It always starts the same way; jolting awake in the middle of the night, around 3 or 4 in the morning, groggy and confused. My heart starts to feel like a diesel engine, a low rumble that begins to escalate out of nowhere. The cold sweat starts, vision tunnels, and all my internal alarms are screaming.
You’re having a heart attack. You’re having a stroke. You’re about to die, and no one is here to help you. You are alone, and no one will know or even get to you in time to save you.
The logical part of me knows this is a panic attack. This is not my first rodeo (and to my despair, definitely not my last). I know, truly and logically, that I am not dying, and that it is another panic attack, the same as the last 20 over the last few months. But in the moment, the logical part of my brain is silenced by noise, noise, and very loud lies. And I am devolved into a convulsing ball of terror, begging someone, anyone, or anything for mercy.
While I am no stranger to panic attacks, having had them off and on for the better part of my life, this new experience of having them weekly, and sometimes more, has become so crippling that I now fear going to bed at night. Conversations with my doctor, psychiatrist, and therapist have felt almost fruitless, other than confirmation that what was once occasional panic attacks has now devolved into a full-on panic disorder.
Anxiety attacks and panic attacks are not the same thing. While I can’t blanket describe every person’s experience, anxiety attacks, for the most part, are a silent, mental attack confounded by worry. Panic attacks are a disorder of the instinctual “fight or flight” mechanism that all humans have, that part of our animalistic brains that registers when we’re in immediate danger, such as running from an attacker, or realizing we’re being stalked by a tiger. It’s a natural instinct; your body floods with adrenaline to power you to act; run, fight, seek safety, protect yourself. The disordered part is when this instinctual behavior is triggered by nothing at all. In my case, in the middle of the night, out of a dead sleep.
While I have medication I can take when I feel a panic attack setting in, it never fully prevents the attack from happening. Now, in addition to the fear of going to bed, I am now in a state of near constant exhaustion from lack of sleep. In my mind, you can’t have a middle-of-the-night panic attack if you just don’t sleep. Though in reality, I’m sure it just increases the likelihood of an attack due to the sheer exhaustion.
I’ve tried everything to cope; no screens before bed, staying hydrated, keeping my medication on a tight schedule, no food or sugars before bed, you name it. When the attacks do happen, it’s always a combination of breathing exercises, chewing on ice cubes, getting some fresh air, even a cold shower, really anything that shocks my system out of the adrenaline dump. I’ve even hopped onto my PC to try and play a calming game to relax me, like Tiny Bookshop or even just wandering around the city in Baldur’s Gate 3 to try and preoccupy me. This has also been lackluster in terms of results.
And then Pokémon: Pokopia dropped a couple weeks ago.
While I was a pretty big Pokémon fan as a kid, I’ve considered myself to mostly be a casual fan as an adult (and a stringent believer that the only true Pokémon are the first 151). Regardless, I began to hear so many positive things about the game, including comparisons to Animal Crossing: New Horizons, a game that I had been particularly fond of during the early days of the pandemic. So I shrugged my shoulders and picked it up, and within 20 minutes, I found myself hooked.
The tasks are often mundane, but for my perfectionist brain, this is a gift. I spent several hours canvassing the entire first biome, Withered Wasteland, and ensuring every square surface was watered. I organized the habitats for my Pokémon to ensure that they were always on parallel blocks. I cut and hewed out complete open spaces so that I could put even rows of houses opposite each other, with each one housing a pair of Pokémon I assigned based on type and habitat likeliness.
The game is so wholesome and cute, something I normally avoid since I find games like that to be a little cheesy. But it captured my heart in a way that Animal Crossing never quite did. It wasn’t just adorable little NPCs I got to know throughout the game. It was actual Pokémon, many of whom I have known and loved since I was a kid. It wasn’t just getting to know new characters, it was catching up with old friends. Friends who had been there since I was 10 years old, friends who were excited to see me after a long absence. The cheesiness of chatting with Charmander about how much they love his toys, or how much Squirtle loves leppa berries, felt like the kinds of conversations 10-year-old Clare would have had with them. I may have grown up, but they’re the same friends they’ve always been. And they see that same little girl here in this abandoned world in need of revival.
When the next panic attack hit me around 3 AM, a few days after I’d picked up the game, I tried something different. I turned on the fan, chugged some water, and noticed my Switch 2 on the nightstand next to me. I picked it up and thought, “Screw it. It either works or it doesn’t.”
My heart rate was probably close to 180 beats per minute by this point. My hands were shaking as I turned on the Switch. But right as I loaded in and walked outside of my little hut, Charmander immediately ran up to me, calling my name.
“You’re such a great friend, I wanted you to have this!” they said whilst bouncing up and down. They then handed me a carrot.
It was a simple, uninteresting exchange. I didn’t even need a carrot. But the conversation was like a lightning bolt through the fog, and I instantly felt a wave of calm come over me. My heart rate slowed, my muscles began to relax, I felt my hands starting to shake, something that usually happens as the panic subsides. It was over. An attack that normally would last twice as long was over after a Charmander gave me a carrot and thanked me for being a good friend.
To be completely honest, I have no idea what part of my brain got triggered when that moment happened, only that it did. And since then, the game has provided an indescribable sense of calm and relief. Even though I know I’m not supposed to use screens before bed, I’ve made an exception for Pokopia, because it’s helping. My blood pressure and heart rate are down. I’m starting to sleep through the night. Since I started playing the game, I’ve only had two panic attacks, both of which I was able to squash within minutes simply by opening the game and checking on my Pokémon.
What is it about an encouraging word from Bulbasaur, or a hyperfocus on collecting iron ore, that has set my disordered brain at ease? What is it about the quiet hum of the background music as I set wooden blocks around a foundation and start considering the interior decoration of a new house for my pals? I wish I knew the answer to that. Because if I did, I’d find a way to apply it to my life outside the game. But I guess for now, it’s as I always say, safe to take things one day at a time.
A month ago, I could barely sleep because of how crippling the panic had become. Now, while it isn’t fixed, I have a new secret weapon, the kind that 10-year-old me would have loved to see. As long as my Poké pals need better accommodations, I’ll be there, disordered brain and all, to make it happen, for all of us. Everyone wins in Pokopia, including me. Especially me.
