Scenes from a Panic

Book review: Little Panic, by Amanda Stern

I am always in the future somehow, separated from my body, and it’s from there I feel sad for the moment I’m living. Soon this moment will be gone; it will turn into another moment that will go, and I think I must be the only person who feels life as though it’s already over. This is the weight I feel every time the sun goes down. No matter how hard I try to stop the feeling, I can’t. Even if I run from it, it meets me wherever I land.

Children’s book author and novelist Amanda Stern grew up in the Greenwich Village of the 1970s, a different place than the posh, fashionable neighborhood it is now. That’s not to say it was a cesspool of danger and violence, it seemed much more family-oriented than its trendy, fashion-centric role today. But Stern was anxious and panic-prone from the outset, and her world overlapped with that of six-year-old Etan Patz, who disappeared in 1979.

This was a pivotal moment for missing children in America, maybe because the story was so surprising, unlikely even. In the heart of busiest Manhattan, where it’s tough for things to happen unobserved, and a neighborhood with plenty of familiar regulars, he managed to disappear during a roughly ten minute window on the morning his mother let him walk alone to the bus stop for the very first time.

Etan’s disappearance ushered in the area of missing children on milk cartons and heightened anxiety for parents and children alike. I’m not sure why this was the turning point, but I remember growing up the decade after with a palpable anxiety and no shortage of scary, confusing stories. Imagine that atmosphere on someone prone to a debilitating panic. Stern had that anxiety from as far back as she can remember. It only gets compounded as life experiences and impressions of the world beyond her house accumulate.

My dad tells us stories about people who go missing and three days later they find them dead. The news tells you what happens. The radio too. People disappear without a trace and are found strangled in Boston. If you go on the subway, people push you onto the tracks and escape as the train splurts out your bloody guts.

She begins her story with elementary school, with an affecting anecdote about her struggle to learn to tell time when it seemed to come so naturally to her classmates. Her initial failure to grasp the concept gets compounded with her well-meaning friend’s frustration, doubts about her intelligence, and the very idea of what time means to her (an interesting topic she returns to throughout, especially as a “countdown”). With each escalating episode she describes, she perfectly shows how anxiety snowballs against all reason.

All the days that lie ahead of me are filled with each of these exact hours, and I worry this sadness will always wait for me, no matter how old I get or where I live. Every time the sun goes, it tells me about all the days I’ve lost, and the one I’m losing now, even though I’m not finished living it.

On top of the spiraling anxiety and panicky moments, Stern also dwells on thoughts of death and impermanence – that if she’s not there to help her mom she might die, or that when she returns home from an anxiety-filled weekend at her dad’s, her house, mom and stepfather will have vanished. She tells these stories so clearly, imparting all of the child-logic details that made them make sense to her, and as ridiculous and fantastical as these worries sound, you feel alongside her. She’s an eloquent and effective writer, with that rare ability to write articulately from a child’s perspective in language that’s both simple and lyrical with an adult’s reflection.

I have a bad feeling. I try to block it out, but I can’t. It’s grabbing me and whispering in my ear things I don’t want to know: No one in the entire world has what you have.

What’s incredible about this book is how critically Stern looks at herself. She tells her story progressively, interspersing chapters with passages from psychologists’ and evaluators’ reports about her psychological and educational testing. Until she was 25, she didn’t even have a name for what was “wrong” with her. She bounces from school to school, looking for her place, dabbling in cocaine, troubling relationships and toxic friendships as she tries to figure out how to live in a world that doesn’t seem to have much patience for sensitive, anxious types.

Something troubling is how her family addressed her issues, which they seemed to think boiled down to a learning disability. Her mother is a well-intentioned presence but one who ultimately ends up doing her more harm than good by not correctly addressing the underlying problem or being honest about truths that may have helped her overcome certain worries, instead of contributing to the paranoia that everyone is lying to her and hiding things from her. But it’s not for lack of trying, and I felt for them both as her mother tried to do the right thing and Amanda continued to struggle.

No one explains anything to me, so maybe no one explained anything to her either. How do people find jobs? Or get a house? What happens at a bank? Where do you find a husband, and how do you make sure they don’t kill you?

As she paints a detailed picture of her childhood and the perceived danger and stresses it was riddled with, she begins weaving in chapters from an adult relationship, from its awkward beginnings through its crumbling as she grapples with her potentially last chance to have a baby naturally, and the anxiety that presses in as she realizes her dream of having a family may not come true as she’s been envisioning it for a lifetime.

She ends her coming of age story describing finding a therapist who simply diagnosed her with a panic disorder and put her on the right track for treating it. But we’ve already seen glimpses of the future in these adulthood chapters, and it was meaningful – mental health can be a lifelong struggle.

What I think is most affecting about this book is its honesty and her thoughtful analysis with the hindsight of her own experiences and difficulties. Instead of being anxiety-inducing to read, it ends up feeling reassuring in its truths and little triumphs as she learns “to feel my awful feelings and live with discomfort and uncertainty in a life that often feels too hard for me.”

Over my life I’ve worried so much and feared so many things, and though many of those things actually happened, here I am, still alive, having survived what I thought I couldn’t. I didn’t turn out the way I thought I would: I didn’t get married and I didn’t have kids, and the not-having didn’t kill me either.

New York City and the special anxieties it evokes is a secondary character, and I loved those elements of the story. Some of the anecdotes lost or frustrated me too much to really enjoy reading them, but I think it’s an important and beautifully written look at living –  thriving, really – with a panic disorder that it took decades to get under control. Her seemingly simple but lovely writing make it a standout as a memoir even if the mental health topic doesn’t immediately grab you.
4/5

Little Panic:
Dispatches from an Anxious Life

by Amanda Stern
published June 19, 2018 by Grand Central Publishing

Affiliate links included from Book Depositorya great site (I’ve bought there) offering free shipping, worldwide. I get a small percentage of the sale – you pay nothing extra – if you use my links to buy books seen here. I’m never paid to promote or review any title.

2 thoughts on “Scenes from a Panic

  1. I don’t have panic attacks or any sort of anxiety that might be assigned a diagnosis, but I am a bit of an anxious person and I think reading this sounds more stressful than fun. The first excerpt you shared does too good of a job conveying what the author was feeling and I’m not sure I want to live that vicariously!

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Same, I’m an anxious person too and I wondered if this would be hard to read. But more than anything I found it reassuring, and it really wasn’t stressful, maybe because most of her specific problems weren’t ones that cause me anxiety too. And where there was overlap I just found it oddly comforting, actually! I think it’s the way she writes it so eloquently. There was another memoir I read a couple years ago, Hi, Anxiety, which although pretty good ended up causing me way too much stress. Maybe it’s what hits home for you!

      Liked by 1 person

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s