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If you think David had a hard time on the premiere of The Bachelorette 3 when he fainted during the rose ceremony, imagine what it was like for Jamie Blyth as a finalist on the first Bachelorette, trying to get Trista Rehn to pick him. He may look like your typical hunk, but he suffers from panic attacks and social anxiety disorder. He didn't sign up for the reality show to find a wife, but to cure himself. Here's his story...
Suiting Up
It was time.
I put on my dark pinstriped suit, the first suit I had ever purchased four years prior, the same suit that had traveled with me from one end of myself to the other. This was to be a defining moment in my life. Either that, or I was going to humiliate myself in front of millions of people and live out my remaining days with a paper bag over my head. Fifty-fifty odds, I figured.
I glanced in the mirror, took a deep breath, cleared my throat of some excess nerves and walked out the door of my Hyatt hotel room and through the front lobby. A stretch black limo was waiting for me, shining in the last bits of sunshine. I was on my way to meet a woman named Trista, to be the first men to appear in front of nationwide viewers on ABC's The Bachelorette.
Sweating It Out
The trip was supposed to take about an hour. Five strangers accompanied me on the ride; these were to be the other "suitors" on the show. We made small talk, but my mind was busy with its own internal monologue.
There are certain memories that stay forever intact. In my mind, I was 19 years old again and in the midst of my first panic attack. The experience lasted only a minute or so, but in that time, my life changed forever. The next image I saw was myself in my college single dorm room, doing anything to avoid my intense fear of people and panic. I locked myself in that room for almost a month, hiding out in the darkness, trembling and occasionally erupting in hot tears and desolation.
Just a few months earlier, these memories might have stopped me in my tracks. But not this time. This time, I felt pride. It took every ounce of strength in me just to make it out of that self-imposed prison alive. These flashing images were my proof: Here I was in California, with no bedroom to run into, no door to lock behind me, nowhere to hide.