Agoraphobia: Are You In or Are You Out?

I was struck with this at age 21, a year or so after I first got married. Suddenly, I couldn’t leave the apartment. Couldn’t even contemplate opening the door to peek out.
After two weeks I clinched my jaw, went up to the parking lot (from a basement apartment) and drove into the nearest town. Milled around a bit and drove back home.
That’s where I’ve been ever since—forty years of white-knuckled socialization.
I think it was inherited. I met my birth mother and she had every neurosis known to man, agoraphobia being one of the main ones. But I was born with a wild hair, maybe from my (unknown) daddy. It’s gotten me into trouble at times, but has also helped me inch my way along in life.
I’m not saying Look at me. I did it; you can, too! I’m asking how other people have coped with it.
(Or you could do like me. I had a stroke last year and lost half my vision, and can no longer drive. Now, whenever I go somewhere, somebody has to take me. So I’m “safe.” But I do miss the freedom of driving aimlessly at night to think.)
The only thing is, I still feel the same way…inside.