(If you missed the first three parts of this story, click here, then here , and then here.)

The scene: a small road off of a two-lane state highway in the woods. The cell phone coverage: first none, then a single bar. My panic state: full blown.

I was laying down in my car, following the EMT-in-training’s instructions to avoid sitting up or moving around, and I was scared nearly to death. I shook, I gasped for air, and I palpitated.

I hated every single second that slowly and dreadfully crawled by. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t even conjure up the energy or the clarity of mind to reach for my Ten Rules for Coping With Panic worksheet that lives in my wallet. I was in the middle of nowhere, I was stuck, and I couldn’t escape without help. Not only was I about to receive medical help, but I’d had to call my husband and ask him to drive 40 miles to be with me.

Ugh. Failure.

The word kept repeating in my head: failure failure failure.

Twenty minutes in: rocking out to Modest Mouse and eating a peanut butter cup. Thirty minutes into the drive: nausea, a racing heart, and a vivid expectation of death.

I wanted to re-frame a breakdown into a breakthrough.

I can’t panic now, I thought. I want to pay this parking ticket. I have a hair cut appointment in a half hour. Then, I need to grade some more papers. I’ve got shit to do. Don’t panic. Don’t panic. Don’t panic.

I didn’t give the fear time to pass. Instead, I sat, waited, and got angry at myself. I sat, waited, and wondered why I wasn’t calming down as quickly as I wanted to be. I sat, waited, and grew flustered as my body continued its jet stream of adrenaline rushes and wooziness.

Earlier this week, I wrote about how Panic About Anxiety was chosen as ‘Blog of the Week’ on PA Live!, a lifestyle program local to northeastern Pennsylvania and broadcast on WBRE-TV.

And now, you don’t just have to take my word for it — I’ve got video proof! Check it out here.

I sincerely hope that it brings a few folks within the viewing area to my blog — especially my posts about my own struggle with anxiety might help someone to feel a little bit less alone.

This is probably the right time to tell you a story about one of my last grad school classes: Intercultural Communication. After a semester of learning about various cultural traditions and value orientations, my professor took a few minutes at the end of our very last class to discuss something personal: living in the moment.

It was May, and graduation was right around the corner. The class was filled with undergraduate seniors and second-year grad students — most of whom were about to be finished with school forever.

His speech went a little something like this:

We can’t continue doing things that we don’t like or things we’re not meant to do simply because popular phraseology commands that we strive onward.