<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8" standalone="yes"?><rdf:RDF xmlns="http://purl.org/rss/1.0/" xmlns:dc="http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/" xmlns:sy="http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/syndication/" xmlns:rdf="http://www.w3.org/1999/02/22-rdf-syntax-ns#"><channel rdf:about="https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/BlogRss.aspx/Agoraphobia"><title>Memoirs of an Agoraphobic - Blogit</title><link>https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/Agoraphobia/</link><description>The life of an agoraphobic, past and present, including the experiences I've endured that have lent themselves to my developing this disorder</description><sy:updatePeriod>hourly</sy:updatePeriod><sy:updateFrequency>1</sy:updateFrequency><sy:updateBase>2000-01-01T12:00+00:00</sy:updateBase><items><rdf:Seq><rdf:li resource="https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/Agoraphobia/549753" /><rdf:li resource="https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/Agoraphobia/541179" /></rdf:Seq></items></channel><item rdf:about="https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/Agoraphobia/549753"><title>The Beginning of an End</title><link>https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/Agoraphobia/549753</link><description>The Beginning of an End "I'm leaving!” said my mom with the full determination I had learned could make her move mountains. She was a strong woman but a selfish one. She was leaving and all I could think about was how sad my dad would be if he never saw her again. She was his rock. She was not...</description></item><item rdf:about="https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/Agoraphobia/541179"><title>Pluck Me Dear God...</title><link>https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/Agoraphobia/541179</link><description>As I look back, and I'm really good at doing so, I realize that my whole life has been somewhat of a lie. It is as if at the end of my life, there will be the final line: And she awoke to find that it had all been a dream I remember the tears the most, of my young eyes, streaming down my soft and...</description></item></rdf:RDF>