None but Cowards
by Tal Lavin
Agoraphobia comes in waves for me. When it’s better I can leave my house, even take car trips by myself. Sometimes I can be places alone—even, on occasion, crowded or large ones.
When it’s bad, I can’t… do any of that. It’s pretty unpredictable: for a few months I’ll be A-OK doing something, and then suddenly, the next day, I can’t, and I know I’m in for a downturn. Friends were in New York this week and I pathetically invited them over for takeout—during a rainstorm. Understandably, they went out to a nice restaurant instead.
It’s been a bad few months. I temporarily lost the ability to write, a family member is undergoing major surgery, the country is descending into uncontrolled fascism, etc., etc. Still, the relationship between the external weather of the world and my perpetual internal thunderstorm is somewhat mysterious. We all deal with our mental issues differently. Some people exercise, or do therapy, or take meds, or do that thing where you expose your butthole to the sun, or do “forest bathing” (I think this means taking a walk in the woods). I do therapy, take meds, and, lately, I’ve been reading an absolutely bananas amount about (perversely!) explorers.
Keep us breathing fire!
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