A Sudden and Consistent Fear of Doorknobs Can Be Difficult to Explain

If you ask my parents, they will tell you I was never a simple child. I came into this world with a desire to push boundaries and tangle myself in complexity. This set me up for a life of extraordinary experiences and adventures, and for them I am grateful. I’ve been fortunate to meet all kinds of interesting and exceptional people, and maybe because of this affinity for diversity of personality and character, I used to have a tendency to find myself in dangerous company. Some of that company bounced out of my life as quickly as it came in, while others stuck around, and I’ve spent the last nine years of my life digging out from underneath the mess that one in particular left behind.

I have post traumatic stress disorder, or PTSD. It’s a disorder that developed gradually, hid behind a misdiagnosis for years, and has proven difficult to explain to well intentioned people who want to understand. Even more convoluted are the resulting anxieties, including my fear of doorknobs, which has been equally debilitating as amusing for me, and is the namesake of this blog.

Before I get to this doorknob fear, I should develop some context. I spent a good amount of time writing this deciding how much detail I wanted to get into, and I decided to keep most things pretty close to vest. This decision has nothing to do with shame, but instead that I’m at a point in my life where I don’t want to put too much energy into the messy details unless they are necessary to move forward.

So the short story is this. Nine years ago, right after I graduated from high school, I started dating a man I was incredibly attracted to. In retrospect, the red flags were there: a history of childhood abuse, controlling behavior, blaming others for problems, sudden mood changes with a quick and unpredictable temper, among others. But when I met him, I didn’t have any previous experience with partner violence. I wasn’t able to recognize the warning signs, or to resist the subtle brain washing and gas lighting that started early. I saw only a beautiful man who wanted to spend time with me, and I fell in love quickly.

I stayed with this man for three years, during which I endured physical, sexual, emotional, and financial abuse. I stayed for many reasons that I now know are common among DVSA survivors. Then the universe intervened when I moved away for school, and there were suddenly many miles and hours between us. It was not a clean break, and it took some time to make him understand I was not coming back, but I got out safely and felt confident that I made the right decision. That confidence was unfortunately short lived, as the cloud that is PTSD found its way to me quickly and resulted in a complete break down. Thankfully I found support quickly with a domestic violence group in town; to them, I owe my life.

And what a life it’s been.

Nearly six years have passed since leaving that man, and many incredible things have happened. I adopted a service animal who became my constant companion. I volunteered with animal rescue organizations and fostered over 70 kittens. I worked as a veterinary technician. I traveled to Costa Rica and France. I co-founded an aerial school. I joined a circus and became a professional aerialist. I produced three aerial showcases and donated the proceeds to charity. I graduated college and gained acceptance into one of the top veterinary schools in the world. I became a makeup artist. I accomplished things I never dreamed possible, and had the adventures of a lifetime, but living with PTSD often means even the best days feel like a fist fight for survival.

Although it is most frequently associated with combat and war veterans, PTSD is very common among survivors of domestic violence and sexual assault. Characterized by nightmares, insomnia, paranoia, depression, and memory loss, PTSD is complex and manifests differently in each person. I live with all five characteristics, and an added bonus of agoraphobia, which presents commonly and exclusively with anxiety disorders. Agoraphobia is, simply put, a fear of situations where escape is not possible, and a resulting avoidance of these situations, because they may lead to a panic attack. But agoraphobia is anything but simple for folks who don’t live it to really understand. In films and television, agoraphobics are classically represented as the socially awkward person who hasn’t left the house in 30 years. And yes, in extreme cases, this can occur, but a lot of agoraphobics are high functioning and do leave the house. Some of us live with a low level fear of certain situations, like being in large crowds, but can leave the house freely. Some of us get stuck in the house, or even a specific room, for hours, days, weeks, months, or years. I believe most of us fluctuate between different levels of severity at different points in our lives, and this is the case with me.

So I’m not actually afraid of the doorknob. But on my bad days, which can span weeks, I am so afraid to leave my safe space at home that the doorknob feels like the enemy. It’s worth saying that I know there is no actual danger outside of my door. But agoraphobia is weird, and when it’s visiting, I am much more likely to stay home where I feel safe, have the least amount of anxiety, and the lowest probability of suffering a panic attack. Home is one of the few places I have any real control of my surroundings, and can keep the trigger risk low. At school and work, visiting family and friends, on a trip to the grocery store, I am at a much higher risk of encountering a trigger. Avoidance becomes key.

The PTSD fuels the anxiety attacks, the anxiety attacks fuel the agoraphobia, and the agoraphobia fuels the fear of my doorknob. And in all it’s strangeness, this fear has become a pretty normal part of my life. I don’t feel ashamed anymore when I have to stay home, and I think this has to do with the normalcy I’ve created around the topic. It’s been important to me in recent years to be open and honest about my experiences and my anxiety. At first I did this as a way to make people aware of my panic attacks before they witnessed one, so it would be less awkward for everyone when one occurred. Now I continue with openness and honesty because it allows me to feel less isolated, as people in my life in return feel comfortable to confide in me their struggles. The sad parts of our lives become equally invited to our relationship as the good parts. We each feel less alone when a safe environment exists for honest communication, and connection is a powerful part of recovery.

This blog is an extension of that mentality. I want to continue to honestly discuss my experiences and struggles living with PTSD and agoraphobia, on a larger platform, so that others may feel they are not alone and be inspired to get deliberate and creative with their healing processes. I want to share the things I am trying, lesson I am learning, and adventures I am having during my recovery process, because folks living with PTSD far too often suffer in silence, and I am not about silence. Above all, I aim to show that there is life after trauma, and that it can be magnificent, oddities and all!

Love and respect,

MJ