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Mokomboso  Oct 2015
Emetophobia
Mokomboso Oct 2015
I wasn't late
But I may as well be
All the seats are taken
I've been dragging my wheels
Over strangers' feet
I'm too exausted to apologise
Too stressed to take notice
I am close to tears
Hot and discombobulated
I'd hoped for tables
But I'm jammed against the door
By football fans
And teens on daytrips
Pressing against my back, my thighs
Hot breath and perfume wafting
Hands accidentally stroking
A lady's hand
And a sudden jolt within
Tips my stomach
It feels acidic
I've dreamt about this, before
Always afraid that nausea
Will arise during the worst times
So of course it tends to
And this trip is no different
Heat prickles my chest and my hands
No room to reach for the phone
To ring mum
To escape for time alone
But instead my throat constricts
I know I'm not sick
With a virus or bad food
But regardless something stirs
A grimace forms
A familiar thought
Of terror
A fear of what?
But my own body failing
Tumbling over an unsuspecting crowd
The journey is short enough
But couldn't be any longer
About anxiety causing nausea which causes yet more anxiety. I have a phobia of *****.
Shannon Callow Nov 2015
I wake in the morning and dread the day ahead,
it would be much easier if I could go back to sleep instead.
It is better than the torture of my disorder;
the voices in my head don't ask me things nicely - they're always an order.

My fear of vomiting is detrimental,
so the acts that I carry out are fundamental.
I do not leave the house; germs could get on my hands,
I always find an excuse for not participating in my friend's plans.
My hands are red raw and sore
from the excessive scrubbing; it's become a chore.
I have to put sanitiser around my mouth too,
otherwise my mind goes crazy - unfortunately that's true.

When exposed to a vomiting bug,
I completely stop eating and take an anti-bacterial drug.
I count down forty eight hours
before I can eat again; this is the extent of the phobia's powers.

When somebody mentions they feel unwell,
I avoid them like the plague and it feels like I'm in hell.

I think of the future and of the children I desire,
but the idea of germs and sickness around them is a taunt so dire.

I worry about vomiting every single day;
causing panic attacks and mental breakdowns - I want to run away.

People laugh at such a "silly" terror,
but for me it's a life-changing and deleterious horror.
Mikey Barnes Jan 2018
oh my god
that guy is so...
thin
his arms like matchsticks
jaw threatening to pop through his bone-white skin
i bet if he took his shirt off
you could count every one of his ribs
i didn't even know they made skinny jeans that size
now what can i do
to look like him?

to what god can i sacrifice these lumpy, extraneous pieces of flesh
in return for a body that doesn't betray me?
to what doctor can i explain that, no
my chest is not enough
please cut out every piece of me that is
too much

i am tired of being soft
and easily broken
where are my hard angles and sharp lines?
i am sick of these handlebar hips and quivering thighs
i gazed into the mirror and nothing i saw was mine

i hear them say,
"i was so dysphoric
i didn't eat for three days"
and i think
what a good idea

at sixteen
i spent my gcse study leave curled over the toilet bowl
fingernails catching on the back of my throat
but i couldn't do it
i'm scared of throwing up
i don't know what's going to crawl its way out of my mouth
i'm scared to see what's rotting deep inside of me

sometimes my shame feels like a concrete slab around my neck
and sometimes like a boulder in the centre of my stomach

the woman in the exercise video says:
"we only have cake on birthdays"
so i ate a whole one and hated myself
the woman at the conference says:
"body positivity is knowing you don't need surgery to love yourself"
so i shook my way through a quiet panic attack at the back of the room
the woman on the end of the phone line says:
"this waiting list is 2 years long”
and there is nothing more i can do

there is so little i can change about my body
that is it any surprise
i dream of dotted lines on my skin
where the scalpel would fit just nicely?
cutting
and pasting
until i look just
like
him
Last Arpeggios Oct 2016
It’s the season of sickness.
The ruminant roars,
disarms me with hunger,
Feeds me

poison, contagious
violence; ****** of my
Control, spiller of
my Secret:

