Let me begin with stating, not once did I feel there was something wrong with my introvert behaviors. I just happened to like spending time alone, away from my friends and family.
Not once did it phase me as an issue when I would dismiss invitations to outings with my friends or try and avoid any public situation. Now, why would I be doing all of this? Because it scared me. The idea of being surrounded by people at the mall or the grocery store frightened me.
Suffering from panic disorder always left a lingering fear that sometimes when I am in public, it will strike with no trigger and with very little mercy. The stares I would receive burned into my imagination as if it were a reality. Laughter perhaps would soon follow. So I stayed home because it was my safe place.
It created a concern for my mother in time how much I hated the idea of going anywhere -- close from my home or far. These habits I created over time: avoidance, excuses, and isolation, never occurred to me as an issue. But little did I know that when added altogether a snowball effect was being created. I was essentially digging my own grave of isolation and we decided as a team it was time to receive help.
Agoraphobia—It is a daunting word at the very least, especially when it is thrown at you during a psychologist visit. This word is used to explain my behavior and irrational fears. It is no longer the anxiety and panic disorder mixing together with depression, brewing a toxic cocktail in my thoughts. No. This is a term for something not only unexpected upon my behalf, but something that would explain a lot more in time.
When I was first diagnosed, I was confused. Every dictionary I used described the term as "Fear of places and situations that might cause panic, helplessness, or embarrassment," (Mayo Clinic). I was introverted at heart, put on a mask of an extrovert and was (moderately) happy. Although I had noticed my avoidance of public places in hopes it would be less embarrassing if one would occur, but not once did it bother me. That's how a lot of mental illnesses work. We don't choose to be depressed, but it becomes our norm. Anxiety can keep us up at night and we may beg for a life without it, but is that a change something we can truly accept?
As I first began to pick up the behaviors of being agoraphobic, I noticed an increase in my depression from being alone. You would assume being someone who stays inside all the time would have accepted that consequence, but at that time, it seemed so odd.
I allowed this to control my life for a little over a year. I went to high school, I would come home and sleep for hours to gather the strength I lost by so many people, I would wake up to do homework and sleep. This routine was a new living hell, but I thought this was how life would be: stuck in a rut that never would bring me happiness.
However, once I began my time at Benedictine University, I dared to challenge myself. If I continued to feed this metaphorical monster inside my thoughts with isolation, the one thing it craved most of all, then how could I be happy? My first semester very few people on my floor knew I lived there because I stayed in my room. I felt as thought that rut from high school was a challenge to ever escape from.
It takes time of exposure to try and conquer something as serious as a mental illness. I began forcing myself to sit at our little eating establishments filled with strangers or sit in the library where I knew no one all just to get a feeling of what I was missing out on. It took me by surprise that there were a lot of things that I was missing.
Second semester rolled about and I jumped at the chance to take a job at Coal Ben. This ignited a fear for my parents having believed this was a bit too much at once, but I knew I needed this extra push or very soon, I would have resorted to the bittersweet comfort of isolation, even this simple job is a hassle for someone like myself. To get up in the morning knowing your day will not finish right after class where you can sleep as long as you want (only if your homework is completed at least) was a very hard concept. To put on my uniform and mentally prepare for lines of customers awaiting for their meal swipes during the week put weights on my shoulders. But I do it. I have done it now since January and it's funny how such a small task can mean so much to a person.
I may still be suffering with my diagnosis, but I refuse to allow it to control every fiber of my being. I will continue to work, despite the exhaustion that follows. I will pursue my endeavor to push my limits and find new safe places that aren't just my room. Hopefully, in the future, I can continue to live a life out there in the real world.
For now -- I will continue this fight living life inside. I will still prefer texting my friends or inviting them over to my dorm than going out and about. I will still nap after a class to recover. I will forever be pushing the limits of agoraphobia until I can live of a life of comfort.
