On the day I had my final breakdown, my last real day as a member of society, there were absolutely no inklings of what was to come. I have always been socially awkward to the point of phobic, and I had indeed been to therapy for it and panic attacks and of course the depression. But still, I was living my life just like everyone else. There was no second, third, ten thousandth thoughts about going out the front door. That day though, the last day of august 2009, shaped my future in a way I did not see coming. I was hanging out with friends; we went to a local mall for some lunch. I thought I saw a girl I knew through a friend who I knew had a crush on me, so I literally turned my back in hopes she didn’t see me. Never been good with relationships, anyways, I think that was the match that lit the dynamite. I felt horrible about it, thinking it was her and she saw me snub her, I don’t want to be seen as an asshole, even if I am one. So I say good bye to my friends and head home. I get a call from another friend to hang out but I have to go and pick her up. On the way something began to happen. I began to focus on the fact that I may have snubbed that one girl, who was the friend of the friend I was going to pick up. Anyways, I started panicking. Panicking behind the wheel is not a good experience. So I tried to go with some breathing techniques taught to me by many a shrink over the years, four seconds in, four seconds out. I am doing all this while trying to appear normal in front of the friend I just picked up. But on the way back to my house I began to hyperventilate from the damn breathing techniques. My fingers began to tingle, as did my toes. The panic attack has begun. The tingle spread to my extremities, hands, feet, legs, all tingle and unable to move. I had to pull over and do a Chinese fire drill with my friend so we wouldn’t crash and die. Now with her behind the wheel I am left with the choice, hospital or home? It was literally left or right. Was it a heart attack? Was it just a panic attack? I decided to just go home. My friend had to help me back inside these walls and I laid on my bed unable to move for about 4 hours.

The next day I assumed it was just a panic attack, nothing to worry about and began my errands for the day. Within 3 minutes of turning the car on I felt it returning. The panic came, the pain came, and that was it. I haven’t left for longer than an hour since then. And that hour was only in the past few months on a heavily medicated trip out to the world. I tried to get a hold of my government funded (as I am a poor bastard) psychiatrist. Called him and my general practitioner that day, didn’t hear back from either of them. I tried to tell myself that I will be fine in a few days. I just need to work through something. What I had no I idea, but something. Then a few days became a few weeks. Then a few months. Then I stopped saying it. Finally my government shrink got back to me, because I had to cancel all my appointments not because of my emergency call, and he told me to go to the emergency room. Alas, being unable to leave the house without pain, I couldn’t make it to the hospital. Not for a couple years till I had a panic attack so back I was sure it was a heart attack. And that led me to medication for my problems. It also gave me the very clear outlook on government funded mental health programs. I learned that if I wanted help, I would have to pay for it.


Why have I shared this story with you, if anyone indeed is reading this. Well, I’m not too sure to be honest. Gotta start somewhere so I figured why not at the beginning, and believe me, this is just the beginning. Also I had an experience today that reminded me of it. I went for a drive, unfortunately my license has expired so my mom was driving, and I had a very similar panic attack. Even after all the success I have had in the past few months I still suffer from what hit me the very first day. I was able to get through it though, and accomplish my errand, so, happy ending. But what is the moral of this story? Thinking you can handle it on your own doesn’t always work. Help is out there if you look, but you will most likely have to break into the old savings account. It’s unfortunate but it’s the truth. Government doctors, all though badly needed, see so many people a day that you just become a file to them, a case. That doctor I mentioned earlier that told me to go to the emergency room, haven’t spoken to him since. Not even a follow up call. If you pay the doctor they have to care a little, or else they can’t make rent. It is worth it. And so is medication, but I‘ll leave my thoughts on medication for the next edition. 

Published in Diary
Thursday, 21 May 2015 07:19

Five years in a room (without a view)

For the past five years I have been too overcome with pains and sickness and a whole fridge full of neuroses. Five years, think about that, from 24 to 29, where I am now. And where am I now you ask? In a room, the same room I have been in since the beginning. I mean, I do go out of the room to the go the washroom and to make food, but other than that it’s just me and this cage. Five long years...

Sounds pretty lousy right? So here is where I actually am right now. Digging to the bottom and it is getting harder and harder. That barrier is causing me to fight back more than I have in the past. In the past 3 months I have been able to get out of this house and see places I haven’t seen since 2010, places just down the road from me. And what is it about the past few months? What has changed? Maybe I don’t want to turn 30 in this room. Maybe it’s the fact that I seem to have hit bottom on this dig. But, as I am sure we all know, there is always more bottom. So I started first by getting more help. An occupational therapist that helped get me out of the house for brief times, enough that I am now able to walk to the store down the street. I started making shit happen, cause let’s be honest here, if I am not going to do it I will just end up rotting in this room.

