I figure that it's time to get back to where I started. This weblog was started so I could take the time to trace my steps into agoraphobia. And hopefully, to map my path out of it. So the next step in my journey was that same winter in grade two...
It was a long weekend my parents decided to take to visit a family friend (Wilna - and, no, it's not a typo) in New Glasgow. She was a kind, older lady who always had fun games to play and never insisted that a child sit and listen to old stories about things that never entered your mind before your teen years. She was also very aware that children can quickly grow bored in a house filled with adults that hasn't seen a toy in a decade or more (her children were grown and had started families of their own by this time). So, being as thoughtful as she was, Wilna had anticipated our desire for toys other than board games and playing cards. She had spoken with friends who lived about six houses down on the other side of the street. They had children close to our (my brother and I) age and offered to have us over for a couple of hours.
Now, as I've already established, snowfall seems to increase my anxiety. It presents itself as a barrier to my escape from any anxiety-provoking situation. And it also slows the approach of help when it is called. I mean, really Matt? Really? Ugh. But I digress. I do that from time to time.
So my brother and I got all bundled up in our heavy socks, and snow pants, and heavy winter coats, and heavy winter boots. Personally, I always felt a kinship with the Michelin Man in the winter months, but it's all about layering isn't it? Anyway, my brother was off on his way when my last boot was being laced by Mom (I was unable to bend over due to the amount of clothing at this point). I remember the initial pangs of panic seeing him venture across the yard toward the sidewalk before I had even opened the door. And then when I tried to open the door I noticed significant resistance. In fact, Mom has to open the door for me. At this point I asked her to let me stay home because I was afraid of how windy it was. She told me I would be fine and to catch up with my brother. Well, I let the wind take me to my brother more quickly than I might have caught up otherwise and the anxiety diminished...until I tried to stop next to him and found myself unable. I continued to try, hopelessly, to slow myself down and dig in my heels but the wind continued to overpower me. My brother called after me that we had to cross the street and that I was already going too far down the street. I looked up the street and found no cars and began to cross - finding that the street itself was even more slick. And then it happened...
"HEEEEEELP! Aidan, heellllp!!" I cried.
At first I thought he hadn't heard me. I was unable to stop and with the blowing wind, the snow was blinding me. I didn't know if he was even paying attention to me at this point. I cried harder and harder. I was blinded by my tears and thought all was lost. What's worse is that Wilna's house was at the top of a rather steep (at least in 8-year old terms) decline and I figured I would be blown from the face of the earth. I was in ultimate panic mode at this point. I couldn't make sense of my surroundings and had basically shut down. And then I felt a tug, which made me panic all the more, only to find that my big brother had grabbed my left arm and was yelling at me to listen to him when he is calling to me and that I wasn't allowed to go anywhere without him. He was blissfully, frustratingly, unaware that I had no desire to venture off on my own. And his chiding only made my upset all the worse. I screamed at him that I couldn't walk against the wind and that I was going to blow away and that I was scared and to save me and help me and not let me go. He held my sleeve tighter and dragged me to the door and rang the doorbell.
"Calm down. They're gonna answer the door in a second. Stop crying!" he said. Aidan was nothing if not reassuring. (Yes, I'm being sarcastic.) In his own way my brother was being protective, but at the same time he always made sure to put his best foot forward...regardless of how club-footed I might be feeling at the time. I guess that's one of our key differences - I lead with my heart, he leads with his mind. It explains his career geared toward math and sciences, while I'm a writer and artist. And yet, I always wanted to be like my big brother, regardless of how little he wanted me to emulate him.
Wilna's friend answered the door and let us in and noticed my upset right away.
"What are all these tears for?" she asked.
That was it. The floodgates were opened. I bawled and tried to relate my horrible ordeal through shaking and crying. Aidan was long gone to find the playmates and scurry away from me as quickly as possible.
She rubbed my back and said, "It's okay. You're alright now. Do you want to go play with the kids? They're in the bedroom. C'mon, I'll take you in."
To be honest, I had been looking forward to playing with some real toys. But I am shy by nature, and back then I was painfully shy. The anxiety that hadn't yet subsided, coupled with the still being suppressed crying, added to the anxiety of meeting new people brought it all up. And by it, I mean my breakfast - and perhaps previous week's meals. I threw up everywhere. First on the carpet in the bedroom. Then in the hallway as I was hauled to the bathroom. Then partially on the bathroom floor until the toilet seat was lifted. And as soon as I thought I was done, I was bundled in my clothes and driven the six houses away. I don't think Wilna ever lived that one down. I'm not sure who took care of the carpet cleaning but I am sure it was either costly, labour-intensive, or both. But that was the next step in a series of events in my life that seemed to cement my continued irrational fear of abandonment, being alone, and other insecurities that have since developed in the years following these unfortunate, and all too common, trials.
