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Let me start by saying that I am doing better. But I still have a long way to go. I know this because I’m still afraid. The thought of going to church on Easter Sunday is freaking me out. I haven’t been to a church service this year, unless it was one I “had to” go to. So far, this has included two funerals (I was paid for one of those, and the other was my grandmother). A priest has asked me to play at more Masses, at an unfamiliar church, to cover for their regular organist, and I still haven’t managed to get to my own church, let alone commit to helping with the music. I still don’t know what to tell him.
I’m agoraphobic. And claustrophobic. And a whole bunch of other phobic labels, if I really want a label.
Remember, this is the woman who rediscovered the adrenalin rush of bike riding a couple of years ago. I figured out I was pregnant again after I took longer to recover from a ride than normal. I missed my bike during the exhausted phases of pregnancy. I looked longingly at the bike paths, and envied the cyclists. Before baby was born, I was researching how old she would have to be before I could ride with her in a baby/toddler seat or a trailer.
I’ve ridden my bike once since the birth. In the back yard. The idea of riding it in public scares me more than it did when I was 25kg heavier. Driving a car stresses me out. Thinking about walking on footpaths that I used to walk on every day is anxiety-inducing. Actually doing it is terrifying. Crippling. Pathetic.
I won’t go into all the things I’m actually afraid of. That’s really not the point.
But, I’m doing better than I was. Believe it or not.