I'm not feeling myself, and, in my worst moments, worry that I'll never be myself again. A week ago I felt strong and alive, living in a world beckoning with potential. Now, on the surface, it's the same me. When I look in the mirror, I see the same face, and the same strong body. But I feel like all my dreams could be slipping away.

I had another panic attack (if that's what I'm to call them) on Tuesday. I drove to work and started feeling short of breath again. I parked in the parking lot, and lay back in my chair, trying to calm myself. I couldn't take the deep breaths I felt I needed.

After half an hour, I called my friend Mark in the office, and grated out, through the few breaths I felt I could spare, that I was in trouble, and could he drive me home. Mark came, but we didn't get far before I started to hyperventilate. We pulled over at a fire station and before long I was being taken to the emergency room once again.

There have been other close calls these last few days, where I've almost lost it, and started to hyperventilate. I don't know what's happened to me that all of a sudden I've descended into this persom for whom the slighteste stress can cause my breathing to lose its potency.

I look around at all the evidence of my potent life as it was - scenes I was working on for acting class, plans to travel, scripts to finish, growing friendships to cultivate, appointments at the gym where I was carving out the best body I've ever had. I suddenly feel I could lose all that.

After the last trip to the ER, I almost decided not to go back to England for my mother's funeral. After all, I couldn't even drive to work without having one of these attacks, so how can I fly across the Atlantic.

I'm damned if I do, and damned if I don't. If I wasn't to go, I wouldn't be able to fell my Dad why because he'd worry himself to death. So he'd end up resenting me, I feel, even if he would never say anything. But if I do go, I'm not sure I can cope with the stress of the flight and the funeral, and seeing family members I haven't seen in twenty years. It's not actual anxiety for those things, it's worry that I'll feel short of breath and hyperventilate again.

But as my doctor says, nobody ever died from hyperventilation. And today, I've found that completely cutting out coffee has helped a lot with my breathing. And I've been given Xanax, which I'm to use when I'm facing stress. I finally decided I'd fly, and just double up on drugs to get me through it.

Why is this happening to me now? My therapist believes it's because I've reached a stage in my life where I'm strong enough to face some of the pent up issues inside me. That bits and pieces are breaking loose inside and manifesting themselves as anxiety attacks. I want to believe that. Because it would mean that out of this anxiety, something good will come.

In the meantime, I've been advised to slow down, to simplify my life, to reduce sources of stress. I don't think that flying to England for my mother's funeral exactly conforms to that advice, but I don't have a choice.