one

Think of the ten most horrific things that could happen to you or a loved one on a walk home. A walk through town, to the train station, to the newspaper shop, even on a bus, think of those ten things and magnify them there most horrific and there you have the start of my anxiety. The very beginning.

I remember the very first time I was scared to leave the house. I was at primary school, maybe 8 years old. Every morning my cousin and I would walk to the paper shop to buy the morning tabloids before school. Going to buy the papers was exciting and grown up. One night I had a dream that we were on the way to the shop and I was abducted by a faceless man in a black coat with a big black hat. I was petrified when I woke up drenched in sweat, crying my eyes dry under my blanket. I refused to buy the papers for two weeks after that, an intense fear flooded over me at the thought that I would never come home.

That was a long time ago, but the same feeling from being eight years old rushes through my body everyday when I leave the house.

Shear panic hit me this weekend while heading home with my girlfriend. It was possibly the most fear stricken I have ever been without reason. Unable to walk to the bus stop, then unable to get a bus. One taxi from venue to the bus stop where I shake and whimper, cry and lose self control, and then I hum. A new tick that developed over the last few months that is present even when I am calm. Its almos like I am reminded myself of the panic I go through. A part of the attacks that stays with me 24 hours.

The attacks have no doubt become worse in the last few months. I feel unable to take most public transport so end up opting for black taxis or mini cabs, short rides costing a small fortune. And even then I wonder if I will get home alive. Which road am I being taken down and how fast can I escape if needs be.

I am even scarred of my own house. A masked killer behind my door, under the stairs, laying patiently in the bath. I open the bedroom door and a silhouette is stood still with axe in hand. At night I try not to leave my room just in case. I try not to put my legs or arms over the bed just in case.

I sprint the last leg of my journey home frightened of my own shadow and the noises of my jeans and they brush my shoes only to return home tonight shaking. I find it hard to get the key into the keyhole, so in a flurried attempt I use both hands to slowly guide the key in. I tell myself I am home now, but I cant came down. I push the door closed fast incase I have been followed and walk away from the frosted glass panes sonI am hidden to everyone outside though sometimes they wait in the tree outside my window. I close the window and make do with the stuffy uncomfortable air of my room because with the window closed nobody came see me.

this is a new blog, this is my everyday panic.