FEAR OF OPEN SPACES.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 20001, 17 July 1920, Page 11

FEAR OF OPEN SPACES.

MAN WHO WAUS ALON^' ,] . For twelve years I liave been unable 4 to cross an open space 01 400 yards-tor 'g more—or, indeed, go that away from a liouso rites a contvi^|^B tor to the "Daily Aovs "). I know that u« is ntr rev.^^^^H this; that it is a dread iwlhout^^^H rational basis, and to those who^^^H not sutlered in this nay it must absurd, as indeed it is. Unioitu^^^l i ly, it is one.thing.to know tins if|H j lectually, and quite'another to remove 7| ,it by the processes ot icason. '' Tills 1 i obssssion (a nasty word, but why not I j face tho faci-Pj made its appearance \. following a bad nervous bieakdoun j when I was.eighteen; and t,mce then,,! $ j have never bten free troiu it. ~,,* \ ! To live under these *\ has, of courso, involved some littlo '* effort. _ Ono cannot tell people about $ such things—it does: not seem "nor- > mal." Tho secret can be shared only with a few intimate friends and the '''"'l specialists one consults periodically in % a vain search for relief. }[{ For a year or two, of course, I was '% quite sure 1 was going mad, and then '1 suddenly, at first bitterly, but latterly '■« with some gleam of humour, I com- 4 menced to fight my way back into'a* least a little of the sweetness of life, 4] adapting, regulating, re-educating. f\ The hardest things to bear of '4, courso, are the lack of companionship £ and friendship, and tho inability to get '■< closo to Nature. For twelve years though tingling with tho desire, I have never known the joy of a walk in the country, or the happy abandon of out- ' door games. I often stand a> few yards away from a house unable to go further, and gaze with longing at the country of my dreams—for that is all it is to me at present. Such, acondition inevitably narrows one's activities and prevents comradeship, except in the case of ono or two greathearted tolerant souls. One cannot take a companion for a walk and suddenly exclaim apologetically at the firs-t square: "I'm eo sorry I must leave you now," without creating suspicions as to one's sociability—or sanity. And it becomes rather trying when one is offered a good appointment and loses it>—an experience tho writer had through his inabij r ity to cioss the little open space in front of the Houso of Commons. But there ar'a humours as well, and the thought of them is rather healing. On one occasion, while walking up a very steep incline in the street, I was seized with panic on noticing.a space ahead. Could I negotiate -it?My limbs trembled, and a cold sweat broke over mo as I glanced quickly' about for some refuge or " cover."' Suddenly my eye lighted on a barrow ,vith a large awning. It was heavily- f. laden, and tho hawker was pushing it uphill with great difficulty. Here was iiiy chance to secure a "shelter" in. which to go "over tho top," as it were, across the space. ' I dashed at the barrow with what mist have seemed _ furious zeal and shoved like a_ trojan. Together wo went up the hill at. record speed: and. ■, the amazed hawker, when the top, seized.my hand and thanked me in tones of full gratitude, remark ing, in a confidential way, that tne" war had made a big difference, and thai thero was a real feeling of couiraA«* ship now! I thought it best not to , disillusion him. _ ' - Even winged birds, sometimes recover, and some day perhaps I shall' know the thrill of crossing without fear the most open of open spaces'"ana' of walking in,the'fields arid running over golden sands. ' , b