Don’t Panic: Breaking down my high functioning anxiety during a pandemic.
It was 10 pm last Wednesday when I walked into my bedroom where my wife had already started drifting off to sleep. I tried to keep it routine — brush my teeth; lie down; close my eyes. But it was too late. The panic had already taken a hold.
“I need you to wake up,” I said to her. The words barely left my lips.
“What’s wrong?” she murmured through a stretch.
“I think I’m having an anxiety attack.”