I usually only get out about once a week, I’m so petrified of being around people, I could say it’s because of my abusers, but it’s not. When I go out I always have a panic attack, the loud noises, or busy crowds are a no go, and I only ever go out on a weekday as it is very quiet with most people working.

I have forced myself to go out on a Saturday afternoon, it was torture, I kept having to stop to take time to rest and refocus. My therapist is always trying to get me out of my comfort zone, but it’s so hard when I’m surrounded by people I feel like I can’t breathe. I’m working on it but I don’t think it’s going to disappear anytime soon.

I have no idea why I am so afraid to go outside when I had a similar breakdown about eight years ago it was the same, I can’t remember why I feel this way, all of my abuse happened indoors and I haven’t had any traumatic experiences outdoors. I think of who I was before I met my abuser, I always had problems with my mother but I enjoyed the great outdoors.

I used to walk for miles, go to festivals, socialise with people, and enjoy every bit of it. Now I feel as trapped as I was as a child, scared to leave the house, petrified at being around people, and not able to visit any family. It’s hard to get out when you’re scared of everything around you, and its gotten worse since my last breakdown.

I have to have someone next to me to shop, I get confused at the signs around me, I just stop out of nowhere to catch my breath and I have a trolley rammed into my back. I look like I have bugs eyes, murmur to myself, and take deep breaths all with a carer present. But I’m still struggling with it, and have no idea why.

It’s amazing how something can affect me so much, I understand the noises making me scared, but even when I’m in the middle of nowhere I’m still scared to go out. My hands are sweating just thinking about it. I feel terrible for my better half, he loves going out and seeing new places, and he’s helped me so much.

If I can’t go out for his sake something must really be wrong, I’m so fed up being looked after, anything we need he will go out and get it. I feel like a helpless child, I feel guilty for not doing something any toddler could do, and I begin to put myself down more. The cycle of guilt is still here after trying so hard to break it.

Why does everything that seems so easy become so much harder when you have a mental illness?