Nobody can judge

Yesterday I had a therapy session, in which we spoke about my feelings of discomfort around eating at night. It is definitely something that I need to sort out, but it is scary to think that I must try to not compensate for my food in the evening. To me, the definition of evening activity has become exercise, panic, laxatives and or trying to throw up.
At the end of the session , the therapist went to get something for me and when she returned I was shaking and breathing really fast. Given her profession she immediately asked me what I was thinking and how this state had come on so suddenly; yet most members of the public have no idea about panic attacks. I have hyperventilated and trembled in so many public environments and always felt so worried that people would be staring. But actually, the physical aspects of panic aren’t that obvious- it is the minefield of racing thoughts that are so overwhelming, but who can see those except me?
When I was little I would never think to ask if somebody was ok unless they were crying, or off from school. We are brought up to recognise the flu, a cold, or physical pain, but not stress or worry. It is far easier to lie about emotional difficulties than it is to lie about a raging temperature and a horrible cough , which I think makes it more likely for mental illnesses to be suffered in silence for longer. People will rarely ask until a significant physical event occurs.
I’ve been mentally battered for so long, and I am fed up of feeling like most people don’t have a clue how difficult it is just to get out of bed in the morning. The constant thought is “what is the point?” And by that, I mean living altogether. It just feels like a losing battle right now.