For people with anxiety attacks the world is like a series of islands separated by shark-infested water. The islands are safe places, sometimes literally places, often just periods of relief through sleep or pills or whatever. But to get to the safe place you must first swim through the water, risking all that that entails - an attack.
Understandably, you want to stay in the safe place. It’s nice there. You’re ok. Unfortunately, that means that your world gets smaller and smaller until you can’t really function any more. It’s called ‘avoidance’.
The doctor’s surgery is a good example of this. The doctor is the island, the safe place - when you see him or her, you’ll be ok. We’ve all felt like that with other problems that seem to miraculously disappear the second we enter the doctor’s room. But the waiting room - that’s the shark-infested water full of people you don’t know who might be judging you as you shuffle around and struggle to breathe. Of course, they probably aren’t, but the adrenaline says otherwise.
I had to go outside. I asked the receptionist if it was ok and explained about the panic. She understood and said she would come out and let me know when I was wanted.
It seemed like an age and the inevitable happened - another attack. I struggled into the doctor’s room but it was no good. I couldn’t sit down. She left me alone for a short while and brought me some water. I started to feel a bit better. I’d reached the island and was swimming ashore.