It Shouldn't Be This Hard...
There’s a special feeling that comes with getting home after a long day of work. To others, it probably feels like a shallow relief, or a prolonged sigh. For you, it’s a like a sudden shot of morphine, and after today, you sorely need it.
The door to your studio apartment opens, and you slip inside as fast as you can, before the nausea of anticipation overwhelms you. It takes just about everything in your power not to slam the door shut so hard that you break it, so it can never be opened again. You press your back against cool wood and shut your eyes, then count the beats of your heart until they slow down. You feel your breaths come easier and easier as you turn the little latch on the knob, from open to locked, and with the soft click it makes, you feel a part inside of you unclench. Like someone was undoing a knot that was pulled way too tight.
The cracked paint of the door feels so foreign under your fingertips, the only thing separating you from the outside world, and you’re so grateful it’s there to protect you. You’re here now. Everything else is out there. You’re safe here. It’s okay.
You close your eyes and repeat these words in your head over and over until you start to believe them. Somewhat.
Before you, in your tiny apartment, you feel the stillness, the quiet, that only you and those you choose can interrupt. As you open your eyes to face it, you can sense how much control you have over every single thing. Every piece of furniture, every pillow on your bed, every painting on your wall, they’re all comfortable parts of your life you know inside and out. No uncertainty or surprises.
And your only company?
You smile with relief as your eyes fall on a small purple form resting at the foot of your bed. The shape stretches, yawns like a tired cat, then blinks at you sleepily. Her wings stretch, then refold, and she shakes her head to throw off any lingering dreams. As she recognizes you, she smiles a little.
“Oh, hey, welcome home!” she says, her voice still groggy. “When did you get back?”
You take off your coat and hang it on the cheap copper hook screwed into the back of the door, then give her a nod.
“Just now. Hey, did you sleep all day?”
“Not… all day,” she says with a roll of her eyes. “Just some of it. Maybe two thirds.”
You roll your eyes back at her, mimicking her expression with a knowing grin.
“Jeez, I never would have guessed you’d be a lazy one, Twi. So out of character.”
Twilight sits up a little straighter, and furrows her brow at you.
“Hey, I do plenty, but when I have a day off, I take advantage of it, is that so wrong?”
“Whatever you say princess, whatever helps you sleep at night.”
“Or during the day, to be specific.”
“Right, right. You're always so precise.”
With a huff of exhaustion, you flop down face-first next to her across the bed. The force of your sudden weight on the old mattress sends her catapulting into the air a little, and she yelps in indignation. She has scarcely enough time to open her wings and find balance before again settling onto the bed beside you. She gives you a glare which quickly softens as she sees your expression.
“That kind of a day, huh?” she says with a raised eyebrow. “All a little too overwhelming?”
You let out a short bitter laugh. It’s been like that all week, but today it feels like it’s built up inside you to the point of breaking. You'll not sure how much longer your dam will hold.
“How did you guess?”
“I know you, and I know how you get sometimes. I also happen to know what it’s like to have a lot of weight on your shoulders, from personal experience,” she says proudly. “Remember the time me and my friends had to take care of the yaks? Oh, or when we had to get rid of the parasprites? And what about that whole thing with the wedding?”
“Of course I remember, I loved those, especially that last one.”
The memories flood back to you in glowing color and you can’t help but smile. They feel like a caress to your mind, like a waft of a favorite perfume. You glance at her across the comforter, and she’s smiling down at you too.
“Well, then you remember it was really stressful for all of us gals. But with hard work and determination, we made it through, and you can too!”
You give another short sigh down into the blanket, then roll over on your back. You can feel every individual muscle in your body, all resisting movement now that you’ve flopped, and you make an involuntary little groan as you shift around.
“Yeah, but you had your friends there to help you,” you remind her.
“You have friends too.”
“You don’t count.”
You hear her click her tongue in disapproval.
“Well that’s not a very nice thing to say. Is staying in so often making your socializing skills rusty? Taking a page from Dash’s playbook maybe and forgetting manners?”
You let out a louder groan, on purpose this time, and cover your face with your hands.
