Before you start reading, it should be mentioned that the article below deals with my personal experiences of severe anxiety, panic disorder, death, and suicide. It is important to me to write on these subjects, but your mental health is of the utmost priority. Should this material seem too intense or overwhelming for you at the moment, please feel free to skip it.
You’re not alone if you’re going through a difficult time. If you need help, get in touch with a reliable professional or call or text 988 to speak to the 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline.
A panic disorder often begins with a single panic attack. But what about the moments that come before? The endless situations that quietly stoke anxiety, piling on stress until you feel like you might burn out?
That is the journey I want to share. A journey marked by anguish and relentless, obsessive thoughts that convinced me I was dying. It all began the day my mom was diagnosed with cancer.
It was August 23rd, 2022. My mom had messaged me through WhatsApp saying, “Hey, can you translate this for me?” She speaks only Spanish. It was the result of a biopsy she’d gotten because the doctor had sensed something was wrong and was doing her due diligence. I opened the screenshot of the results, and all I could focus on was the word “adenocarcinoma”.
I frantically searched Google, my heart pounding with the suspicion that it meant cancer or something just as terrifying. True enough, there it was: cancerous. I called my mom right away, my voice trembling tryong to hold back my tears as I translated the results. I did not want her to worry, and said, let’s just wait until we go to your doctor’s appointment so she can tell us exactly what it means.
The moment I hung up, I fell apart. Sitting alone in my truck in the grocery store parking lot, I let the tears come. I can only imagine what my mother was feeling. I messaged my sisters in our private group chat. Being the youngest of three, I always feel the least prepared for moments like this. My oldest sister reassured me, agreeing we should wait for the doctor. My middle sister echoed her, reminding me there was nothing more we could do until the appointment.
At the appointment, the doctor confirmed our fears: she had cancer and would need surgery to remove the mass. We all broke down as soon as we left the clinic. In the days that followed, I visited my mother every day, staying by her side so she would never feel alone. By October, her surgery was a success. All that remained was a few rounds of radiation to make sure the cancer would not return.
This is when my own symptoms began. The first one was chest pain and tightness. I felt it day and night, no matter what I did. It lasted weeks. The second symptom was headaches, often, some subtle, some full-blown migraines.
Things took a turn for the worse after my mom’s first radiation appointment. She began vomiting and having diarrhea, unable to keep any food down. The nurse who had done the procedure assured us that it was normal and to just make sure she was eating and was hydrated.
She was living at my oldest sister’s house at the time. I remember I dropped her off - I did not want to leave her - but she told me she felt better that I could go home and rest and I could come back to see her the next day.
I went home. On the way, I stopped at a McDonald’s to get some dinner. While at the drive-thru, my phone rang. It was my middle sister calling.
When I answered, she was crying and screaming so much I could barely make out her words: “LIZ, COME BACK!!”
I shouted back, “WHAT’S WRONG?!”, desperate to get her attention.
In the background, I heard chaos—family members yelling (my dad, older sister, and oldest niece), and the faint voice of a woman on speaker who sounded like a 911 operator.
I started crying; I shouted again, “WHAT’S WRONG?!” My sister kept screaming. God, I will never forget those screams. Finally, she made out some words, the only thing I have ever feared hearing: “SHE’S DEAD, MOM’S DEAD!”
For a few milliseconds, I hesitated to move. Then I snapped back, got out of the drive-through window, and drove like never before. I was broken, I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t cry.
My destination was about 8 minutes away, but it felt like an eternity; while driving, my mind spiraled into picturing what my life would be without my mom, without her voice, her warmth, her familiar scent. The thoughts were unbearable.
She would never see me get married.
She would never see me get pregnant and raise my kids.
She would never hug me again, dance with me again, laugh with me again.
I would never get to see her smile, her beautiful face, or hold her hand.
If I could only talk to her one last time, I thought. I would tell her how much I love her. I would beg her to be strong and to hold on.
I finally arrived at the house, I couldn’t feel my legs at this point and was running while tripping on the grass pushing my body to its limit.
I reaached the front door and pushed it open.
What was waiting for me on the other side of the door was the second my own mind shattered, sparking a disorder that would trap me for years…
Part 2 coming soon
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