Panic Attack Quotes

“No amount of me trying to explain myself was doing any good. I didn't even know what was going on inside of me, so how could I have explained it to them?”
― Sierra D. Waters, Debbie.

“The sky was so blue I couldn’t look at it because it made me sad, swelling tears in my eyes and they dripped quietly on the floor as I got on with my day. I tried to keep my focus, ticked off the to-do list, did my chores. Packed orders, wrote emails, paid bills and rewrote stories,
but the panic kept growing, exploding in my chest. Tears falling on the desk
tick tick tick
me not making a sound
and some days I just don't know what to do. Where to go or who to see and I try to be gentle, soft and kind,
but anxiety eats you up and I just want to be fine.”
― Charlotte Eriksson

“Today I wore a pair of faded old jeans and a plain grey baggy shirt. I hadn't even taken a shower, and I did not put on an ounce of makeup. I grabbed a worn out black oversized jacket to cover myself with even though it is warm outside. I have made conscious decisions lately to look like less of what I felt a male would want to see. I want to disappear.”
― Sierra D. Waters, Debbie.

“Intimidated, old traumas triggered, and fearing for my safety, I did what I felt I needed to do.”
― Sierra D. Waters, Debbie.

“Watching someone have a panic attack was like looking in the eyes of someone trapped behind glass, drowning right in front of you.”
― Liane Moriarty, Apples Never Fall

“Many women latch onto language from popular psychology, such as "panic attack," when often they are instead experiencing sensory overwhelm.”
― Jenara Nerenberg, Divergent Mind: Thriving in a World That Wasn't Designed for You

“I tried deep breathing, but seemed to lose contact with myself between each breath, so that the next one was always an emergency. I began to feel faint.”
― Iris Murdoch, The Black Prince

“He told me that if I hung up, he'd do it. He would commit suicide. He told me that if I called the cops he would kill every single one of them and I knew that he had the potential and the means to do it”
― Sierra D. Waters, Debbie.

“God, the only thing worse than having a panic attack was trying to have one in secret while someone else was watching.”
― Katie Cotugno, Top Ten

“Uncontrolled irrational fear of the unknown is a cyclone of the mind and can create a panic attack. Meditation can calm the ocean and bring tranquility and peace.”
― Debasish Mridha

“Keep breathing. It took a few minutes but I won. The grey pulled away from my eyes in ribbons and whispered that it would be back soon.”
― Laurie Halse Anderson, The Impossible Knife of Memory

“If fear is like a storm wave striking you, then a panic attack is a tsunami that batters your soul.

Drinking to overcome panic attacks is like smoking cigarettes to overcome asthma. You start with one problem, then you have two.”
― Michael Jackson Smith

“People here are so not used to hearing "thank you" that if you say it twice to a shopkeeper he will probably get a panic attack.”
― Nitya Prakash

“Now through her aching, Helen felt a flicker of peace as though Mum was there, placing a hand on Helen’s shoulder and saying, “Come now. The world is always a brighter place on a full stomach. Help me—it will go faster that way.” In the stillness of the kitchen they used to work, Helen’s light hair and Mum’s dark bent over the bowl. Mum would not prod or fill the silence with chatter, but used the recipe to call Helen back to herself. She would pop a currant into her daughter’s mouth, or gently instruct her to smell the cinnamon, and for Helen, the world would come into focus.”
― Corinne Beenfield

“And then Vaughn, too, lost the ability to speak. Or at least, she no longer heard it over the thunderous rush in her ears. She felt his hands on her shoulders, pulling her up and back out of the room, and he seemed to be shouting her name.

Dark spots appeared in the corner of her vision. She choked and spluttered and stared into Vaughn's light brown eyes, until they were only things she could see.

'Breathe,' he ordered, and she did.

Her lungs inflated, and she gasped., 'Mr. Boddy! He's dead!”
― Diana Peterfreund, In the Hall with the Knife

“Tamlin's claws punched out. 'Even if I risked it, you're untrained abilities render your presence more of a liability than anything.'

It was like being hit with stones- so hard I could feel myself cracking. But I lifted my chin and said, 'I'm coming along whether you want me to or not.'

'No, you aren't.' He strode right through the door, his claws slashing the air at his sides, and was halfway down the steps before I reached the threshold.

Where I slammed into an invisible wall.

I staggered back, trying to reorder my mind around the impossibility of it. It was identical to the one I'd built that day in the study, and I searched inside the shards of my soul, my heart, for a tether to that shield, wondering if I'd blocked myself, but- there was no power emanating from me.

I reached a hand to the open air of the doorway. And met solid resistance.

'Tamlin,' I rasped.

But he was already down the front drive, walking towards the looming iron gates. Lucien remained at the foot of the stairs, his face so, so pale.

'Tamlin,' I said again, pushing against the wall.

He didn't turn.

I slammed my hand into the invisible barrier. No movement- nothing but hardened air. And I had not learned about my own powers enough to try to push through, to shatter it... I had let him convince me not to learn those things for his sake-

'Don't bother trying,' Lucien said softly, as Tamlin cleared the gates and vanished- winnowed. 'He shielded the entire house around you. Others can go in and out, but you can't. Not until he lifts the shield.'

