My agoraphobia began at the start of 2012 and after three years of me losing my mind a relationship of 13 years ended. She moved out and continued to pay the rent on the understanding I would find my own place. I was put in touch with a charity called Shelter (I'm in the UK) and not only did they help me navigate through the mess of claiming a pittance from the government but they found me somewhere to live.
So, practically what happened? I moved out in September 2016. I spent the weeks before packing up everything into two large piles of boxes: my shit and hers, which she collected. On the day itself I was such a wreck I had been awake for about three days. I was pilled up on benzos and everything was moved out around me, and then at the last minute my support worker from Shelter bundled me downstairs, out of the door and into his car. I was driven to my new place, shoved inside and everything was carried in after me.
I had feared that I would lose my mind in a new place but such is the irrationality of this hateful condition that I found myself perfectly happy to be indoors again, albeit in a strange place. I just went from living in one box and being afaid of outside, into another box and being afraid of outside.