‘I am gross.’
Bathroom lights stare at me,
Toilet flushes betray my ears.
Only Courage,

Hanging on
the edge of a lash, leaking
with every pause of breath,
can save me.
written October 2016
Mak  Sep 2018
where I'm at
Mak Sep 2018
When I was younger I experienced emetophobia, an intense fear of *****. I would sit and wonder to myself, “What if I threw up right now?” and sent myself into a spinning cycle of worry, making me feel perpetually nauseous and no doubt making the situation worse overall. During one of my routine check ups at my pediatrician, I worked up the courage to ask my doctor about it. I told her I felt nauseous almost constantly and I’m terrified of throwing up. She told me that fear can be a powerful thing. I was probably just experiencing anxiety that I caused myself. A self-fulfilling prophecy almost.
Both of my wonderful parents have Multiple Sclerosis. I can’t help but wonder if somehow it’s part of a bigger plan. The truth of the matter is, I have nightmares about it. Will I get sick? How will I work a normal job? Will I still be able to pay my bills? Will I be cursed with this setback before my life has really even begun?
I’ve been sick the past couple days. Nausea, physical weakness, tingles in my legs and hands, shaking fingers and a crazy case of the spins. My logical side tells me it’s probably nothing. A vitamin imbalance or my dosage of Lithium is too high. This has only happened once before and it went away in a few days. Regardless of how many times I try to reassure myself, I keep jumping back to the same basic anxiety that fueled my fear of vomiting. The brain’s ability to persuade is a powerful thing. Is it possible my anxiety is just manifesting itself? Is that even possible? I’ve heard of cases where the body mimics symptoms of pregnancy, down to the swollen belly and milk production. If the body is capable of tricking someone into thinking they’re creating life, what makes me think this misery I’m going through now isn’t just some cruel trick my brain is playing on me? Is it really worth spending a thousand bucks I don’t have just to find out I’m just an anxious person? I already knew that.
I’m finding myself at a crossroads here. My new life in Wichita Falls isn’t all I thought it would be. I’ve made no friends, I’m not doing well at work. The only thing I have going for me is my GPA, and I’m scared that if this anxiety keeps up, I won’t even have that. Here I am, rambling to a Google document that can’t do anything to fix me. Am I losing it? Am I just too deep into my own head? I have a tendency to sabotage myself out of success due to fear of failure. Maybe that’s what’s going on.  
If there really is something going on with my health, I’m not sure how I’ll tackle that mentally. It’s like my worst fears are coming to life in front of me. I’m far away from the people that care about me and it seems as though I’m headed toward the worst possible scenario I had cooked up in my head before moving here. I’m not sure if people really do dislike me or if I’m just so socially anxious that I’ve convinced myself to expect the worst. There are some days I think about giving up and moving back home, but I don’t want to be seen as the girl who chickened out of independence because she wasn’t cut out for the success she sought after. I’m scared of failing, but even more so of disappointing those around me. Perhaps I’m scared of not being as good as everyone thinks I am. I don’t know.
If anyone has any advice, that would be highly appreciated.
Lewis Wyn Davies Sep 2020
There's a spike housed
in this stomach lining

a hideous beast
cracking knuckles

a snake curling
in circles

flush them out
with cups of water

leave them starved
like mediocre starters

avoid all
sudden
movement

block each hole
that could let
a sense explode

and pray to God
the grenade
is just a dud.
Poem #7 from my collection 'A Shropshire Grad' attempts to describe my emetophobia - the fear of *****.
Ryan O'Leary Mar 2019
Love poems make me
home sick, that is why,
on the couch, every time
when reading one, I spew.
Ryan O'Leary May 2020
One has to wonder what
vegans do when they are
forced to swallow a word
which is not herbivorous.

If it occurred and one
suffered emetophobia
could it cause a blockage
in the **** canal?

— The End —