Picture it… You and your child are leaving a store, walking in a congested parking lot clear across the universe to pack your goodies into your car to head home. As you are strolling along, some asshole in a rush backs out of his parking spot and nearly plows you and said child down. By instinct, you grab your child, hurl yourself out of harm’s way, give asshole the finger while verbally berating him and assess the situation. You are both physically okay; No cuts, scrapes or bruises. Your heart is pounding as adrenaline courses through your veins, realizing what could have just happened. You are pissed at the driver for being careless, mad at the world for having to rush all the time, sad that common courtesy is a thing of the past… But this is NORMAL. These are the “correct emotions” to feel, the “correct symptoms” to display. You were in “real” danger. You and your child could have been hurt. Our bodies give us fight or flight for moments just like these. To protect us.
Now, this is my story as I dissect it, ad nauseum, as only people like me can. 😉
First, I must touch on leaving a store. Agoraphobics sometimes cannot leave the house, let alone venture into a “scary store”. But for shits and giggles, let’s say it is a small store, close to home, in our “safe area” and we were feeling pretty adventurous that day. Second, WALK to the car across a parking lot.. Most likely not going to happen. Agora (Open Spaces) Phobia (Fear of). A parking lot is like outer-fucking-space to me. Safe places, people. I need my safety within a 50-foot mad dash to my car (that gives me anxiety anyway). Better than the big, scary store I just fucking ran out of. I don’t do parking lot marathons. Not because I am lazy. I just could not escape in the madness of a full-fledged panic attack that way. There has to be a well laid plan of attack. It is like I have a GPS in my brain, remembering entrances and exits, good versus bad. Third, the getting in the car and leaving thing… Driving is my demise, so I do not do it. I haven’t done it alone in years. That means I have a chaperone and a chauffeur. I am a grown ass woman that needs to be carted around like Miss Daisy. Bullshit, utter and complete bullshit. Not so great for the self-esteem. And finally, those physical and emotional symptoms. Us agoraphobes don’t need to have an automobile practically back over us to bring out heart palpitations, smothering shortness of breath, shakiness, tremors and shit-your-pants feelings of terror. We get those standing at the sink washing dishes, talking on the telephone with an old friend, getting our child ready for bed…. Any time. Any day. For any reason. Sometimes without warning, sometimes without cause.
My brain misfires signals that tell me to RUN. Not exactly where it would like me to go, being that the vicious cycle of agoraphobia does not afford me that luxury to RUN anywhere. But I am learning the coping techniques, I am exposing myself to the things that scare me, I am waking up each day and trying to remain positive that I can beat this.
