I'm here because in my 42 years of life, I've somehow managed to find myself becoming agoraphobic. This isn't something that has happened overnight and sadly it isn't something that is going to resolve overnight. Like many here, my anxiety and depression started at a very young age due to a highly dysfunctional family plagued with mental illness. My biological father was a paranoid schizophrenic, refused to stay on his medication, self medicated with alcohol because of this, and thought everyone in his world (and the worlds of those around him) were trying to harm him. All of which ended in him planning to put a stop to it by putting a stop to those closest to him if you know what I mean.
Growing up in a home with a delusional, paranoid schizophrenic who refuses medication and self medicates and then turns into a raging alcoholic is something that one learns to handle with self preservation. The only problem with self preservation is, somethings we forget to allow ourselves the time we need to recuperate from the path of destruction that has been left behind. Little did I know as a child this self preservation technique would essentially become my entire life's story. I wish I could say my PTSD, anxiety, panic attacks, and agoraphobia all stemmed from the biological father, but the truth is, that was just the beginning of a long road of struggles. Most of those struggles I am still dealing with today.
I learned at a very young age to "walk on eggshells", "what happens at home stays at home", and to "tread lightly". Those three phrases seem to echo in my head on a daily basis and the memories of how the directly correlate is daunting. When we didn't walk on eggshells, we learned why what happens at home stays at home was important, and we learned to tread lightly when discussing bruises or why we were absent from school for a day or a week.
For the majority of my life, I did incredibly well at hiding the scars and chaotic thoughts in my head from the past. Recently...it hasn't been so easy. I found myself on the phone a couple weeks ago with the crisis hotline for a couple hours, crying myself to sleep, crying most of the next day, crying in my virtual therapy session, crying in my virtual doctor appointment, and staying in bed hugging my dogs and crying on them. It was as though I had cracked. My brain and body finally said we've had enough and I could not regain control no matter what I did until everything that had been racing in my mind for over 35 years spilled out of my mouth like word vomit to those around me I knew I could trust.
There is much more to my story and maybe one day I'll be comfortable and confident enough to divulge it all here. For now, my goal is to find others who find solace when they're alone because the world outside and around us, is coming apart at the seams.
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StayingHome
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Likewise, let me welcome you to our little corner of the Internet.
Having read your missive, I must say that it reflects much of my own back story, and my plea at one point that somebody should have smothered me while still an infant. I also identify with the idea of being able to keep it all inside for so long, until at a certain point, the vessel of pent up emotion overflows, and the whole rancid mess just comes spilling out.
It was then that my own brain box gave up the ghost, and rather than “fright or flight,” I was literally like a rabbit that had been run down over miles by a weasel, belly up with no ability to resist.
I suppose the question you most want answered is, “what comes next”? Personally, I have no idea. Like you, I am still trying to get my legs back under me.
It's great how we can make jokes about this sort of thing isn't it? Those who haven't been there in life never understand it, but those of us who have been there, appreciate the little drips of humor. So thank you for the little laugh, I needed that tonight. 🙏
Our little problem (which is actually called “adverse childhood experiences” = a form of CPTSD) is the equivalent of somebody having pooped in the punch at a party. Everybody who drinks it, can taste something funny, but no one (society in general) will raise the topic for reasons of decorum.
🙏 Thank you so much for the kind words. Feeling alone is symptomatic of being agoraphobic I suppose. Even in a home with another person, it still feels empty and lonely at times.
That second sentence is so true. I’ve never really worked out how to lay all of my cards on the table and share with somebody just how bad my childhood was. I say that because, beyond a certain point, the eyes of whoever might be listening just glaze over and you realize at that point that they cannot perceive what you are talking about. I’ve actually experienced that on a couple of occasions. As sentient beings, how are we supposed to share the unspeakable with others? I worry also about the moral implications of burdening others with what I might say. Of course, over decades, I have developed some mental barriers between “that stuff” and my conscious self just to survive. However, if I were to dump it all on some unsuspecting friend, I am not quite sure they could deal with it.
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xx
Here we go again
Here we go!
How do I let him go? 
Do I stay or should I go?
Where did I go? 
