Way back in the mid 2000s, I developed a case of agoraphobia. There was a lot going on in my life, none of it good. I was in the middle of a years long break from reality. And then suddenly I was terrified of the outside world. I managed to go to work — calling out often enough that I was reprimanded — and the grocery store, but that was about it. Sometimes I would have a panic attack in the middle of the frozen food aisle, abandon my cart, and run out of the store in tears. Sometimes I hid in the bathroom at work until the day was over. The only place I wanted to be was home, and home wasn’t even a very safe place.

I’m now feeling the familiar strains of agoraphobia tugging at me. I’m afraid to go out, afraid to go food shopping or run to Walgreens to pick up a prescription. I take a walk every day and I’m scared of running into neighbors that will want to talk or, worse, walk with me. Sometimes I have to run errands for my elderly parents because I don’t want them to go out. It takes every ounce of strength I have to do this.

What will happen when this is all over, when the world opens up to us again and we’re told it’s ok, we can go to work, to school, to the mall? Will I want to? The thought of ever being in a crowd again sets my nerves on fire. I fear I’ll never go to a concert again. I’ll never be comfortable in the supermarket or Walgreens. I’ll cringe every time someone comes in my office. The residual mental toll this is going to take on everyone will be enormous. People who lived without anxiety will join the ranks of those of us for whom it’s an everyday occurrence. People who didn’t have fears…