Agoraphobia and coronavirus in All Good Things

I was supposed to fly to Dubai today. Should’ve been boarding that plane right now. I’m not really telling time by what day of the week or date of the month is, just by trips not taken. First it was my two weeks in Amman, Jordan, which I was so excited about since we had a weekend off to go and explore in the middle of the job. Then it was a week in Geneva, which I haven’t been to for well over a decade. Then my treasured week of holiday in Chicago watching hockey and seeing all my favourite players. And now it’s the three weeks in Dubai.

I rarely have much in the way of plans. My job is often very last-minute, and my agoraphobia meant I stopped going out for any “pleasure” reasons several years ago. It happened slowly, started with an awful lot of cancelled plans and wasted tickets, to the degree that my best friend still doesn’t believe I’ll actually show up at something I’ve said I will until she sees me there with her own eyes, and then I just stopped planning anything because I was wasting so much money on things I ended up not doing.

I’ve been working on it for the past two or three years, trying to reverse the damage. It’s hard. I still have days when I know I can’t go out the door (yesterday was one). But I’d say I was about 90% better before coronavirus came. I could decide to go out for absolutely no reason, just for fun, and actually GO. Or I’d feel an actual, literal URGE to go out. I’d WANT to.

And so this year I made plans. So many plans. Work was coming in in advance, fitting perfectly around the holidays I wanted to take, and I was enjoying it all so much. I could cope with flying again, with airports, with packing and living in hotels. And not only cope, but thrive. I was thriving again, for the first time in....well, so many years I can’t remember.

And now this. I keep getting emails from Transport for London ordering me to STAY AT HOME. The government makes it illegal to leave the house except under very specific circumstances. The voice in my head that I’d almost silenced is ecstatic. “See?” it keeps saying gleefully. “I TOLD you it was dangerous to go out. I was right all along! NO, you are not going out. I don’t care that you’re allowed to go out for one exercise a day, that’s irrelevant. Didn’t you hear the news? Going out is DANGEROUS. You have to STAY AT HOME now. You HAVE TO. Everything’s okay now, you’re safe now, as long as you STAY INSIDE.”

I can’t believe I’d done so well, only for this.

I went on my weekly shopping trip on Wednesday. I live in a small town on the south coast of England and to get into town it’s a thirty minute walk along the sea front. The sky was blue, the sun warm, the tide was high with gentle waves lapping against the sand. It was beautiful. I was so agitated I could barely breathe. At the first shop, the only one in town that sells certain things I needed (they’d been out of stock entirely the previous two weeks), nobody was social distancing properly. It’s on the edge of the “bad” side of town, lots of angry, careless people. At least at the mall, where the only sizeable grocery shop is near me, there was control, queues to enter, everyone about twelve feet apart, only a dozen people or so at a time allowed inside. I liked that. It calmed me a bit.

But then the bus didn’t come to go home again. I was trapped in town. The sign said check the website for the new bus timetable, and the website would only tell me the bus timetable for Ashford, in Kent, an entirely different county. I ended up having to walk home, laden down with a week’s worth of groceries, feeling horribly conspicuous and desperate to be safe again, inside again. That’s why yesterday I could barely get out of my bed, struggled to leave my room, couldn’t even step outside onto my sundeck.

I know I’m lucky. I’m so fortunate. I might not be able to work during this time of coronavirus, and I don’t qualify for a single jot of help from the government, but I have some savings and I have a beautiful house in a lovely setting and I’ll be okay for a little while. But I’m a bit gutted that my agoraphobia is now stronger than its ever been and feels fully entitled.

I only managed to beat it by constantly reciting to myself “I am safe” whenever I went out. Ha. Nowhere is safe now. Even my safe home gets invaded by unsafe groceries. Ugh.

I wish I was flying to Dubai right now for three weeks of arduous, exhausting, stressful work, horribly jetlagged from my week in Chicago. I wish the world was normal and people were alive and safe and had jobs and security. I hate what’s happening so much and I feel so helpless.

Right now I’m sitting at my desk at home looking out across the sundeck to the sea, wondering if I’ll be able to make it outdoors to get my daily allowance of exercise. There’s a lot to be grateful for, and I’m trying.