Panic We loaded up the car and headed towards Route 30. I had made this trip several times before, but this time it was one way. I was excited to move forward with my life, as I saw it, but I felt less than enthusiastic that day. I thought it was the hassle of moving: This would be the second time my parents and I would move my things from the house into a dorm. This time my sister was there to lend a hand. We finally stopped in front of the institutional-style brick building that would be my home for the next three years. The August weather was typically hot and humid, but looking at the stark exterior of the dorm, I suddenly felt a chill. As we entered the stuffy, non-air-conditioned facility, all my thoughts focused on the many trips we would have to make. up and down the three flights of stairs. Once there were enough boxes in the small room, I would begin unpacking while my dad made the rest of the trips to the car. While organizing my new personal space, I forgot about every reservation and actually felt quite energized. My roommate hadn't arrived yet, and my sister and I joked and laughed as we hung up the photographs and relived the events they depicted. When the mysterious roommate finally entered, silence fell in the room. I never felt comfortable around new people, and we came from such different backgrounds that I couldn't find any common ground that immediately united us. It would simply take time, I had decided, and it was something I thought we had plenty of. Since I was almost done with my part of the room, and my roommate and her parents weren't exactly chatty, my family and I decided to go out for dinner before making the trip home. We went to a nearby restaurant, although not ...... middle of paper ...... to the sink, but I couldn't look at myself in the mirror. I washed my face again, sipped some water from my cupped hand, and shivered back to my room. At one point, in my stupor, I had decided to call my mother at six, when I knew she would wake up to go to work. I found my phone card and took another trip to the end of the corridor, this time to the pay phone. I felt so low I could have slipped on the floor. I had to tell her exactly what I had just been through and that she was right: I wasn't ready to leave again. I would have to go home with my tail between my legs and face something I had always had trouble admitting: I needed help. I never wanted to spend another night like the one I just had. At the time I still had no idea what had happened to me, but I will never forget that first and worst panic attack.