“Sorry,” you grumble. “It’s not your fault, I know, I know. It’s just been hard for me lately and I want to unwind now that I’m home.”
“Sounds good to me,” she says brightly. “We could read a book, or do a puzzle if you want, or…”
“Or?”
You can tell she’s grinning before you even look up. Sure enough she’s practically beaming at you.
“Or we can watch an episode or two,” she says inching a little closer to you. “That always seems to make you forget your troubles, take you far away.”
You have to admit, that idea sounds the best right now. You can simply put on Netflix, click a few buttons, and pick out one of your favorite episodes, and suddenly you know this room won’t feel like it’s so small anymore. Sure, you’ll still get your sweet isolation, but when you’re watching, you don’t notice the walls. You don’t notice you’re stuck here, with the world around you threatening to beat down your door should you dare to turn the latch. You're not trapped inside this wonderful secure little box of an apartment, with nowhere you can go without feeling like...
Suddenly, you can feel all of that world outside looming up, and a wave of tingling stabs at your stomach. It creeps up on you, without exact source and form, but curls around your intestines and stomach like some sort of serpent or eel. You feel sick, then the sweat begins to form on your brow, and the moisture leaves your mouth. You can't breathe, you can't think, and then you feel your heart jolt uncomfortably in one sudden loud thud. You sit up from bed like you'd been electrocuted, looking down at the floor, trying to focus.
See how the wood grain flows in one direction? What about the swirl there of a knot. There’s a crack running up that one board, is it bigger this week? There’s dust in the cracks, you should really clean it at some point, but it’s not terrible yet. It's redwood, you remind yourself, you asked your landlady after this happened last time.
With each singular detail you pick out, you can feel your heart slow, and the pressure against your apartment’s walls lessens some. When you breathe out, it feels as if you’ve been holding it in for hours.
As you blink back into your body, you can sense Twilight leaning over your shoulder, and you turn to find her looking at you, head tilted. Her mouth is set, her expression curious but also concerned.
“A bad one?” she asks softly, very gently, like you're a baby animal.
“Not so bad. It went away fast,” you reply, but there’s a cracked dryness in your voice as you speak.
She nods, and doesn’t press the point, much to your relief.
“Well,” she continues. “You don’t have anything else to do today. You can stay here, with me, and just feel…”
“Safe?”
You hate the word, but say it anyway because it’s the right one in this situation. This room, this place, this small purple magical pony feels safe to you. Everything else, everything out there? It’s too much right now. It’s always too much, but especially right now. Twilight nods once more, and pats your leg so kindly that you can almost feel it.
“Yes,” she says in that same soft lilting tone that feels like a lullaby. “If that’s what makes you feel better.”
You look over at her and give her a half smile, one which both of you know isn’t genuine.
“It doesn’t,” you say. “It never makes me feel better.”
“Anything I can do to help? We can always do some more research on coping mechanisms, on ways to deal with attacks. You always have the pills in the bathroom if it gets too intense. There are some new drug trials if you-”
You hold up a hand for her to stop, and she quickly falls silent. This isn’t what you need. Well, actually, you do need this, the same way you need food or even air. At least, everything in your head and body is screaming that you need all those things she’s saying. They’re the only things that feel good, and even when they make you feel like running as fast as you can out of this place, even when they make you feel trapped, they also make you happy.
And that’s enough for now, right? Can’t you just enjoy those things? Be happy?
Can’t you just stay inside?
You feel a sudden lump in your throat, and it doesn’t pass no matter how many times you swallow. Safe should be good. Comfort should be good. You want them. So why do those things set off a little voice in your head, shrieking and wailing like a warning siren? Then, another thought crosses your mind, and a shudder of horror ripples through your skin and sinews.
“Twilight,” you say hollowly. “I think I didn’t get the mail on the way up. In fact, I know I didn't.”
She’s silent, and when you glance up you notice she looks even more worried. You don’t try to smile at her this time, it won’t help either of you.
“You can always stay here for a bit longer, relax and build up to it,” she tells you. "Baby steps, right?"
