“Alcohol.”She smiles. “Ah. And alco

“Alcohol.”
She smiles. “Ah. And alcohol actually increases the likelihood of a panic attack in people who are vulnerable to them. Did you know that?”
I shrug. “I wondered afterward. But this guy was talking to me, and he said something that embarrassed me, and it happened like that.” I snap my fingers.
“So you felt embarrassed.”
“My fingers sort of spasmed? And I dropped my glass. I remember staring at this one curved piece, and everything sort of felt unreal. I had to get out of there.”
“Did you have the same feelings you’ve described before? Heart racing, shortness of breath, trembling, tingling, numb, dizzy, feeling like you’re going to vomit?”
I’m starting to feel a little nauseated right now. “That about covers it.”
“And you tried to escape.”
“I ran to the bathroom. I needed to be away from people—and I wanted to be near a toilet since I needed to throw up.”
“What were your thoughts?”
I wince at the memory. “That I was going absolutely crazy, that I couldn’t control my body or myself, that I was going to shatter and disintegrate completely.”
She frowns, like she can tell how much it hurt me. “How frightening. Did any of that happen?”
I blink. “No.”
She doesn’t smirk or gloat like I expect her to. She simply nods. “Have you ever been in a dangerous or scary situation, like a car accident or a near-miss sort of thing?”
“Like … I guess … one time I was with my dad in Detroit, and he got mugged.”
“How did you feel then?”
“Terrified. I mean, my heart was beating so fast, and I was shaking. I can still picture every aspect of the mugger’s face and the way he was standing. The way his voice sounded.”
“So you were focused on the mugger.”
“Yeah.”
“Our brains function automatically in that kind of situation, preparing us to fight or run away. We don’t do that consciously—it just happens. We’re really fantastic machines, built to survive, and that heart-racing, shaky, ready-to-run feeling is meant to help us stay alive. It isn’t in and of itself harmful; in fact, it’s the opposite. But with panic attacks, you feel those sensations, and you think they’re dangerous. Can you remember your first panic attack?”
“It was in a crowded movie theater lobby—the place was absolutely packed. It was early September, and they must have turned the AC off because it was so hot in there. I felt this pain in my chest and thought I was having a heart attack, or maybe some asthma attack? I couldn’t breathe that well.”
“So you were in a packed, stuffy place, and you’ve never liked crowds, and you felt uncomfortable. You felt a pang in your chest, probably anxiety or some other normal signal in your body, but you thought, ‘I’m having a heart attack.’ So that made your heart race faster, and you became convinced that’s what was happening because your body’s panic response was coming online. But unlike the mugging in Detroit, where you were focused on the mugger, this time you were focused on what was happening inside your body, and feeling more terrified and out of control by the second.”
“That’s exactly how it was.”
“So the next time you felt that kind of pang?”
“I understood that it probably wasn’t a heart attack, but knowing that didn’t help.” I swallow back my frustration. “Heather, this has all been explained to me before, and it hasn’t made a difference.”
She meets my gaze. “That’s because you can understand something, but if you don’t practice that understanding, it won’t take root—and it flies out the window when you panic. Like the second time you had a panic attack. At some level, you knew it wasn’t a heart attack, but you were still scared of feeling that way again. That feeling is like the mugger. Terrifying, something to be on the lookout for, right? Something to protect yourself from? Do you avoid exerting yourself, just to avoid those dizzy, nauseated, heart-pounding sensations?”
I nod. It’s why I was scared that night with Daniel, because he was making me dizzy and hot and nervous, and I didn’t want to lose it in front of him. The only thing that helped was taking it slow, and knowing he wouldn’t let anything happen to me. I don’t tell Heather about that, though. Instead, I say, “That’s why I don’t drink caffeine. I don’t like how it makes my heart race.”
“But unlike the mugger, that feeling can’t actually hurt you,” Heather says. “It’s uncomfortable, but not dangerous.”
“I’m not so sure …”
“Stella, you’ve been through a lot, and you don’t have to be sure right now. But I can help you get control of this.”
“You sound so confident.”
Her eyebrow arches. “Because I am. Not for nothing, though. There’s a lot of research that shows this treatment is effective, and I’ve seen it work many times before.”
I could argue. Part of me wants to … but the rest of me is desperate to believe her. “You think it could work for me, after everything I’ve told you?”
She gives me a gentle smile. “I think it would work brilliantly. But only if you understand one important thing.”
“What?”
