It starts the moment you turn around.
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You head down the sidewalk, thinking that if you can make it back to where you began, you can start over. Clean slate. It shouldn’t be that hard to find the metro station, right? But as you continue walking, things start to look less and less familiar. Have you been here already? Are you even going the right way?
You look up – not a street sign in sight. Nothing looks familiar. You wipe your sweaty palms on your pants, and with a deep breath, you turn around again, because if you’re gonna be lost, it’s at least better to be in a place that you somewhat recognize.
You continue walking, a bit faster now, and you try to stay calm but your heart is in your throat. What if you can’t make it back in time? Everyone’s leaving for dinner at 6:30. You don’t have time to be lost!
You finally get back to where you were before, but you don’t know which direction you had been going. Right? Or left? You’ve traveled both ways down this street, so both areas look familiar. Which way? You go right.
Your breathing picks up, and you start getting angry at yourself. Why didn’t you bring a map? Or at least your phone? You wouldn’t be able to call anyone if something happened, but at least you’d be able to check the time! Why didn’t you ask for directions before leaving the shop?
Wait… directions! There are a ton of people around, surely someone will be able to help?
You stop in the middle of the sidewalk and try to find a friendly face among the crowd of people around you. You pick a young woman out of the crowd; she is heading your way, and you approach her. You don’t know any Italian, so you begin in English, “Excuse me – ”
“No English,” she interrupts tersely, and keeps walking without even looking at you. And before you can even really process her answer, she’s gone.
You turn to an older gentleman walking past you, and try again. “Excuse me.” He stops and looks at you. “Do you know how I can-”
He looks slightly panicked and shakes his head. “English…”
Okay, so he doesn’t speak English either. You don’t know many Italian words, so you say, “Ottaviano metro?”
He seems to get the gist of what you’re trying to say, so he starts talking rapidly in Italian, making motions with his hands that you can only assume are the directions. You don’t understand his words, but you try to follow his hands, and you thank him when he finishes explaining, and he continues on his way. A knot loosens in your chest – if you can follow the direction his hands were pointing, you’ll at least be going the right way.
You make your way down the street as far as you can, until you come across another street to your right. His hands had pointed right; did that mean to turn here? You decide to turn. But as you wander down the street, things start looking less and less familiar, and you wonder if you went the wrong way after all.
You continue anyway, assuming that you had gotten yourself completely turned around, so the best way to the station was by going through a new area. You turn again, following the man’s directions as well as you can remember. You make another turn.
But then… he didn’t make any more motions after that. So where was the station?
You realize that you must’ve made a wrong turn somewhere and try to backtrack. Okay, so… you walked this far and then this is where you turned. So you need to continue straight? Or do you need to turn again? You turn, and walk until the next street. It doesn’t look familiar. Did you go down the wrong street? You turn back around. Oh, right, you needed to go straight! No, wait… did you turn this way or that way?
What feels like an hour passes, and by the time you notice that you’ve walked in a huge circle, the light of the setting sun is bathing the buildings around you in a golden hue. You berate yourself for not asking that man what time it was. And then you have a terrifying thought…
What if you can’t make it back before it gets dark?
You feel a tightening in your chest and pick up the pace, leather sandals slapping against the stone under your feet. Every breath feels like a challenge, like you can’t get enough air; like you’re trying to breathe through a straw; like someone is sitting on your chest and refuses to move. You start hyperventilating.
Your heart beats in tandem with your footsteps now, and each beat feels like a punch to the throat. No one is around you. You are alone.
And then you hear a loud screech, and whip your head around just in time to see a woman get hit by a car.
Your brain just… stops.
You stare for a long moment, not really processing anything as you watch the owner of the car get out and run over to the woman. You see a motorbike, but it takes a while for your brain to realize that it must be the woman’s bike. The driver helps her sit up, and other people in the intersection start crowding around to help. You can’t move, can’t turn away.
Finally, you snap out of it. Your legs feel like they could collapse at any moment, but you start running. Two thoughts are looping through your head: I just saw someone get hit by a car and I have to make it back.
You wander and wander and wander, turning this way and that, and you feel like you’re not even in your body at this point. Your chest hurts. Your legs hurt. Everything hurts. Your head feels light.
And then you find yourself back at the same street, with the sun setting and people milling about, and you feel a wave of relief, followed immediately by crushing defeat. You’re only back here; you’re still lost. That same thing could happen again, and then what? Will you ever find your way out?
Then, a sliver of hope blossoms within you as you spot a police officer on the side of the road. You walk up to him, hands violently shaking, and gasp, “Excuse me?” He turns to look at you, and the hope in your chest grows. “How do I get to Ottaviano station?”
And then he says something in Italian, and it’s all you can do not to cry.
