I Am Deathly Afraid Of Throwing Up

I heard the faint high pitched beeping of my alarm clock as I opened my sleep covered eyes. I attempted to roll out from under my covers but immediately retreated as I felt the chilly spring air touch my skin. While I was mustering up the motivation to get out of bed, I glanced at my alarm clock. “11:00 AM” it read in boxy, glowing numbers. Had I really slept in that long? I finally rose from my bed, traveling down the stairs to make myself some breakfast. “Hi, girl!” I greeted my dog where she was waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs. I smiled to myself as I turned on some music, opened the fridge to retrieve some eggs, and turned on the stove. It felt like a fine Saturday morning until I remembered that I had a lacrosse game later

Just making my bed this morning was a challenge. My brain switches into distraction mode and is begging me to do something else besides make that bed. Feelings of dread weigh my body down and my legs tense as if trying to walk away without my permission. I’ve learned a few skills that I’ve been trying to use. My main one is taking small steps. My first small step was to stop crying and get my breathing even. I took a second and tried moving my hand up to my face to wipe away my tears, while at the same time doing a loud even exhale of breath. I laced my hands in front of my stomach and looked down at my feet. I decided I was going to take a small step in the direction of my bed. A few seconds pass. Inhale. I take a small step forward. Exhale. I take another step. Inhale. I allow myself to feel all the panic and anxiety that’s exploding throughout my body, almost like a firework show inside my stomach and chest. I acknowledge that this is anxiety and it will go away on its own as I take my last step. After a few more breaths I pick up the blankets and start making my bed. Now I have to do this all over again for my next

“Fear kills more dreams than failure ever will.” - Anonymous. In the small town of Jordan, Minnesota, a women named Krista lives there. She has emetophobia. When she was younger, in fifth grade she had gotten sick with the torturous stomach bug. At this time, she did not care that she vomited it was just an “oh well” sort of thing. A year passed and the summer of her sixth grade year began. Krista went with her friend Susan, to pick up her siblings from camp. While they were all eating lunch outside at their camp, one of Susan’s siblings began to vomit. Krista began to sweat all over, she had racing thoughts about her becoming sick, or getting puked on by one of Susan's siblings. Her thoughts were racing and she was panicking big time. When they all started walking back to the car to head home, Susan’s other sibling began to vomit. Now Krista is beyond the panic stage and onto the part where she starts to cry and cry because of how scared she is about getting sick. At that moment she realized she had a fear of throwing up. Emetophobia is a common fear which affects people’s daily life.

School was the same as yesterday, full of zoning out. When I got home from school I ran into my room and threw myself onto my bed. I laid there for a good ten minutes or so. I was scared to death, but at the same time I was so excited. I knew I would make it, but I was still terrified though. The fact that I was in the first group to go made me a lot more nervous. In a way it’s a good thing so I wouldn’t have to think about it and get more nervous than I already was. Once I had got ready I laid right back on my bed. I’m not sure why I was so tired, but I clearly was. If my mom wouldn’t have called me I would’ve been dead

Dr. Oz is on.” Those words echoed in the morning. Every morning my grandmother and I sat on the couch watching Dr. Oz. Surprisingly, I did not remember anything he was saying but I focused on the conversation we were having. “Dr. Oz is quite the looker, if only I was younger.” She said sipping her coffee. I remember gazing up at her laughing. “Do you think it’s time to wake everyone up?” She asked pointing at my cousins that were still sleeping on the couch. “Definitely.” I said maliciously. The bacon sizzled on the pan as I whisked the eggs in the bowl. Just as the food was cooking I would set the table because everyone would be awake. As the aroma of the bacon and eggs spread through the house, one by one my family sat at the

I got to my apartment and had a huge headache. I shouldn’t have drank that much well off to sleep for me. I did my homework at the library earlier so I don’t need to do that. This is the one week I do it anyway. I yawn once more and climb into my dark bed sheets.I snuggle underneath and drift off to sleep. If only I knew someone was watching me the whole day. I woke up the next day, showered, and brushed my hair for the weekend. I love weekends, no school and no worries. I closed the curtains of my bay window so the whole room would be dark and went down stairs to the burning smell of pancakes. Uck… I hate pancakes.

I did not go back to sleep. I did not go to practice either. Instead, I began a rapid slide into some sickening psychological slurry of fear, anxiety and dread. A migraine gathered behind my right eye where it picked up speed until the waves of nausea began.

After I leave my class, my stomach starts to growl louder than I’ve ever heard. I didn’t have time to make a lunch the night before because I was busy working on my heaps of homework. As soon as I hit another building, sweet aromas of grease fill my nose. My mouth’s

Glancing to the clock, I made note that it was barely past three o’clock and yet here I was planted in bed. I hated being ill, especially living alone. Although I have much support from my sister and her husband, I still spent most of the morning alone. I was not surprised by my illness, I had been grieving more and more as the days came. My entire state of mind had begun to strip away what little patience and avoidance I had. I had stopped eating for several days, my

Life has been become busier and extra challenging since starting online college. Firstly, I wake up each morning at around 7:30am and immediately let my puppy Mocha out of her kennel and take her downstairs to potty outside. While she’s outside doing her potty duties, I begin to fix a drink and take my vitamins before going back outside to take care of Mocha. Afterwards, I fix breakfast and eat whatever I choose to eat for that day. Most of the time it’s either toaster strudels or chocolate chip waffles that I decide to cook in the toaster oven. Once I finish eating, then Mocha and I go back upstairs and I put her in the kennel while I take a shower and freshen up for the day ahead. Which is a process in itself, from taking the actual

Percival, age seven, had been ill for a few days with a sore throat and fever, but woke early that morning feeling a little better. “Get a little more sleep,” he recalled his mother saying. “By tomorrow, you’ll feel all better.”

I won’t be locked in here for long. Today I go over to C-wing, they dropped off my schedule last night. Journaling, group therapy, biology, individual therapy, free time, lunch, group therapy, journaling. Tomorrow we replace biology with english.

Hello there,are you ready to puke ,to worry ,to be disgusted haha,well you came to the right place ,what i am about to tell you is most suggestfull you stay near a toilet or a trash can, READY, LET'S GO…...MUAHAHAHA!!!

When I arrive home from school, I change into something comfortable, a.k.a my real self, and lie down on the couch, ready to watch T.V. Home is where I can actually relax and not have anyone critique me nor am I obliged to act “normal”. I yell, I run and I even act along with reruns of shows. Homework time comes and I am in tears and agony trying not to stress myself or stay up late. Sometimes I feel ready to quit, but I remember my purpose in life. The day ends too fast and nothing is accomplished.

Now, it is important to note the fact I rarely get sick. But, when I manage to catch the latest bug, it assaults me. This is true of last Monday. While, I spent the day feeling happy and healthy, around eight o’clock all of that changed. When I arrived at Evans Hall, for my first meeting as the Assistant Stage Manager of “The 39 Steps”, I felt ecstatic. The meeting went well, and the cast seemed very nice. However, by the end of the night I felt my throat burning. I knew I was sick. I tried to get a cough drop, but no one had one. As the meeting continued, I felt myself slowly decline. I knew I was in for a rough week.