“To get control, you’re going to have to stop avoiding it. You’re going to have to become like a scientist of your own mind. You’re going to learn to recognize the signals that lead to panic for what they are, and you’re going to pay attention to the thoughts you have as you feel these sensations.”
My fingers claw at the armrests. “I thought you could tell me how not to panic. Not to observe myself while I panic!”
Heather’s gaze flicks to my white knuckles. “Are you panicking now?”
“I’m getting there!” I snap.
“And what’s going on inside your body?”
“I think I’m going to throw up.”
“Because I said you’ll have to face your panic, and that’s frightening to you. Have you ever actually thrown up during one of these episodes?”
“No.”
“Do you think this time will be different?”
“No idea.”
“Okay.” She moves a wastebasket from beside her chair and sets it next to my legs. “Just in case.” She doesn’t look worried or flustered at all, nor does she look disdainful. She looks like she believes it’s going to be okay. I wish I shared that belief.
While I sit there, nausea rolling, heart stuttering, she calmly gathers a bunch of paperwork, some handouts explaining the physiological process of panic, and a log where I’m supposed to record my feelings of panic, my mood, my thoughts. She sits down across from me again and gives me a sympathetic look. “You’re working so hard and suffering so much. This is going to get better quickly, though it won’t be easy at first. Can you trust me for a few sessions?”
“You promise it will get better if I do this stuff?”
She smiles. “If you do this stuff, I promise it will get better. Before Memorial Day.”
“How about by the first of April? That’s about seven weeks from now?” My mom’s deadline. She wants me out and about and ready to return to Wellesley …
Heather ponders, looking me up and down, my hands now folded over my middle, my knees pressed together, my entire body coiled tight. “It depends on you, and how much you do. We could see significant improvement by then, I’d think. But only if you don’t quit.”
I think of being able to do the things I used to be able to do, to drive, to go to the movies, … and then I think of the things I’d like to do, like being with Daniel wherever he is, whatever he’s doing. I take the papers from her, gripping them with my clammy hands. "I'll do it.

Hasil (Bahasa Indonesia) 1:

"Alkohol".Dia tersenyum. "Ah. Dan alkohol benar-benar meningkatkan kemungkinan serangan panik dalam orang-orang yang rentan terhadap mereka. Apakah Anda tahu bahwa?"Aku mengangkat bahu. "Aku bertanya-tanya sesudahnya. Tapi orang ini sedang berbicara kepada saya, dan ia mengatakan sesuatu yang malu aku, dan hal itu terjadi seperti itu." Aku snap jari saya."Jadi Anda merasa malu.""Jari saya seperti spasmed? Dan aku menjatuhkan gelas. Aku ingat menatap bagian melengkung yang satu ini, dan semuanya semacam merasa tidak nyata. Saya harus keluar dari sana.""Apakah Anda memiliki perasaan yang sama yang Anda telah dijelaskan sebelumnya? Jantungku berdebar, sesak napas, gemetar, kesemutan, mati rasa, pusing, merasa seperti Anda akan muntah?"Aku mulai merasa sedikit mual sekarang. "Bahwa sekitar mencakup itu.""Dan Anda mencoba untuk melarikan diri.""Aku berlari ke kamar mandi. Aku perlu dari orang-orang- dan aku ingin menjadi dekat toilet karena saya perlu untuk muntah. ""Apa yang pikiran Anda?"Aku meringis di memori. "Bahwa aku akan benar-benar gila, bahwa aku tidak bisa mengendalikan tubuh saya atau diri sendiri, bahwa aku akan menghancurkan dan hancur sepenuhnya."Dia mengerutkan dahi, seperti dia bisa kirim berapa banyak itu menyakitiku. "Bagaimana menakutkan. Semua itu terjadi?"Saya sekejap. "Tidak."Dia tidak menyeringai atau menertawakan seperti aku berharap dia. Dia hanya mengangguk. "Apakah Anda pernah berada dalam situasi berbahaya atau menakutkan, seperti kecelakaan mobil atau dekat-rindu semacam hal?""Seperti... Saya kira... satu kali saya adalah dengan ayahku di Detroit, dan dia dirampok."“How did you feel then?”“Terrified. I mean, my heart was beating so fast, and I was shaking. I can still picture every aspect of the mugger’s face and the way he was standing. The way his voice sounded.”“So you were focused on the mugger.”“Yeah.”“Our brains function automatically in that kind of situation, preparing us to fight or run away. We don’t do that consciously—it just happens. We’re really fantastic machines, built to survive, and that heart-racing, shaky, ready-to-run feeling is meant to help us stay alive. It isn’t in and of itself harmful; in fact, it’s the opposite. But with panic attacks, you feel those sensations, and you think they’re dangerous. Can you remember your first panic attack?”“It was in a crowded movie theater lobby—the place was absolutely packed. It was early September, and they must have turned the AC off because it was so hot in there. I felt this pain in my chest and thought I was having a heart attack, or maybe some asthma attack? I couldn’t breathe that well.”