He'd locked me in here.

I hit the shield again. Again.

Nothing.

'Just- be patient, Feyre,' Lucien tried, wincing as he followed after Tamlin. 'Please. I'll see what I can do. I'll try again.'

I barely heard him over the roar in my ears. Didn't wait to see him pass the gates and winnow, too.

He'd locked me in. He'd sealed me inside the house.

I hurtled for the nearest window in the foyer and shoved it open. A cool spring breeze rushed in- and I shoved my hand through it- only for my fingers to bounce off an invisible wall. Smooth, hard air pushed against my skin.

Breathing became difficult.

I was trapped.

I was trapped inside this house. I might as well have been Under the Mountain. I might as well have been inside that cell again-

I backed away, my steps too light, too fast, and slammed into the oak table in the centre of the foyer. None of the nearby sentries came to investigate.

He'd trapped me in here; he'd locked me up.

I stopped seeing the marble floor, or the paintings on the walls, or the sweeping staircase looming behind me. I stopped hearing the chirping of the spring birds, or the sighing of the breeze through the curtains.

And then crushing black pounded down and rose up beneath, devouring and roaring and shredding.

It was all I could do to keep from screaming, to keep from shattering into ten thousand pieces as I sank onto the marble floor, bowing over my knees, and wrapped my arms around myself.

He'd trapped me; he'd trapped me; he'd trapped me-

I had to get out, because I'd barely escaped from another prison once before, and this time, this time-

Winnowing. I could vanish into nothing but air and appear somewhere else, somewhere open and free. I fumbled for my power, for anything, something that might show me the way to do it, the way out. Nothing. There was nothing and I had become nothing, and I couldn't even get out-

Someone was shouting my name from far away.

Alis- Alis.

But I was ensconced in a cocoon of darkness and fire and ice and wind, a cocoon that melted the ring off my finger until the folden ore dripped away into the void, the emerald tumbling after it. I wrapped that raging force around myself as if it could keep the walls from crushing me entirely, and maybe, maybe buy me the tiniest sip of air-

I couldn't get out; I couldn't get out; I couldn't get out-”
― Sarah J. Maas, A Court of Mist and Fury

“Hevige angst komt in golven opzetten; lang achtereen kan het lichaam dat niet verduren. In de zware kalmte tussen de golven kon Dolarhyde nadenken.”
― Thomas Harris, Red Dragon

“Do you feel afraid a lot?' he said. 'For no good reason you can think of?”
― Donna Tartt, The Secret History

“My anxiety keeps spiraling and I feel like I'm losing it.”
― Dana Muwwakkil, The Anxiety Diaries: Volume 1

“Strike could hear his own heart beating with ominous force, like a kettle drum deep inside a cave. Red-hot threads of panic and dread darted through him.”
― Robert Galbraith, Troubled Blood

“Helen stayed on that wood floor, her knees curled toward her chest, as though she could hold herself together that way when everything inside felt like it was exploding. How she hated these episodes. The first time one had happened to her so many years ago, she had thought it was a heart attack, but now she knew all too well the sensation of her organs rebelling. It forced her body to shake furiously against her will. Hot tears coursed down her cheeks, and she couldn’t seem to produce a single positive thought to counter her panic. That was my only chance! What am I going to do? What am I going to do!?

How long she lay there, she did not know. When Helen finally came back to her senses enough to notice the world around her, she saw that the light through the window had shifted to a sunset glow.

Breathe. Just breathe, she commanded herself. It was then that her gaze caught on a rectangle of cream paper stuck under the kitchen drawers. How had she missed it? She knew she had swept thoroughly.”
― Corinne Beenfield, The Ocean's Daughter :

“When you're sick, you cannot listen to other people's illnesses. You just want to be heard.”
― Alessandro Baronciani, When Everything Turned Blue

“We should always strive to understand what makes us feel bad... before we feel bad, if possible. As well as what makes us feel good... although that could be the hardest thing of all.”
― Alessandro Baronciani, When Everything Turned Blue

“The fact that Marco was not afraid of his future... of being ill... well, it made me even more frightened. Because he was so positive he could make it.”
― Alessandro Baronciani, When Everything Turned Blue

“A strangled, sobbing gasp choked Wendy as the world started to spin around her. She tried to breathe, to break through whatever hold this memory still had on her, but it was all she could do not to let herself go completely. Every piece of her was trapped in that day, silently screaming for her younger self not to abandon her mother in her last moments.”
― Lucy Gould, The Rescue

“Tamlin's claws punched out. 'Even if I risked it, you're untrained abilities render your presence more of a liability than anything.'

It was like being hit with stones- so hard I could feel myself cracking. But I lifted my chin and said, 'I'm coming along whether you want me to or not.'

'No, you aren't.' He strode right through the door, his claws slashing the air at his sides, and was halfway down the steps before I reached the threshold.

Where I slammed into an invisible wall.

I staggered back, trying to reorder my mind around the impossibility of it. It was identical to the one I'd built that day in the study, and I searched inside the shards of my soul, my heart, for a tether to that shield, wondering if I'd blocked myself, but- there was no power emanating from me.

