I have been living pretty much in isolation for almost five years now. It’s grueling. Agoraphobia is no-nonsense and predatory. When it’s fueled by trauma and a brain injury – neither one being a static reality – it can be disabling. Being held up and shot in the head in 1984 is the primary antecedent to all this.

There is no poor-me in any of this. I accept that. If knowledge can be tattooed into one’s being, I know acceptance is the one step that must be taken if there is to be any real, healthy healing.

Acceptance is not total surrender. You surrender to the reality you are in. You don’t surrender your ability – and right – to be the honest manager of your own life.

However – if I don’t accept the full reality of the challenge I’m facing, my ability to manage it in a healthy way is non-existent. There is nothing unique about me in this; not even a little.

The role the agoraphobia (I call it, fear) plays now is more expansive than it’s been for more than 30 years. I leave the house only to take my dog out and, as infrequently as I can manage, go to the supermarket.

And then, there is this.
– Answering the phone is usually impossible.
– Opening and or sending an email can be a steep climb.
– Listening to a message can take days, if ever.
– If there is a knock on my front door, I freeze and can’t answer.
– Some close friends from over the years have reached out. More often than not, I can’t get myself to respond.

The to do things for me include this, simply setting down my current reality, put it in the open. Tell on myself. I hope to meet with my doctor tomorrow morning. It is in-person and I will have to leave here. I’ll write more about this, perhaps.