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The Beautiful Curse of Agoraphobia

What it’s like for someone who fears leaving the house.

By Sian-Lenna ReidPublished 6 years ago 3 min read
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It was not uncommon for me to not leave the house for weeks on end and it was not uncommon for me to avoid going outside completely. Total isolation from everything was not uncharted territory for me and actually was a natural occurrence in my life. The need to do this constantly over shadowed any reason that could occurred for me to venture outside or leave the house. I guess it became common for me to put this exigency above anything, anybody and everyone. For example, today I skipped school again.

It was not exactly like there was one particular event I was dreading. There wasn’t a specific trigger causing my insides to crawl and my chest to feel agonisingly tight. I just did not want to leave the house. It was warm, safe and I had everything I wanted within a couple of short paces between the fridge, the kitchen table and my computer. The weather outside was actually beginning to brighten, the garden looking sunnier than it had in days and the subtle shadows dancing amongst each other, tempting me playfully. Everything seemed normal, but it was fake. At least it was to me.

The grass was gradually shifting to an acidic hue of green as the lurid flowers stood out pretentiously from the bushes. The black flies darted past the glass door, suspended briefly as they caught the light on their shiny bodies before vanishing. Even the swings, hanging limply from the wooden frame, swung perfectly in rhythm as if translucent bodies were rocking them to and fro.

I could hear children screaming with laughter and shouting across fences, telling each other about the recent travesty on the school playground. I resented their remarkable naivety, yet out of jealousy or annoyance I couldn’t tell. There was a point too in my life I would have labelled myself as naive- naive to the dark tinge the world had. My life changed when I noticed it- when it finally appeared in my vision the outside world changed.

Looking outside, it was taunting me with its own happiness, but now I began to understand. In some ways the outside world was more like me than it would care to admit. Hiding behind its flimsy pretence of optimism, the screen was starting to peel away, and it seemed I was the only one to notice. Everyone carried on with their lives not noticing while it was the only thing I could focus on. The closer I stared at the curling dark-tined edges, the stronger the desire to pull back the film like a plastic label became, but I stayed motionless. Behind it there was something toxic, already managing to seep its way through, that I didn’t want to release. A feeling of dread overcame me quickly making me wanna forget what I had noticed.

This incident made me realise, realise it was safer inside. The colour of the walls, the temperature of the air and the smell of the oven were all normal to me, and that’s where I wanted to stay. If I was to leave the house, leave the warmth, leave my kitchen—I couldn’t tell you what would happen but I had a certain feeling that something was falling—or going to fall—apart

Really it didnt matter if I left the house. I am neither famous or important. I didn’t miss the outside and it didn’t miss me. People carried on living, trees carried on growing, the sun carried on shining. That all happened without me—I wasn’t needed in that world. I wanted to stay here, away from the fake, black-tinged world.

disorder
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About the Creator

Sian-Lenna Reid

noun/noun/noun

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