I reached a hand to the open air of the doorway. And met solid resistance.

'Tamlin,' I rasped.

But he was already down the front drive, walking towards the looming iron gates. Lucien remained at the foot of the stairs, his face so, so pale.

'Tamlin,' I said again, pushing against the wall.

He didn't turn.

I slammed my hand into the invisible barrier. No movement- nothing but hardened air. And I had not learned about my own powers enough to try to push through, to shatter it... I had let him convince me not to learn those things for his sake-

'Don't bother trying,' Lucien said softly, as Tamlin cleared the gates and vanished- winnowed. 'He shielded the entire house around you. Others can go in and out, but you can't. Not until he lifts the shield.'

He'd locked me in here.

I hit the shield again. Again.

Nothing.

'Just- be patient, Feyre,' Lucien tried, wincing as he followed after Tamlin. 'Please. I'll see what I can do. I'll try again.'

I barely heard him over the roar in my ears. Didn't wait to see him pass the gates and winnow, too.

He'd locked me in. He'd sealed me inside the house.

I hurtled for the nearest window in the foyer and shoved it open. A cool spring breeze rushed in- and I shoved my hand through it- only for my fingers to bounce off an invisible wall. Smooth, hard air pushed against my skin.

Breathing became difficult.

I was trapped.

I was trapped inside this house. I might as well have been Under the Mountain. I might as well have been inside that cell again-

I backed away, my steps too light, too fast, and slammed into the oak table in the centre of the foyer. None of the nearby sentries came to investigate.

He'd trapped me in here; he'd locked me up.

I stopped seeing the marble floor, or the paintings on the walls, or the sweeping staircase looming behind me. I stopped hearing the chirping of the spring birds, or the sighing of the breeze through the curtains.

And then crushing black pounded down and rose up beneath, devouring and roaring and shredding.

It was all I could do to keep from screaming, to keep from shattering into ten thousand pieces as I sank onto the marble floor, bowing over my knees, and wrapped my arms around myself.

He'd trapped me; he'd trapped me; he'd trapped me-

I had to get out, because I'd barely escaped from another prison once before, and this time, this time-

Winnowing. I could vanish into nothing but air and appear somewhere else, somewhere open and free. I fumbled for my power, for anything, something that might show me the way to do it, the way out. Nothing. There was nothing and I had become nothing, and I couldn't even get out-

Someone was shouting my name from far away.

Alis- Alis.

But I was ensconced in a cocoon of darkness and fire and ice and wind, a cocoon that melted the ring off my finger until the golden ore dripped away into the void, the emerald tumbling after it. I wrapped that raging force around myself as if it could keep the walls from crushing me entirely, and maybe, maybe buy me the tiniest sip of air-

I couldn't get out; I couldn't get out; I couldn't get out-”
― Sarah J. Maas, A Court of Mist and Fury

“In a moment of dazzling, brilliant fear he knows they’ve forgotten about him. They’ve forgotten him, left him, he’s going to die in this cold, tiny, tiled room, curled up and trying to hold back tears and he’s not even hungry yet, he’s—
He’s gasping for breath now, he’s dying, I don’t want to die, Sam, God help me but I don’t want to die, SamErikaTomNatalieKevinBabySAM help me I don’t want to die Idon’twanttodie,I—”
― luminousbeings, You Don't Have To

“At the Chinese restaurant, I stared out the window overlooking a tranquil garden with water features, ponds covered in lily pads, and koi fish. Amid the serenity and smell of dumplings, I struggled to breathe. It seemed the walls were closing in, and everyone was looking at me. Words danced around on the menu. I didn’t want the waiter near us. I wanted to shrink until I popped and disappeared.”
― Dana Da Silva, The Shift: A Memoir

“Do you feel afraid a lot?' he said. 'For no good reason you can think of?”
― The Secret History By Donna Tartt

“She could hear the
blood rushing in her ears. “I think I’m going to pass out.”
“Alex, tell me five things you see in your room.”
“What?”
“Just do it.”
“I … My desk. A chair. The blue tulle on Mercy’s bed. My Flaming
June poster. Those sticky stars someone put up on the ceiling.”
“Okay, now four things you can touch.”
“Dawes—”
“Do it.”
“We have to warn the others—”
“Just do it, Virgil.”
Dawes had never called her that. Alex managed a shaking breath.
“Okay … the bed frame. It’s smooth. Cold wood. The rug—kind of soft
and nubbly. There’s glitter in it. Maybe from Halloween.”
“What else?”
“My tank top—cotton, I think.” She reached up and touched the dried
roses on Mercy’s bedside table. “Dry flowers, like tissue paper.”
“Now three things you hear.”
“I know what you’re doing.”
“Then do it.”
Alex drew another long breath in through her nose. “The flowers rustle
when I touch them. Someone’s singing down the hall. My own fucking
heart pounding in my chest.” She rubbed a hand over her face, feeling some
of her terror recede. “Thanks, Dawes.”
― Leigh Bardugo, Hell Bent