“So you were in a packed, stuffy place, and you’ve never liked crowds, and you felt uncomfortable. You felt a pang in your chest, probably anxiety or some other normal signal in your body, but you thought, ‘I’m having a heart attack.’ So that made your heart race faster, and you became convinced that’s what was happening because your body’s panic response was coming online. But unlike the mugging in Detroit, where you were focused on the mugger, this time you were focused on what was happening inside your body, and feeling more terrified and out of control by the second.”“That’s exactly how it was.”“So the next time you felt that kind of pang?”“I understood that it probably wasn’t a heart attack, but knowing that didn’t help.” I swallow back my frustration. “Heather, this has all been explained to me before, and it hasn’t made a difference.”She meets my gaze. “That’s because you can understand something, but if you don’t practice that understanding, it won’t take root—and it flies out the window when you panic. Like the second time you had a panic attack. At some level, you knew it wasn’t a heart attack, but you were still scared of feeling that way again. That feeling is like the mugger. Terrifying, something to be on the lookout for, right? Something to protect yourself from? Do you avoid exerting yourself, just to avoid those dizzy, nauseated, heart-pounding sensations?”I nod. It’s why I was scared that night with Daniel, because he was making me dizzy and hot and nervous, and I didn’t want to lose it in front of him. The only thing that helped was taking it slow, and knowing he wouldn’t let anything happen to me. I don’t tell Heather about that, though. Instead, I say, “That’s why I don’t drink caffeine. I don’t like how it makes my heart race.”“But unlike the mugger, that feeling can’t actually hurt you,” Heather says. “It’s uncomfortable, but not dangerous.”“I’m not so sure …”“Stella, you’ve been through a lot, and you don’t have to be sure right now. But I can help you get control of this.”“You sound so confident.”Her eyebrow arches. “Because I am. Not for nothing, though. There’s a lot of research that shows this treatment is effective, and I’ve seen it work many times before.”I could argue. Part of me wants to … but the rest of me is desperate to believe her. “You think it could work for me, after everything I’ve told you?”She gives me a gentle smile. “I think it would work brilliantly. But only if you understand one important thing.”“What?”“To get control, you’re going to have to stop avoiding it. You’re going to have to become like a scientist of your own mind. You’re going to learn to recognize the signals that lead to panic for what they are, and you’re going to pay attention to the thoughts you have as you feel these sensations.”My fingers claw at the armrests. “I thought you could tell me how not to panic. Not to observe myself while I panic!”Heather’s gaze flicks to my white knuckles. “Are you panicking now?”“I’m getting there!” I snap.“And what’s going on inside your body?”“I think I’m going to throw up.”“Because I said you’ll have to face your panic, and that’s frightening to you. Have you ever actually thrown up during one of these episodes?”“No.”“Do you think this time will be different?”“No idea.”“Okay.” She moves a wastebasket from beside her chair and sets it next to my legs. “Just in case.” She doesn’t look worried or flustered at all, nor does she look disdainful. She looks like she believes it’s going to be okay. I wish I shared that belief.While I sit there, nausea rolling, heart stuttering, she calmly gathers a bunch of paperwork, some handouts explaining the physiological process of panic, and a log where I’m supposed to record my feelings of panic, my mood, my thoughts. She sits down across from me again and gives me a sympathetic look. “You’re working so hard and suffering so much. This is going to get better quickly, though it won’t be easy at first. Can you trust me for a few sessions?”“You promise it will get better if I do this stuff?”She smiles. “If you do this stuff, I promise it will get better. Before Memorial Day.”“How about by the first of April? That’s about seven weeks from now?” My mom’s deadline. She wants me out and about and ready to return to Wellesley …
Heather ponders, looking me up and down, my hands now folded over my middle, my knees pressed together, my entire body coiled tight. “It depends on you, and how much you do. We could see significant improvement by then, I’d think. But only if you don’t quit.”
I think of being able to do the things I used to be able to do, to drive, to go to the movies, … and then I think of the things I’d like to do, like being with Daniel wherever he is, whatever he’s doing. I take the papers from her, gripping them with my clammy hands. "I'll do it.