting close to my lamp. I searched my cluttered desk for a sheet of crumpled graph paper and began to scan the book for the pages that I needed. Just as I had begun to write out the first problem, which was exceedingly difficult, and required much thought, my phone buzzed from beneath a stack of handouts that my Spanish teacher had provided me with for the test the following day.

Wading through study guides and homework assignments, I tugged my phone free from beneath a history packet. There were three missed calls, twenty two unread text messages, and six snapchats. Overwhelmed, I rushed to read and respond to one notification.

Suddenly it dawned on me that my physics lab was also due the following day.

As I struggled to locate the sheets stuffed with complicated math problems and confusing equations (none of which I understood), I felt myself beginning to disconnect from my work. The overload of information stopped processing in my brain, and I began to forget everything that I had to finish for tomorrow. I could no longer remember how to solve simple equations, or what my name was in Spanish, or what the definition of feminism was, as I spiraled slowly out of control.

My breathing became tight and restricted. I inhaled shakily, each breath wheezing slowly in and out of my deflated lungs.

I recognized the early signs of an upcoming panic attack.

I pushed my pile of work to the side and clambered to find my earbuds. My breathing worsened with each second, tears springing to my eyes as the overwhelming sense of loss of control took hold of me, my fingers tearing through pages in hope of locating the little buds.

Just as my head began to spin, I tugged the little white earbuds free from within a black folder. My hands shook as I pulled at them to untangle the cord as little stars began to dance across my vision. I jammed the jack into my phone and hurriedly searched my music library.

I forced my trembling legs over to my bed. I lay on my back, my head resting against my soft pillow, my body cushioned by the blue comforter.

Selecting a song, I turned the volume all the way up. Bass blasted in my ears as tears tumbled down my overheating cheeks, the feeling of despair and guilt and worthlessness filling my gasping lungs. The little black stars swirled into my vision from the corners of my eyes, growing in size, blocking the turquoise ceiling swaying above me.

I worked from the inside out, fighting to see and breathe. In the midst of my anxiety, it dawned on me that it was my responsibility to combat the attack.

I tried, with an immense amount of focus and attention, to pick out every word in the song I was listening to. I focused only on what the artist was saying, the music flowing through my mind. My lungs gradually opened up as the songs went by, and I was slowly able to breathe again.

Keeping my thoughts centered around the music, I cautiously allowed the stars to retreat behind my eyes. They dissipated, the small black clouds evaporating into the colors before me.

I lay in bed for another thirty minutes, continuing to prevent my thoughts from straying too far from the lyrics blasting in my ears.

When I felt well enough, I sat up. I glanced over at my desk, which still contained stacks of papers and textbooks and broken pencils. I felt a small surge of panic beginning to grow in my chest once again, so I opted to rest for thirty minutes more.

I realized that my work would remain, anxiety attack or not. I suppressed any remaining feelings of dread or despair and wandered cautiously over to my desk, avoiding the thought of upcoming deadlines and due dates.
Slowly, I shakily picked up my pencil. I pulled a paper out from beneath a stack of equations, settling on the physics assignment. My hand wavered ever so slightly as I scribbled my name on the top right corner of the lab. Glancing over instructions, I found it slightly easier to read and understand the objective. I then dove in, tackling my work one piece at a time.