No, they didn't pose a danger to me. Most of them were in wheelchairs. Most of them seemed to be in their late seventies or early eighties, though at least one man seemed to be around my age.
So why couldn't I go in?
Because they could SEE me.
My counselor mentioned during my session the other day that a phobia is an irrational fear (we were discussing spiders, and how I'd managed to overcome the worst of my fear of them), a fear without rational cause, and at the time I didn't really understand why he said that. I couldn't think of any sort of irrational fear I had, now that I've overcome my fear of spiders.
Obviously, I forgot my diagnosis of agoraphobia (cue heavy eye-roll here), and now it makes sense to me.
This is a good tool for me, knowing this, because I can (hopefully) use it to explain to my family why I can't just come to visit like I used to do, or pick up the phone and call.
I waged an internal battle all the way over to Grandma's nursing home. I knew that I love her, and that she loves me. I knew I wanted to see her, and that if I didn't, and she happened to die over the weekend, I'd never forgive myself. But at the same time, I was afraid to go see her because I didn't know what to say to her, other than, "I love you, Grandma." I didn't want to go to her room and say, "Hi, Grandma! I love you, but I can only stay for a few minutes because Lucy is waiting for me at home and needs to go out."
I finally convinced myself that Grandma would rather see me for a few minutes than to not see me at all. I told myself I can tell her about my new home in Veneta, near the community in which she used to live when my dad was in high school. It didn't matter that she won't really be able to talk to me--- it was enough to see her smile and to hug her.
But I couldn't get past that simple glass door because then the people in the entry room would see me.
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