Trapped in My Dorm Room
Part I of my agoraphobia story
The Onset
My agoraphobia story started when I arrived at college. I had had hints of generalized anxiety and depression here and there in high school, but the closer I got to college, the more anxiety I was feeling. Unfortunately, because these feelings were new to me, I didn’t know at the time that that’s what I was feeling. In fact, for a short while, I thought I had damaged my heart or brain with recreational drugs and that the dizziness, rapid heart rate, sweating, etc that I was feeling when I had a panic attack were symptoms of some sort of damage I had done. I simply didn’t know what was wrong with me.
When I arrived at college, I wasn’t particularly enthused about orientation events. Even at my healthiest and happiest, I am a cynical person. I’m not going to jump right into school spirit for a school I haven’t attended yet. I viewed all of the events as a necessary evil to set the ball rolling to create a life for myself in this new place. But when I started having panic attacks at the larger more crowded events, orientation became untenable, and I retreated to my dorm room.
I tried to go to my classes. I made it to everything for the first two weeks, but the panic attacks I had in large lecture halls were unbearable. One at a time, I had panic attacks in each of my classrooms and could not return until eventually, I wasn’t going to any classes at all.
Next, I stopped socializing. I stopped being able to enter the student center for meals, then stopped being able to exit my dorm entirely. For meals, I would order a pizza to my dorm and pick at it until it was gone, then order the next one. Eventually, I was leaving my single dorm room only to pick up pizza and use the bathroom. Each of those tasks was excruciating and I would do them at a run in hopes of not seeing any people.
The Breaking Point
At some point in November, it became clear that I was going to fail Intro to Chemistry. Realistically, I was probably failing all of my classes, but I had a chemistry exam looming. I knew that I not only didn’t know the material being tested, but I probably wouldn’t be able to physically get myself to the exam.
I scheduled a meeting with my professor and left my dorm for the first time in weeks to head to his office. My plan was to go to his office and tell him that I was struggling with the material and I wanted to know if I could take a later make up exam. My thought here was that the make up exam was held in a much smaller room with fewer people and it would be easier to get myself to that test room. I was still trying to pretend that everything was fine and that I was the good student I had been in high school.
Before I could even get a word out, I burst into tears. I began to explain what a wreck my life had became with the few words I could get out through this uncontrollable sobbing.
The Intervention
This professor did not know me. He taught one of the largest class offered at my school (~300 students), and I wasn’t even attending his class. But he sat and listened to me anyway. When there was a moment for him to speak, he asked me if I intended to major in Chemistry and I told him no.
He then told me that it didn’t really matter if I knew anything about chemistry. He said the only thing that mattered to him was that I address my mental health and start getting better. He proposed we make a deal. If I immediately found a psychiatrist and attended regular therapy, he would give me a passing grade in his class, whether or not I ever learned anything about chemistry.
He was the first person I ever told about what was going on. I was in denial about how bad things were and I didn’t even know what was wrong with me. He told me that he had struggled with insomnia for some time and had worked with a psychiatrist to find a medication that helped him sleep.
As strange as it sounds, I had not even considered that therapy and/or medication could make my situation better. Before I had said anything out loud, I was hoping I could grit my teeth through a few weeks of isolation, magically stop having panic attacks one day, and go back to my life as if nothing had happened.
I think it’s likely that my freshman chemistry professor saved my life.
The First Session
I can’t remember how I managed to find a psychiatrist or get an appointment so fast, but I was scheduled to see a doctor within a week of that meeting. Getting to her office was grueling. She was conveniently located on public transit, but after a failed attempt to get on a subway, I had to take a cab. At the end of our first session, she prescribed me with an antidepressant and anti-anxiety medication. I don’t recall which antidepressant it was, but I do remember that for anxiety, I was given 0.5 mg of Klonipin to take daily. She encouraged me to fill the prescription as soon as possible and take the Klonipin immediately.
I hated everything about my first session. The psychiatrist rubbed me the wrong way. Her office was a dark gloomy in-law suite attached to someone’s house. Recounting my recent behaviors a second time to a second person was no less difficult than the first time. I also did not understand why she kept asking about my family and childhood when I just wanted to know how to stop having panic attacks.
I don’t remember everything that happened the rest of that day, but a few moments are vivid. I know that I went to the Walgreens nearest to campus on my way back from the appointment. I remember how uncomfortable I was standing in the back of the store waiting for my prescriptions to be filled.
The next thing that sticks in my memory was how much better I felt later that evening after taking the medications. I still felt some anxiety, but it was a fraction of what I had been feeling before. It felt as though I’d been trapped under a large weight and suddenly almost all of it was gone. I could think clearly and I could breath again.
