Prisoners of Fear

I turned a critical corner in my life when I read that beautiful piece by Laurence B. Chollet (“The Man Who Wouldn’t Go Out,” Dec. 18). Like Gerard Brach, I, too, suffer from agoraphobia. And as a result of all the therapeutic handoffs of well-meaning friends, I’ve always thought of myself as an unmanly coward. I’ve made breast-beating excuses and told a lot of lies to get out of dates, turned down big career opportunities and, like Brach, even experienced lost love. By now, I’m tired of hearing that I’m not motivated and “if you really want to see me, you’d come visit” by people who will never understand.

I won’t fly, I don’t like elevators and I can’t stray too far from home. And Brach’s not the only one frightened by just looking up at tall buildings.

No one knows what the cause was? But in any event, Brach writes screenplays, and I write books. Maybe there’s a compensation there. Anyway, it’s nice to know that there are at least two of us.

Jack Catran

North Hills

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Chollet says of Brach: “Then, just as you feel at ease, you catch his eyes. They are dark and honest and flood you with a torrent of conflicting emotions--fear, humor, pain, happiness, terror, grief, a curious optimism.”

All that in the time it takes to shake hands. My, my! I’d give anything to see, just once in my life, happiness and grief simultaneously in the same set of eyes.

Lee Gruenfeld

Santa Monica