I came back to my program leader's job. The lack of a daily classroom routine made me believe I'd be all right. I thought I would be able to handle, even control, whatever anxious moments arose that I thought were the cause of those sudden attacks of shakes or stiffness that had plagued me in England. Oddly, in the classroom setting I never once seized up, although I was pretty tense and agitated there most days for sure. What did me in was having to deal with little things, like turnstiles, customs and immigration officers, waiting in line to check out in a supermarket, or in a theatre. My anxiety level spiked. I felt I was going to explode. Eventually, I stopped going to places that I thought would set me off.

I should have been back to myself again, but despite the safe, secure, unthreatening environment, I was constantly on edge wondering when the next panic attack would trip off the shakes. Then, I noticed that I would occasionally stumble and fall for no reason. What if I did it in front of my peers, or a group of kids to whom I was demonstrating something? They'd think I was out of control. It got to the point I didn't know what was worse: an attack, or fear of an attack.

One thing for sure, it was making life at home more difficult with each passing day. I was short tempered with Linda and the kids. Everything, everybody annoyed me or frightened me. I couldn't concentrate and finish what little I had to do. I wasn't interested in my work. I started walking into appointments cold, trying to wing it every step of the way.

I was beginning to think I was going off my rocker and everybody else, I felt, was thinking it too.

Now here I was, a typical North American male, with a philosophy of life that ran something like this:

--Keep personal issues to yourself.

--Keep feelings well hidden.

--Fix it yourself if something goes wrong.

In other words, "Play it cool". My whole self-image was bound by these constraints and there I was not doing any of them. It was making me depressed as well as moody and short-tempered. I was up one day, down the next, depending on how my body was functioning. Each day was a loop-the-loop or a roller coaster ride. In my head, I felt like a crazy mixed up teen, while physically I felt like an old crock.

I thought I was going crazy.

Maybe this was happening because I had come back to a job with different parameters from the one I'd left in England. I was learning to do a completely new job, on the job. No one bothered to explain to me exactly what I was supposed to do.

In addition, there were the stresses at home. Our house was too small for three energetic kids who were growing up fast. We had to upgrade but to where, how big, for how much?

A mountain of worries had me all fired up, even hyper. The freezing and shaking attacks had to be from all that tension. I was consumed with how to cover it all up.

Meanwhile, I wasn't eating or sleeping properly. There I was 34 years old, up to my ears in responsibilities. Questions plagued me. What was going to happen to all my hopes, dreams and ambitions?

At work, I had to keep taking breaks, even naps after lunch. I started missing workdays when I was too stiff or too shaky to face my day. I hurt. I was angry. I wanted to give up...just run away and hide somewhere as I had as a child.

Like a typical macho male, I tried to soldier on alone. I couldn't confess to anyone what was happening to me. Me, admit weakness or uncertainty? Never! My parents wouldn't understand. My bosses would fire me. My friends would think I was crazy and run.

I hated myself, especially my body, which I could no longer control. Trying to navigate a narrow aisle, a revolving door, or a crowded entrance made me freeze up. I couldn't control the panic attacks any more at all.

Then I thought, 'This never happened in the classroom in Leicester. Maybe I'm not busy enough.' I made up my mind to go back into the classroom fulltime, back into the open concept school I'd left for the program leader's job and what I thought was a sure path to a top job in education. I knew I couldn't teach phys Ed now. I wiped out too quickly. Without stamina and control, there was no job there. My body was a solid mass of pain all the time now, but maybe the ticket was a classroom job teaching full days.

I applied to teach geography, history, math and ESL at my old school. I was hired without a hassle. It was like getting a second chance to make good, the way convicts must feel when they leave prison with a job. I started the school year high on hope and determination.

Meanwhile I bugged my family doctor for help. He was sure it was just nerves and prescribed drugs to calm me down. He even sent me to a psychiatrist who was so sure it was all in my head. Their message was always the same: I'm overstressed. I'll get over it. I was too young, they said, to have symptoms of anything worse than that.

I insisted that the problem was not in my head but in my body. It just wasn't working right and that was what was making me so depressed and dysfunctional. I explained that most of the time I was fine though my body ached from top to bottom, but I would get these sudden attacks of shaking or stiffness. That's when I panicked, I explained. They just kept assuring me that I'd get over it with drugs and therapy.

How did I know it wasn't all just in my head? Because I settled into teaching full time easily and comfortably, that's how. I liked the kids, and they seemed to like me. I didn't feel pressured or stressed there. I got on really well with the teachers in all my subjects. I volunteered for extra-curricular programs, like excursions and field trips. I came to think of myself as a potential vice-principal again.

That was my dream...and to find out what was really bugging my body.

Then one day I crashed through the gates of hell itself, and there I was in the inferno.