Editor’s note: This piece discusses panic attacks and death that some people might find disturbing.
Will I ever be fearless?
The other night I wasn’t.
After an average day, with nothing particularly good or bad affecting me more than usual, I completely panicked. Luckily, I hadn’t been driving when my hands began shaking or when my lungs tightened as I closed my eyes. I had already pulled over. The Marathon gas station across from Dairy Queen in the late evening probably wasn’t the safest place for me to do this, as I was completely alone. The rain dripped across my windshield, but honestly, I’m debating whether it was actual rain or if my tears were just blurring the night around me. Nevertheless, I knew I wasn’t okay.
It wasn’t hard to find the reason why either. I was afraid. Too many thoughts about death, purpose, relationships, and God struck me all at the same time. It completely overwhelmed me. I’m talking about sobs escaping my mouth, head resting on the steering wheel as my heart explodes against my chest; kind of overwhelming. I realized I had no idea what I was doing with my life. The relationships with my friends here at Asbury and back home felt strained and distant. Too many roles called my attention, and most of all, I couldn’t stop thinking about death.
If I’m honest, my health hasn’t been the best. Even though I’ve been going to the doctor, drinking water, eating the right foods at the right time, and trying my best to sleep, nothing is working to help. You could compare what I go through to Paul’s thorn in the flesh. It doesn’t go away, even if I cry and beg the Lord to take it away.
In some cases, it has been a blessing that has allowed the power of Christ to work through me (1 Corinthians 12). Yet, that doesn’t mean it’s not hard to deal with, hence my panic attack at the gas station. My family and I started connecting the dots of what was occurring now, an addition of that thorn of Type 1 Diabetes, across a thread. This had been happening for at least ten years. We just never realized because every hospitalization, every bizarre event, seemed unrelated.
This realization made me have another panic attack, as I continued sitting and crying in my car. I have brushed against death way more than the average person in the past six months. I’ll spare the details as I’ve been scarred, emotionally and literally, so much so that my best friends joked about me needing to be cleansed with sage. I’ll emphasize again that they were merely joking, but besides my immediate family, they are the only people who know the full extent of everything I go through. Therefore, I understand their concern for my well-being.
However, as I processed this and everything else, I realized I was genuinely afraid of dying young. I was OK with what came after, as I believe in Jesus Christ and have surrendered my life at the foot of the cross, but I wasn’t — and still am not — ready to leave yet. I knew and know there’s more for me out there, whether it’s showing someone a small act of kindness or completely changing the world.
So why do I have trouble acting fearless?
Then I realized this: I am not meant to be fearless. Fear exists. It came when sin entered the world and, today, continues ravaging to breed distrust and doubt. However, I can fear less.
The Creator, the Lord Almighty, is on my side with a perfect love that expels all fear (1 John 4:18). He can handle the fear; I can’t and never will. This leaves you and me with two options from now on when we’re facing overwhelming feelings in a gas station parking lot: try to carry it alone and allow it to become a burden that ultimately crushes us or surrender it to the One living in the past, present, future, who has already defeated death itself.
After returning to campus, I sat for a while and called my mom. I didn’t want to, but I believe it was God who nudged me to confide in someone. And you know what? It was exactly what I needed. I needed my mom, and more importantly, I needed God.
And thankfully for us, He never fails to show up.