Another delicious offer. You want it so bad, you want to take her up on that, but the more you stay here… the more you get comfortable and warm and happy… You know how damn hard leaving is going to be.
“I should go get it,” you say, but you don’t get up off the bed.
“You don’t have to," she says quickly. "You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, you’re an adult, you’re in charge.”
“But I do!” you say, and you’re suddenly shouting, heart racing, lungs feeling crushed under invisible weight. “I have to do this, you know that! I have to get up in the morning, I have to get out of bed. I have to go to work, take the bus home, get the mail, be responsible, pretend that I don't feel this way! I have to do all of that, because if I let myself stop, if I let myself stay in here… I…”
Your eyes feel wet and sticky. Your cheeks feel hot. You turn away from Twilight, suddenly feeling a pang of shame that has no name or reason. Why is this so hard? This isn’t so hard for other people, it shouldn’t be hard for you, so why is this so fucking difficult?
“I have to,” you go on, trying to keep your voice softer and more steady, “because if I don’t keep doing it, there will a come a day where I’m not able to anymore. And I can never let it get that bad. Not again.”
“It did get pretty bad for you,” Twilight says, but you don’t look back up at her. “But you got out of that. You’re so much better now, you’ve come such a long way and it’s okay to reward yourself sometimes.”
You shake your head sharply.
“Not with this. Staying inside because I’m scared can never be a reward to me it… it feels too good.”
This time you know damn well why you feel that pang of shame. You hold down tears, and force the lump in your throat back and down into your stomach. You can still feel it resting there, weighing you down, trying to keep you from getting up off this bed.
Inertia is your worst enemy, you know that. You have to make that first motion, you remind yourself, as you have countless times before. It gets easier once you begin, so just stand up. Stand up, you can do it. You can at least stand up, so just do that, right now. Tense your legs, lean forward, and get off the bed. Do it. Just fucking do it, why aren’t you doing it? Get up!
Get. Up.
Your body doesn't move.
“Look,” Twilight says suddenly, and your eyes flick open. You’d almost forgotten she was there. “You can just get the mail really quick, you can run the whole way if it helps, and then come back. Then you can pour yourself a drink and watch an episode with me, and that can be enough for now. Is that a fair reward?”
It’s not. It’s not really a compromise so much as a rewording of what you said you couldn’t do, but maybe, for today, you can accept that. Maybe it’s okay to be a little weak today. Just today.
“I won’t run,” you tell her.
You can do that much.
“That sounds perfect then,” she says with a warm smile. “See? It’s not so bad if you can do that much.”
The warning sirens go off in your head with that thought, but you ignore them as best you can. Instead, you lean forward, reminding yourself of your decided reward, over and over. Do this one thing, then you can relax. Once your legs lock straight, that next step feels more reasonable.
You can still feel the world outside lurking as you approach the door, and your hand shakes as you wrap it around the knob. You can still feel how big it all is out there how the small room behind you is so familiar, inviting, addicting. You have to tell your hand to open the latch several times before it finally does so, and the clicking sound it makes gives you a horrible feeling of sinking dread. Like you're drowning. For a moment, you have the sudden impulse that you’re going to throw up, but luckily it never happens.
“I’ll be right back,” you say to the empty room behind you.
“Of course,” she says. “I’ll be right here waiting. I’m always right here with you if you need to run or hide.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” you whisper to yourself.
Then, quickly, before your thoughts can get too loud and menacing, before your heart can beat too strong and too fast for your body, you open the door and take that first, hard, aching step outside.
-End-
Author's Note
Agoraphobia is a hell of a thing, and it feels like you're dying sometimes when it hits you all at once. I can't even promise you that it ever goes away entirely. It can be overcome, and it can be worked on, and for anyone who read this who has trouble leaving their apartment, or just can't shut out the voices that plead for safety: Don't give up. You CAN do this. It gets easier, even if it doesn't stop being terrifying. It's okay to be scared, even if it seems silly. You can't simply snap your fingers and stop being afraid, so don't demand it of yourself. It'll take work. But it's worth it.
Just remember that you can't be brave if you're not afraid first.
Thank you for reading.
-Pencil
