My Old Companion, by Thérèse

Filed under: Themes, The Wandering Agoraphobe

My Old Companion

by Thérèse

What’s in a name?

I can put a name to this often misdiagnosed ailment that afflicts me, but does that make it any better? Have my many symptoms faded away? Has the persistent fear vanished? No.

At least I do have the comfort of knowing there is a specific term for my condition: Agoraphobia. Some comfort, I suppose, considering I used to believe I was slowly losing grip with reality. So now that I know what is wrong, how do I go about making it right? Is the problem simply all in my head? Can I just decide to change my negative thought patterns and be rid of panic for good? Or should I blame my issues on faulty genes and declare that nothing can be done?

Change in any form can be either exciting or frightening. I usually opt for the latter. On the few occasions that I forget to be anxious, I invariably pause at some moment to look for my old companion. Life without anxiety has become strange to me. The sensation is unfamiliar and I frankly cannot imagine such a state of being. Perhaps I’ve been secretly resisting therapeutic aid because of my fear of the unknown. The fear of being free. Like a prisoner who has grown up incarcerated and doesn’t know life “on the outside,” so have I forgotten what freedom is.

But could an old dog possibly learn new tricks? Is there a glimmer of hope that I can change? Time and lots of self-help will tell. My phobias have been 30 years in the making. I can only hope that it won’t take another 30 to undo them.

Hope, courage and best wishes to all my fellow phobics.

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