Inner monologue:
The little girl is getting clingy like she's not feeling well. Don't freak out. It's probably nothing. Kids get like that. All the other kids are fine. It's nothing. It doesn't look like nothing. Breathe. You're ok. She doesn't feel good. Great. Why did I even have to hear her say that? If I hadn't heard her, I wouldn't know and I'd be fine. So they're propping her on the couch with the other kids and giving her a bowl just in case? Oh my God. I cannot do this. Breathe. She threw up? What do I do? WHAT DO I DO??? I have to drive home with them. Can I take the bus home? I could take the bus home. But isn't that rude? I don't know how to pull that off without being rude. I can't do this. I can't do this!!! Breathe breathe breathe. You're ok. Okay. Maybe we'll stay overnight until she's better. I can just keep my distance. Wash my hands a lot. Don't touch my face. No. No she's waiting until the puking stops and then we're going? Is she insane? I can't do that. I'm going to cry. I can't breathe. Be polite. Don't let them know you're losing it. I can't breathe. Oh my god. Ok think. You can think your way through this. No one else is sick. All the other kids seem fine. They're all still playing. It's not probably not contagious. They spent a lot of time in the pool yesterday and barely came in for a sip of water. She probably has sun stroke. I can believe that. I can be okay. But I cannot get in that car. I don't know what to do. What if the other little girl gets sick too? What are we going to do? How are we going to drive like this? I'm scared. I'm so scared. And I can't say anything because that would be selfish. Breathe.
We're in the car. She still has the bowl. I cannot take this. I try to politely explain to the mom that I have a bit of a phobia and I'm just going to put my headphones on and try to zone out. I text a few trusted friends who know how bad this is and ask them to pray because I'm not sure I can survive this. She throws up in the bowl. My window is down. On the 401. I'm breathing through my sleeve. My headphones are turned up full blast and my eyes are squeezed shut. This is my own personal hell. I am trapped in this car in my most terrifying moment. I can't breathe.
She fell asleep. The traffic is heavy. But she's asleep. If she's asleep she's not puking. Still. There's a bowl of puke in the car. In close proximity. OH MY GOD!!! BRAKES SLAM, BOWL GOES FLYING. GET ME OUT OF THIS GODDAMN CAR!!! I am hanging my head as far as I dare out the window. Not helping with the cleanup process. I just want to get out on the 401 and run as far away as I can.
Two days. It took two full days for me to stop worrying I might throw up. At the end of that two days I knew something I had never known before in my life. The one thing I have wanted more than anything my entire life, is something I could never handle. Because if that was me, if that was my child. I don't know what I would have done. This was the first time I realized I will never have children.
Response:
So it's funny to you, this phobia of mine. Tell me more about how that amuses you. I know you don't get it. Most people don't. But don't you dare minimize what I feel. Do you even know what an anxiety disorder is? Think of the most terrifying, traumatic event in your life. How did it feel? Were you paralyzed with fear? Did your fight or flight response kick in? That is how I feel every time I hear someone talk about being sick. Only there's no fight. Just flight. I'm not a germaphobe. It's only with vomiting. You could cough and bleed all over me and I'd probably just say "gross". But throw up or even mention that you did and I’ll be gone before you can bat an eye. Or at least I'd like to be. It's not socially acceptable to run away from people when they say they were sick. They expect you to be empathetic. Well I'm not! Will everyone please just stop fucking telling me! I do not need to know! I don't know how I can make this any more clear. You have no idea what I have been through and how hard I've fought to gain some control over this. Do you even know what out of control looks like? Well I'll tell you. It looks like me leaving a party where someone threw up, going home and taking 8 gravol just to calm my nerves, kneeling in front of the toilet praying "please don’t let me throw up" on repeat like a broken record, then staying locked in my apartment for days eating nothing but saltines with flat gingerale. Just in case. That's out of control. What does control look like? A calm face while panic is ensuing on the inside, telling myself to breathe, coming up with reasons why they might be sick and how it might not be contagious, washing my hands 8000 times and being sure not to pick up food with my hands or touch my face, and never buying gravol again. I just have to ride it out. Ride out the panic attack. Talk to the few people who understand and can help me stay calm. That's the small measure of control I've managed to gain over the years. So go ahead, laugh. So happy I could amuse you.
Not alone:
When I try to explain my anxiety disorder to people they often say "Oh I know how you feel" or "I know, I don't like it either". I just have to bite my tongue. Finding out I have a friend who shares the same disorder was mind blowing. Someone who actually understands! Really and truly knows what I mean. Someone who can relate to the instinct to run at even the mere mention of illness. What really caught me off guard though was when we talked and she said I was in a much better place than her. I can't imagine how that can be. I'm certainly in a better place than I was 15 years ago when I first moved out on my own and multiple anxieties culminated and nearly overwhelmed me. I've learned to adapt. To cope in a world where people don't understand. Where they won't shield me from the one thing I just don’t want to know about. I'm in a different place than her, but not a better place. I think we all deal with things in our own way and in our own time. What gives me strength is knowing there's someone out there who can relate. For the first time. And maybe we can bring strength to each other as we muddle our way through this.
Bad moments:
I arrived very early for work today. I took my book and sat on a bench in the mall to pass the time. Not long after I sat down, a man and a little girl came and sat in front of me. She was throwing up into a bag. A bag from my store no less. I immediately stood up and walked away. I tried to sit and calm down on a bench far enough away from them but my mind wouldn't shut up and my heart rate wouldn't slow down. I knew there was no way I could work like that and I needed to get it under control. What if she'd thrown up in the store and that's why she had the bag? I couldn't breathe. I finally stood up and went outside. Put on my headphones and closed my eyes. A nice calming song and some fresh air calmed me down enough to put on my "I've got it all together" face and start my shift. It took a full hour before I was actually calm again. I must have washed my hands 15 times. But I made it.
Good moments:
It's rare that someone fully understands what I go through with this. My best friend understands. As well she should. She knows me better than anyone. Long trips on public transit are scary for me. The emergency room is terrifying and to be avoided whenever possible. Times like these my headphones on full blast are my saving grace. I was in the car with my best friend and her family on a 2 hour trip not long ago. She knows the kids have a tendency to feel carsick so she tried to slip them some gravol but it wasn't the chewable kind so they weren't having it. About 40 minutes into our drive her son started feeling sick. We pulled over to get some fresh air. It took some time for him to be ok to get back in the car. She tried again with the gravol but he just wouldn't do it. To make me more comfortable she switched seats with me so that I was up front, as far away as possible. This was as much kindness as I expected for the irrational inner freak-out I was having. What I didn't expect was what her husband did next. He turned up the music in the car to an ear-bleeding volume (not unusual for him) and began playing me new music he thought I might like. After some time he asked me to play him some new music and I became the DJ for a bit. It was about an hour later that I realized he'd done this to distract me and calm me down. And it worked. I don't know if I ever thanked him for that.
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