Agoraphobia isn't just anxiety. I suffer many consequences as a direct result of this condition.
About six years ago, the quality of my life significantly diminished. Leaving my home ― my safe zone ― unfailingly caused a panic attack: a feeling of suffocation, heart palpitations, palms sweating profusely, and a bleak sense of foreboding. I am a 29-year-old woman with a 9-year-old child who fears venturing into the outside world, where the sun shines and the cool breeze caresses my cheeks.
But I wasn’t always like that. I grew up enjoying outings to the mall with my mom and sneaking out of the house to go to parties with friends. After my daughter was born, I watched as she happily played with her peers on the playground after school. She and I treasured the evenings where we indulged in greasy garlic knots and fed seagulls down by the docks. I’d have to say my life was relatively normal.
After three years of barely getting by with the money I had, my newly developed agoraphobia began to interfere with my budget. Far too often, I’d pay $30 for pizza delivery so I could remain housebound and avoid the supermarket. But $30 spent wisely has the potential to cover dinner costs for an entire week. Wastefully spending my measly income put my bank account balance in the negative well before my next direct deposit was due.
I have been fortunate in terms of romantic relationships. The people I’ve dated since developing agoraphobia were surprisingly understanding and supportive of my limitations. I disclose my mental health issues very early on, as I feel a potential partner has the right to know what they’re getting into. I would be invited to lunches with their friends or colleagues, and my continuous stream of polite rejections never caused offense or provoked arguments.
I hate what mental illness has done to me, but observing the extent in which it affects my daughter is far more heartbreaking. The following session, my therapist raised the stakes. She told me to drive two miles up the road each morning. I can recall my hands clenched tightly on the steering wheel, shaking, as I took the scenic farm road adjacent to my street. Each week, I stomached a slightly more challenging assignment. I continued to expose myself to situations that made me nervous, and it was frightful.
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