Ironically, the as-yet-undiagnosed issues manifested themselves tenfold as I sat in a doctor’s office. Although I had visited this building many times, something about this trip caused me to feel a level of uneasiness that I’d never felt before. The nurse practitioner entered the room, and, like turning on a light switch, my body went from on to off in a matter of seconds.

The nurse practitioner fired a multitude of questions at me, but all I could do was think of how I absolutely had to get out of the office as quickly as possible. Then she said the magic words that kicked off a year’s worth of misery.

“I think you’re having a panic attack,” she said. With no such history for the ailment, I never considered that diagnosis. But at that moment, it definitely made sense.

I returned a week later and another doctor asked more questions. By the end of our meeting, he was confident that I suffered from anxiety, claustrophobia and acute agoraphobia.

These symptoms prevented me from getting anything done. But I am not a millionaire, which means things had to get done. Still believing I was Superman, I did nothing regarding my mental health for approximately five months, a span that in hindsight was easily the worst period of my young life.

New environments were a surefire way of setting off anxiety. This did not help as I entered people’s abodes for the monthly Home Tour department story I write for this magazine. I never mentioned it to my interviewees, but there was a lengthy span when walking into strangers’ homes made me want to flee in anticipation before I rang the doorbell. If you were one of the people I wrote about during the early and middle part of 2009 and thought I was slightly more than a little odd, this is why. I apologize.

The thought of going to therapy bounced around my mind near the end of spring, but something about reclining on a leather couch while a bald man smoking a pipe and taking notes didn’t appeal to me. Again, I was bulletproof — and bulletproof people don’t need therapy.

This attitude changed when I realized that whatever was causing my anxiety was not going to heal itself like the bruises I got from riding my bicycle as a child did, so I made an appointment with a therapist. Half a year later, I won’t say I’m cured, but elevators aren’t so bad anymore, and the recent home tours have been very pleasant experiences.

The most important thing I’ve learned from therapy is how crucial dealing with issues is, which is why I agreed to take a ride on an Airship Ventures zeppelin — although flying has always been one of my biggest fears.

Going into the flight, I knew my fellow passengers had unique stories to tell, as the zeppelin ride was a special trip for children with inspiring and challenging lives. I arrived at the airfield with a Xanax (prescribed) in case of a mid-air panic attack, but after seeing a precocious 7-year-old named Benjamin Thompson, I came to the conclusion that I wasn’t going to let anything stop me from having a good time.

As the airship lifted off, anxiety was the furthest thought from my mind, and in its place was a bevy of “wow”, “awesome”, and “amazing”. We flew over Temple Avenue and I was able to see my backyard. Our flight took us to the edge of the Palos Verdes cliffs before turning around, and as we made the U-turn, I was disappointed that this unique experience was over — partly because the flight was one of the most jaw-dropping moments of my life, and partly because I was frolicking down the zeppelin’s aisle like a schoolboy on Christmas morning, completely oblivious to my anxiety-filled past.

But I wasn’t the only person aboard who felt like the ride was more than just a 45-minute flight, as the trip allowed Benjamin and his mother Nancy a pleasant distraction from reality. Perhaps it was the awe-inspiring view, but as I watched Benjamin patrol the zeppelin, he appeared to be a standard seven-year-old boy, which is to say he was energetic and full of amazement and wonder. After our flight landed, I was able to speak to Nancy, who explained how Benjamin was offered a trip of a lifetime.

“My son has Asperger Syndrome,” Thompson said, “which is part of the autism spectrum. He had just finished a six-month social skills group through Memorial Medical Center and they asked Benjamin to go.”

Similar to others with Asperger Syndrome, Benjamin has communication issues. He has difficulties understanding the concept of personal space and enjoys hugging those around him. Social cues — such as a person’s body language or facial expressions — do not register with him as they would for many others. Benjamin can also be very honest and often says things other might think but not speak. In addition, slang words, colloquialisms, sarcasm and the meaning of jokes cause problems for the seven-year-old, who takes language literally.

“One day in the car,” Thompson says, “he was goofing off, pestering his sister, so I told him, ‘Benjamin, knock it off.’ He got serious and said, ‘Knock what off, mom? I don’t have anything.’”

Benjamin might have difficulty understanding aspects of language that many take for granted, but one thing he very much comprehended was how amazing our zeppelin ride was.

“When we got off,” Thompson says, “I asked him if he liked it. He said, ‘No mom, I loved it.’”

Impulse control is another area that can be taxing for not only those with Asperger, but the parents as well. For example, Benjamin loves babies and is “drawn to them like a magnet,” Thompson says. But knowing that most people are wary of a seven-year-old approaching their babies, Thompson not only has to remind her son that his desire to tickle a young child is inappropriate, she has to continually remind herself that yelling at Benjamin doesn’t help, because his desire to act on his impulses is beyond his control. “He’s not trying to be bad,” Thompson says

, “and in his mind he knows he’s not supposed to touch babies, but he can’t help himself. That’s where I have to be understanding, because I know he’s not trying to be bad or disobedient.”

By remaining patient with her son, Thompson is able to parent and love Benjamin without making him feel bad about his situation.

Unfortunately, not everyone is capable of this level of understanding. Dirty looks are often given by those who feel as if the Thompsons are bad parents who can’t control their child. These confrontations have provided the family with a thick skin, but there are times when thick skin is not enough. Once, a woman at a park yelled at Thompson so severely that the re-telling of the story made Thompson’s friends cry. The incident also caused Benjamin to cry for a month, because he was upset at the way a stranger treated his mother.

Because of incidents similar to the aforementioned run-in at the park, the joyous occasion of sending a young child off to school could have turned into a nightmare for the Thompsons. Fortunately, this has not been the case, as the students and staff at Benjamin’s school have been supportive and receptive to his unique needs. Benjamin is well-behaved in the classroom, and even made a friend in teacher Sara Ahrens.

“It’s her second year with him,” Thompson says. “She was bumped up from first to second grade and requested him. She likes him that much. It’s nice for us to know that he has a teacher who cares so much for him.”

Benjamin’s parents have high hopes for their son, and believe he could be the next Tim Burton. Almost daily, Benjamin’s imagination helps him create a film set or amusement park in their living room. He does these things because two of his goals are to become a filmmaker or to own a theme park. Regardless of what sort of job Benjamin gets when he becomes an adult, Thompson says her son is destined to find his niche in life.

“Part of his brain doesn’t work like ours,” Thompson says, “but part of it is quite amazing. In my gut, I know he’s here for a purpose and to do something great. I don’t know what it is, but there’s something special about him.”