Why blog about it though? Cause I want to show people who also suffer with problems like mine that even if you don’t feel that you can beat it right now, some day you will hit your own bottom, your own age of game over. I want to chronicle the fight for the way out so you can perhaps get some kind of advice, some kind of idea of what might work with your problems. I’m not going to lie, I will be honest about everything, sometimes brutally so, but honesty is always the route I take now. No more lies means no more extra problems in the future. That is indeed one thing I have learned in my exile.

It gets hard having these mental problems, anxiety, phobias, whatever it may be. Depression is one of the ones that I have trouble with. Getting out of bed is a struggle sometimes. Even showering can be hard to do when you really really do not want to do anything. Forcing yourself doesn’t always work, and I have learned to just go with it. If it doesn’t work at that time it will work later, if not try again the next day. That is what I went through this week. Hard time getting out of bed to shower, coming out of a serious depression where I went days without showering, or doing anything for that matter. My mask cracked.

My mask is what I show the people in my life, who consists of two very kind and helpful parents and that is pretty much it. But the mask covers up the problems. I’m depressed all the time, but I can’t show that. My mask cracked and it made the only two people in my life incredibly worried about it. But after a confrontation I realized how much I had let myself go. Not caring for anything, and really showing it. The beard was itchy and I am sure I didn’t smell great. So I decided at the beginning of this week I will at least try to keep the mask in place. If the mask is in place and working I can focus on being able to leave this house without being sick. Which, I did manage to do today. A whole 20 minutes of fresh air, it was nice. Outside is nice, no matter what my (or your) mind may be telling you.


So that is it for my first entry. Five years in a room will be an ongoing project of mine (I hope) to really keep track of my struggle back to normality, or at least as close as I can get. For myself, but also so others can see this shit happens to a lot of people and you can find a way to fight back. Oh, by the way, my name is Dave and I am a depressed agoraphobic. Talk to you again soon. KBO.

Published in Diary
Monday, 29 December 2014 12:26

Anxiety Story Secondary School

i then went onto secondary school , which i was very anxious about which it is for any child , who is starting big school , but for people with anxiety disorders its alot worst. 

 Has i had moved house , i was told that i would have to get a coach to school , which added to the anxiety even more,  i would be going out of my hometown to get to school , i remember standing at the bus stop and dreading having to get on the coach but i wasnt to bad has i made a friend while standing at the bus stop which made me feel so much better , and we were both nervous and in the same boat so i didnt feel completely alone . after a few months of being there i lefted that school has i started bunking & not wanting to go , i didnt enjoy the whole travelling experience it wasnt for me , so i then went to a local school thinking that it might be the solution , it was okay for a while , but i then starting bunking school again , it was literally around the corner from me , so i could walk it,  but for some reason i was terrified of walking to and from school on my own, leaving the front door was so hard , even meeting a friend was difficult, i remember my mum telling my friend to go on without me, has i was just to scared to get up and go, i froze i didnt want to move , i remember just laying in my room crying and scared cause i didnt want to go school . it soon became obvious to the school , that something wasnt right , i remember being called to the headmasters room for a meeting with my mum , i just sat there crying and scared and there were asking me questions and i couldnt answer them , like why i didnt want to go to school? but i didnt know myself , i had no reason to not want to go, i just didnt know why i was, the way i was.

& before i know it the anxiety was getting worst and the only time i felt better, was when i was at home away from everyone. so thats what i did i locked myself every from everyone , so i didnt have to deal with the anxiety, it was like the only way i felt i knew how to deal with it at the time,  i was then admitted to child mental health to see a therapist, i was there til i was 16 or 17 , i was doing so well i was going out , making friends , and doing what i loved i was living my life i managed my prom i was so happy and then it all went down hill , when i lefted school ,  i was 16 at the time and i relapsed really badly , just out of the blue, has all the support i was getting from the school stopped and my mental health support & my support from connexions also stopped not long after  , has i had hit that age where i was no longer a child, i had to be referred to adult mental health, for more therapy and to yet be dianosged , but in the mean time things were really bad , i started to pushing friends and family away , everyone who cared for me & loved me i pushed away no one didnt anything horrible to me. it was me i was going through this really bad time and everything started to fall apart , i was feeling every emotion you could think off  , and none of my friends could understand why i was doing this , has i never said anything to my friends about my struggle with my mental health, i kepted it a secret , so i was completely on my own at this point , and i stopped leaving the house , all i would do is sleep and cry.  

Published in Diary
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