When I was in the 3rd grade this kid got sick on me….
I remember this day like it was 2 seconds ago. This day my life changed forever. My brain went haywire and my phobia took place. I was so scared, I could not move but I was screaming on the inside. My mom picked me up and told me I was fine but I would never be “fine” again. I am almost 33 years old and I still fight this phobia everyday. Its draining. I have been to therapists, got on pharmaceuticals, got off of them, tried all natural stuff, went to a hypnotherapist, got on pharmaceuticals again.
I have emetophobia!
What a weird name but that is what I have. I have had this since the 3rd grade and it will never go away, all I can do is try to push past my anxiety, which sometimes is a nightmare in itself. I watch what I eat, food is something I really watch for…make sure its cooked right, check reviews to see what other people has said about a restaurant before going out to eat, I never eat at a friends house, and if so…my wife does first. Yeah…weird right? She is my rock and I bet she has told me, “you’re okay,” a trillion times. Those two words have helped me get through the roughest of times. You see, I know my thoughts are irrational, but my brain does not give a fuck. It goes on overdrive and from there everything goes downhill. I start sweating, I panic.
My wife already knows the look I make when I have anxiety and she will tell me, “you’re fine.” My face says it all, people have told me that all my life, I talk with my facial expressions. Anyways, where was I? I could go on and on about my phobia. It ruined my everyday life, I hated myself and everyone before I met my wife.
Something that relieved my pain back then when I would have panic attacks was cutting myself. Cutting helped me relieve my anxiety. Seeing blood hit the bathroom floor felt like my anxiety was oozing away. Does that makes sense? To me, it totally does. I had to hide my habit, I say habit because other then working two jobs and drinking all the time, cutting was something I did too often. I cut the insides of my thighs and my arms. I have not cut myself in over eight years but my scars are daily reminders of my daily struggles.
An anxious person’s perspective is the waves of anxiousness that swallows you whole and you have to find a way to breathe.
Keep Moving Forward.
Love – WBC