Page 6 of Follow My Voice
Why? Why, if I love you so?
Why, if I gave you my all?
My love can’t be the air you breathe.
I’ll breathe for you, if need be.
I’ll dream for you on sleepless nights,
I’ll go up against any enemy.
I rip off my headphones. I can’t listen anymore; it hurts too much. I throw myself onto the bed, burrow under the covers, and cry inconsolably into my pillow. It’s the first time I haven’t listened to Kang’s show all the way to the end. The first time that I don’t want to hear him.
4Write to Me
“IT’S ALL RIGHT,we’ll be with you the whole time,” Kamila says, patting me on the back. “We’re going to try to make it to the park this time. Mondays are not crowded at this hour.”
I want to try leaving the house, I really do. This is one of the exercises that my therapist recommended, a kind of exposure therapy for my agoraphobia.“One step and one breath at a time, Klara!”I remember his words and try to control my breathing, which is coming fast.
“What if I have a panic attack? I’m scared.” I’m terrified of causing disappointment just as much as I am of unfamiliar settings. Today will be the day we make it all the way to the park—the farthest I’ve ever gone—but instead of coming right back, we’ll be staying for as long as I can manage.
Kamila gives me a comforting look. “I’m a doctor, remember? No one is more qualified than me—I won’t let anything happen to you.”
“But I could get run over or someone could try to hurt me. I could stop breathing and you won’t be able to do anything. What if my heart stops while I’m crossing the street? How manyminutes is it to the nearest hospital?” My mind races with catastrophic thoughts. Fear takes over, and I feel my agoraphobia intensifying, urging me to return home, where it’s safe and secure.
My sister takes my hand.
“You’re a young, healthy woman; your heart and lungs are fine. You’re not going to die. Don’t listen to your thoughts, just walk, right here, with me.”
I swallow and feel my heart hammering against my ribs. I can do this, I really can.
Andy smiles warmly and stands on the other side of me. “We’ll be with you every step of the way.”
We leave the house and begin to move down the sidewalk. The sun blinds me for a moment, which happens every time we do this task—too many hours without exposure to natural light.
Kamila talks to distract me: “Remember Drew, Paula’s dog, from next door? She just had a litter of adorable little puppies.”
I try my best to smile, picturing them. I saw them through the backyard fence the other day; they are precious and so playful. “Yeah, they’re cute,” I answer.
She nods as we walk. I can see the park in the distance. “Well, Paula told me that you can go see them whenever you want.”
I swallow and feel a tightness in my chest. “Yeah, I’ll stop by.” As if it were that easy.
I think about all the people who never understood what was happening to me, who said that I was exaggerating or trying to get attention. I’ve heard it all:
“Oh, yeah, like leaving the house is so hard!”
“You’re crazy.”
“We all have it tough, don’t be so dramatic.”
“Just come out! Just walk through the door! It’s not that big a deal!”
“There’s nothing wrong with you, you’re just trying to get attention.”
“Depression is an excuse.”
“Anxiety disorder? God, what will she come up with next?”