“Ottaviano,” you croak, blinking back tears. This man is your last hope, and you know you can’t leave without getting directions – proper directions – from him.
He looks confused for a moment, and then says, “Metro?”
You nod emphatically. “Yes, yes, Metro Ottaviano!”
The police officer nods and walks a little ways down the street; you decide to follow him. He then points and gives some directions in broken English. Again, hope surfaces in your chest, and you thank him a million times before taking off down the street.
And, finally, after a bit more wandering, there it is.
The subway station.
You board the first train you can and try to take deep breaths, but your heart has been hammering against your ribcage for what feels like hours now, and it refuses to calm down. You try to think of something else, but you can’t. What time is it what time is it what time is it – you wish you’d brought your phone just so you could check.
A giant crowd of people shoves their way onto your train at the next stop and presses up against you, and you feel like you can’t breathe again. You try not to show outward signs of distress; the last thing you need is to have a breakdown on a public train in the middle of a crowd of strangers in a foreign country.
And then one of the men next to you pulls out his phone, and you see the time.
6:40 p.m.
You feel the tears flooding behind your eyes and do everything you can to keep them at bay. You can’t start crying here, or you won’t be able to stop. Crying won’t help anything right now.
“Roma Termini,” the overhead voice says, and you try to compose yourself as the train screeches to a stop. The doors swing open and you step off.
And it’s only when you step through the Terminal doors and look up at the darkening sky that you realize you don’t know how to get back to the hostel either. Closing your eyes and taking a steadying breath, you set off down what seems like a familiar path.
Thankfully, you reach the correct street with minimal wandering, and you look over to see the name of your hostel poking out from the side of a building. Another wave of relief crashes over you as you nearly sprint to the hostel doors, and it’s the moment of truth.
Will someone be there? You open the doors.
No one.
Tears start to slip down your face as you think of what feels like the impossible… did they leave you? You head upstairs to your room and fumble with the key, unable to see much through blurred vision, and unlock your door.
Still no one. No person, no note, nothing.
They left without you.
The emotions finally overwhelm you, and you collapse on the floor, breaking into sobs.
What you just read was exactly what happened to me when I got lost and had a panic attack while wandering around Rome. For those of you who have never dealt with a panic attack, you’re lucky – it’s an absolutely terrifying experience, and it’s not very easy to explain, because they’re a bit nonsensical in retrospect.
Your brain is a powerful organ, but it is an organ, nonetheless. So just like your heart or your lungs can hurt you, your brain can hurt you too. Anxiety attacks may seem illogical – but that’s because they are illogical. They play up your fears and trick you into thinking you can’t breathe or that different parts of your body are hurting, which leads you to panic more, which leads to more delusions, and it becomes a vicious, unending cycle. Sometimes they even spiral so far out of control that they can actually hospitalize you.[1][2]
Living with chronic anxiety is awful, because it means any little thing – any fleeting thought – can trigger a panic attack, and it’s very difficult to calm down once it begins.
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So what can you learn from this story?
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Figure out ways to cope with and prevent panic attacks. For instance, I like to Google cute animals and babies whenever I’m freaking out. If you’re living with chronic anxiety, you need to read up on coping mechanisms and learn what works for you. If you know how to deal with a panic attack once it starts, it’s much easier to snuff it out early and keep it from ruining your day.
You need to always, always have access to a map when you’re traveling. It doesn’t matter if you think you can share, or you don’t think getting lost will bother you, or you don’t think you need one because you’ll never be alone. Always have a map. It’s better to have one and not need it than vice versa.
Also, it’s a good idea to make sure you have a way to contact someone during an emergency that works while you’re in another country, like a phone with a roaming plan. Doing this will take a huge weight off of your shoulders. With the incident in Rome, being able to call my mom or one of the group leaders would’ve saved me hours of emotional trauma.
And finally, don’t be afraid to talk with locals when you need help. Find a police officer if you ever feel unsafe. Learn a few basic phrases of the dominant language when you visit a new country; knowing how to say “where is [x]?” will save you a lot of time and stress in the end. And if you don’t understand something, don’t be afraid to tell people – if they stopped to respond to you, they’re probably willing to stay and make sure you get the answer you need.
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Anxiety is a scary thing, but it’s something that many people have to live with on a daily basis. I still have to deal with panic attacks every so often when I’m traveling, but I’m learning to cope. Writing these stories down is cathartic and forces me to pull something good out of a bad situation. And hopefully I can help you guys to learn from my mistakes and be better prepared to deal with these situations, too.
But no matter what, never let anxiety stop you from doing the things that you love!
Adventure on, my friends!
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Have you ever gotten lost somewhere unfamiliar? How did you handle it? What did you learn? Do you struggle with anxiety? What are your coping mechanisms? What would you have done in this situation? Leave a comment and let me know!
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