That evening, I heard people hanging out in the small lounge that was outside my room. I’m not sure if I went out because I wanted to meet people, or because I wanted to test if the medication would work in a social situation, but I went out and joined them. I wasn’t entirely comfortable socializing, but it was bearable. I was able to stay engaged in conversations because my brain wasn’t wholly focused on preventing a panic attack. I was so relieved to feel so normal.
The Treatment
In a lot of ways, anti anxiety medication was a magical cure for me. I stopped feeling unsafe in places in my dorm that were outside of my room. I was not yet comfortable in a dining hall, but I was able to go to a grocery store and buy myself real food. I also got the extra nudge that I needed to stop avoiding places that I had had panic attacks before.
Avoidance, I learned, is a big part of being agoraphobic. Individuals will experience a panic attack in a location. The next time they need to go to that location, they start to worry that they will have a panic attack there again. Each time this happens, the location seems more and more impossible to get to. Eventually, that location becomes a phobia. I has been engaging in textbook avoidance — particularly with my lecture halls.
I began walking in to large lecture halls at night or on weekends when I knew that they would be empty. This helped me adjust to simply being in the rooms that I had phobias of. With some practice, I was eventually able to return to all my classes (albeit, only sitting in seats by the exits — just in case).
I managed to get a passing grade in all of my classes freshman year. My difficulty attending classes did continue to a much lesser degree for the remainder of college, but I managed not to miss many more lectures than the average college student would.
As I began taking more classes within my major and finding a specialized area I wanted to work in, I began to love going to classes. My excitement about being in the classroom eventually over powered any desire I had to avoid it. Looking back years later, I still do have some feelings of low level anxiety for the large lecture halls for required freshman classes. When I think about the smaller lecture halls within my department’s building where I took classes for my major, I have nothing but happy feelings.
Set Backs
As much as Klonipin has played a big role in enabling me to recover, it is not without its problems. First, all benzodiazepines (the class of medication Klonipin is in) are habit forming. Not only is there a major risk of becoming addicted, the same dosage that works initially will work less and less well over time taking the medication. Half of a milligram used to put me completely at ease. Now, it barely has any effect. I currently take 1 mg on a normal day and anywhere from 1–3 mg on a very high anxiety day.
I can also attest to the fact that the chemical dependence your body gets to this drug is substantial. I have gone off of benzodiazepines a handful of times since I started taking it (sometimes because my anxiety lessened and sometimes because it was contraindicated for another treatment I was trying). Any time I have done this, I have had to plan with my doctor how to slowly and carefully decrease my dosage.
When I am taking a consistent dose, I need to be careful to fill my prescriptions on time and always travel with extra in case my trip gets extended. I need to do these things because if I don’t take it, I will feel withdrawal symptoms.
Benzodiazepines also have side effects. They can cause impairment of cognitive function. In my case, the impairment I get from anxiety is greater than the impairment I get from medication, but I am always amazed by how clearly I can think when I don’t need to take it.
Other side effects include and aren’t limited to memory loss, lowered tolerance to alcohol and sleepiness. I mention these issues not to discourage anyone from trying this incredibly effective medication, but to let you know that it’s best used as an aid while other coping strategies are put in place.
Recovering
It’s been 14 years since I since these feelings started. I still have some symptoms — I have places that I still avoid due to panic attacks I’ve associate with them and I have made the choice that huge event spaces and tightly packed crowds are not for me. I also do often feel inkling of agoraphobic behaviors when I’m in the office or at a social gathering with new people. I also just generally prefer to stay in and have gravitated towards activities that are easier to deal with.
In spite of these issues, I feel like I have my agoraphobia pretty well managed. I continue to take anti anxiety medication and am often trying out alternative medications that are less habit forming. I have coping techniques for when I start to feel bad. I also actively make a point to return to places that I sense that I’m avoiding until they don’t scare me.
I am by no means in good mental health. In many ways, my problems have been a bit like Whack-A-Mole. As I am able to specifically address a subset of my mental illnesses, I tend to find a new illness that was hiding just underneath it. Now, when I list what struggles I have with my mental health, I tend to only say that I have depression, anxiety and PTSD. If the discussion goes deeper, I will describe myself as recovering from agoraphobia.
This is Part One of a Two Part Series about agoraphobia. This part explores my symptoms of agoraphobia prior to shelter in place for COVID 19. In part two, I intend to explain how my experience with agoraphobia has changed as a result of returning to a lifestyle of not leaving my home.
