oh, barf.

Friday, June 24, 2011

I've never been good with vomit. Ever. I don't know why. And really, I'm fine handling other humans' body fluids. Except for barf. Even my own barf! It's always been this way. There is an actual phobia that I once looked up...

Emetophobia is an intense, irrational fear or anxiety pertaining to vomiting. This specific phobia can also include subcategories of what causes the anxiety, including a fear of vomiting in public, a fear of seeing vomit, a fear of watching the action of vomiting or fear of being nauseated. Emetophobia is clinically considered an “elusive predicament” because limited research has been done pertaining to it. It is considered to be one of the most common phobias in the world.

Wikipedia goes on to say that, according to medical studies, most people with Emetophobia are mentally retarded. Just need you guys knowing that in regards to how seriously you take me.

I remember as a child, I was so terrified of throwing up that I would hold it in all night. Allllll night. I almost never threw up because I'd rather be cripplingly nauseated than just relieve myself. I don't know why. Then, when I would finally explode with projectile liquid (all over my Hanson poster, once), I would cry and cry and cry and cry.

I got a lot better about it in college when I was completely high on three types of anti-depressants at once. I became so emotionally numb to everything that my friend and I would rent the goriest movies we could find. On top of all that, the uppers in the meds made me overwhelmingly anxious and, as a result, I  began regularly throwing up. No, I was not bulimic (I wish it was that glamorous), but I was upchucking  more often than I was eating, that's for sure (and the reason why I can't even smell Velveeta shells & cheese, R.I.P.). One of the many reasons I don't condone the use of antidepressants, but that's just me and my (mentally retarded) opinion.

I about died today at the public pool where I take the kids from my job. Why did I almost die? Because a child vomited into it. I watched it happen. I knew it was going to happen. I could tell by the look on the kid's mom's face that something terrible was about to happen. I don't know why I do it to myself... it's as if I know it's coming, and I'm terrified, but I CANNOT EVER LOOK AWAY. I watched it. The whole thing. I watched the brown liquid shoot out of her mouth. Down her bumblebee swimsuit. Down the pavement. Into the pool. Where I was swimming. I watched her mother wiggle out of the pool as fast as she could, pick her up, and run her over to the grass. I continued watching everything she ate that day explode out of her. The kids I work with were laughing. LAUGHING.

The best part? Do you know how they clean this stuff up? They get a bucket of soapy water, dump it all over the mess, and sweep it into a drain. And done. ARE YOU KIDDING ME? NO. YOU MUST NOW TEAR UP THE CONCRETE, RE-PAVE THE ENTIRE CITY, AND SEND THE CHILD INTO EXILE. NOT TO MENTION DRAIN THE ENTIRE POOL, SCRUB THE WALLS AND FLOOR WITH COMET, AND THEN RE-FILL IT WITH FILTERED WATER. YOU MUST DO THIS FOR ME.

I think it's karma for that time I threw up on my friend Annie's face -- a story that merits its own blog entirely. A moment in time where vomiting was actually funny. But not now. Now is the time where I cry and gag. Crying and gagging.