Most Likely To Survive

I have anxiety/panic disorder. While it can be frustrating to start hyperventilating because the TV remote has been misplaced, or to have a full blown anxiety attack every time I look at my bank statement and realize I can't survive another two weeks, I find that there are benefits to being afflicted. One advantage is that I am far more likely to survive some sort of attack than someone who doesn't suffer from this disorder.

In one of my many psych classes, my professor discussed a theory that states those who suffer from anxiety/panic disorder exhibit the same hair trigger "fight of flight" response that helped early man survive. In a way, I take it to mean that my sympathetic nervous system is somehow less evolved than non-sufferers, which is kind of insulting. But in another way, it means I have somehow managed to retain that piece of genetic code that allowed us to make our way to the top of the food chain in the first place. What this also means is that if the wooly mammoths or dinosaurs make a comeback, I will be more likely to survive than those who don't panic over the existence of, say, fruit flies.

This hair trigger fight or flight response works well for me even in today's society where the constant threat of invading tribes or saber tooth tigers isn't looming. For example, I am terrified of things that sting. I was stung once when I was seven years old, and that was enough. Because I am so attuned to my sympathetic nervous system, I can flee from stinging insects long before anyone else around me is even aware they are present. I can distinguish the differences between the buzzing of a bee vs. that of a fly, a hornet vs. a hummingbird, a less threatening bumblebee vs. one that will aggressively destroy me if given the chance. A split second after hearing its approach, I can grab my kid and be locked safely in the house.

Of course, there are times when my "fight" response kicks in and it would be better to just keep my mouth shut. I got into a cursing match with a guy in the McDonald's parking lot who tried to tell me how to parent my child once. The other day, I screamed at a prick who ran the stop sign. Both our windows were down and he told me to shut up. Of course I cursed at him, then worried that he would chase me down. He did look like the type to take girls back to his house and eat them for dinner (and not in the good way). One of these days my brain's desire to fight the wrong battles rather than let things be and flee is going to get me into trouble.

But I can still console myself with the knowledge that, should aliens invade or mountain men try to drag me back to their cabin for supper, I will be more likely to survive than those of you oh so normal, non panicky people. So go ahead and live your happy lives, free of tachycardia, breathing into bags, and head spinning terror. Because when the shit hits the fan, and it always does, I'll still be standing while you're someone's dinner!