Agoraphobia

Chapter 2

As soon as I left my apartment, I flew down the stairs towards the ground floor, already knowing that my bus was more than likely going to be there any second.  

London may very have been busy and filled with people and pot-heads, but usually for me, buses were never late. It intrigued me, I suppose, seeing as whenever I walk on the bus I'm bombarded with stares from people I don't know, even receiving a few giggles from high school students as they take in my appearance.

Without wasting any more time than what I had already wasted, I belted it out towards the main street, almost knocking over an elderly lady as my bus came into sight. I picked up my pace, and before I knew it, I was leaning against the pole that held the bus stop sign, panting lightly.

I'm a pace bomb, I know.

It stopped in front of me, and as the terrifyingly loud doors opened, I stepped inside, quickly reaching inside of my bag to grab my pass. I showed it to the miserable looking bus driver and he nodded, not sparing even more than a few seconds of his time to look at me. Not that I minded, it was better to have the bored one rather than the moody one.

He always got on my nerves.

Without so much as a curt nod back, I quickly scanned the lower deck for a spare seat. Thankfully the bus wasn't full, so I opted to go towards one of the seats at the back, getting ready to be disgusted by the state of the floor. 

Before I even got to my seat, the bus started moving, and I couldn't tell you how close I was to hitting my head the second time that day. I hated it when they did that! Sure, it was their job to get to their destinations of time, but didn't they care for the safety of the people?

Not that I cared, anyway. It was usually funny seeing someone fall forwards on a bus, but I always felt guilty afterwards.

I sat down, slightly perplexed at the state of the floors. They were moderately clean, the odd crumb here and there, but surprisingly nothing much. I leaned back in my seat, looking outside of the window, watching the scenery pass by. That surely was an accomplishment.

Never before had I ever went on the top deck of a double decker bus. I was paranoid by the loud noises that erupted from up there, and I knew better than to check it out. It was always filled with teenagers, populars and potheads alike. When I was in high school, I never even bothered to take the bus. I'd usually walk to and from school, walking on the field by the long road on the hill, taking my time to actually take in my surroundings. That lead to odd stares. Then bullying. Then depression. Then graduating. Then finally getting a nice job with nice people, but a college filled with even more people.

Another thing I hated. Loads of people.

I used to be the shy, quiet girl that nobody even noticed, always in the corner of the art room, painting and drawing, maybe even sculpting when I got the chance. I was too used to going inside of my Art class room before school, at breaks, and always at lunchtimes, maybe even sometimes after school whenever my teacher stayed behind. The room was never full, and that's when I finally realised my fear of large crowds.

Glosaphobia. Agoraphobia. Anthropophobia. All of which I knew I suffered from, but I knew for a fact I was getting better. I wasn't so bad in open spaces, but when I was in the market place, I'd have a mental breakdown. It was rare for me to go to the market or town square though, considering the cafe was around the outskirts of the city I lived in.

I had a few friends, but they never did care much for me. There was that one girl who was like me though... She wasn't quiet, or had to think over what she was saying, but the only word I could describe her was lonely. She never had any friends, and although she was the class clown (and somewhat of a bully), I knew that she was in the same position as I was. Due to her overbearing personality, it was hard for anyone to have a serious conversation with her.  I spoke to her once or twice, but she always told me to speak up, saying that I should be more like her.