Me, myself and Emetophobia.

Chunder and Chips

Saturday night out on the town use to fill me full of fear. I would hate standing at the taxi ranks waiting for my potential vomit smelling back seat. What would make it even worse is seeing people in the taxi rank blow chunks everywhere as if nothing has happened and get on with their life and maybe even chug down a few more shots or kerbab. If that was me I would be utterly panic stricken.

It's really strange how this phobia came about and I am told that it is such a common phobia. GREAT! That makes me feel so much better...

But the interesting thing about my phobia is that I have only ever been sick six times in my life that I know of. Generally speaking I am a healthy man but my phobia doesn't like me being healthy and I live in a constant state of observation of my body. I developed two super powers from this phobia:

- I can tell when my toast is about to pop

- And I can sense someone being sick from a thousand yards.

Not sure this is Avengers making material. Maybe if they are running tight on time and I make them toast and predict who will be ill to make sure no one else gets the bug. Thanos has to be stopped but we can only do that as a fit and healthy team. But having this heightened sense can be utterly dibilitating at times. It has and can place me into very difficult social situations in which like a spy I look for the exits or the toliets or even work out the best excuse I can create to run away. I became a brilliant extroverted introvert by actually being super pumped at being alone. I am so enthusiastic about being quiet and alone that my party for one are off the chain!

But let's slow it down somewhat and take us back the odd decade or so, queue Waynes World dream sequence...

The Stairs

My phobia started on the stairs of my parents home. It's an odd place to start but that is where it began and this is where the healing starts.

Sadly at a very young age my mother almost died in front of me. It was very scary, I didn't know what was happening but I remember my Mum collapsing on the stairs and vomited voilently. As I watched her being wheeled out of the house on a stretcher I remember saying to her "be brave Mummy". Life was but a blur after that as I never really knew how ill she was. My Mum suffered from sickle cell, well we didn't know at the time but basically she caught Parvovirus which is in humans a very unimportant virus and passes without much concern. However, because of my Mums rare blood type and having sickle cell and Parvovirus the white cells started to attack her red cells. Thankfully a wonderful Doctor managed to cure her despite having to endure terrible symptoms and surgery.

You never really know how something that horrifc can cause lasting damage to a child. It is not something someone sees everyday. But sadly I developed an association with vomiting and suffering. Even the very feeling sick can build up such painful panic attacks that can cripple you to the point of utter break down. Interestingly I never always had this fear but it wasn't until a bout of Gastroenteritis that my phobia arose to say hello. At the time it was minor and as a young child you tend to batter it off but sadly as time went on this phobia really started to rear its ugly head.

It happened at the worst of times, puberty! Just what every teenager needs is to have spots, self image doubts, girls, voice breaking and much more aside, my body decided that now was the time to go full blow phobia. I was only 15 when it hit and I suffered so badly that I hardly ate. I would only eat chicken and peppers or salad. FYI thats one way to lose weight. But I became an utter stick and looked like death. I saw a picture of me sometime back and it shocked me at how poorly I looked. But the worse of it was I would hide it from people. More so at school as I felt utterly scared at what my friends would think. Trouble was at this time we didnt know what it was. I was back and forth to the Doctors with no joy. It was a worrying time.

I become very reclusive, I struggled with friendship and became bullied even from my inclusive friends. But when I reflect on my time at my school I can only class it as my military career. You were not educated you were dragged up to educate. There was a huge gap in support for those who needed it and those who didn't. It was focused on those you can to those you cannot. And those who cannot were sent to shop class to make metal gates for old peoples homes. I had to fight my way up through school. Even in class I had fend for myself.

When I suffered my first official panic attack I needed time of school which went down like a lead balloon. I remember coming back hoping for support and I got none. I was sent down grades in my school with no notification and left to essentially rot. The school wiped their hands of me. The worse thing of this I was a very good student. I struggled in English because of my dyslexia but all other lesson I excelled. But this eliteism was very much on show. This almost politcal process lost me friends. I become a point of jokes amongst who was left. I remember one lesson in English (moved to the lowest group) we were told yet again to write a story. This was every lesson for a whole year. I learnt nothing and even wrote the same story every lesson to see if the teacher took note that this is mental. I still got an Agood grade despite it being the same story. My workbook was maybe 200 pages of line paper. My story was repeated 50 odd times! If someone from the outside saw this would think there was something wrong with me. Well there was but this was on purpose. I wanted to the teacher to actually take note of my plight.

What was my story you may ask? Well, my story was about a boy who was scared of his own shadow!

But this one lesson while writing stories the teacher left the room for what must have been 90% of the lesson. This happened 90% of the time (one lesson he did roll call then left). During this time a pupil who was bullied so badly from day one just because his parents were older than "normal". But this lesson this lad was being targeted by the "dumb as a plank of wood" pupils. You know the ones, they fight, bully, smoke and sadly procreate! One lad in the class had already two child by the age of 15 with two girls in school, one of them was in class.

But for some reason it was world war on this boy and out of nowhere after a round of abuse they threw a try square at his head. They stole it from the wood work class earlier. It split his head wide open. It was shocking. But what happens next sums the school up. The teacher came back while we were trying to help the boy from bleeding out. He told us to sit down and get back to our seats and told the boy to go to the nurse's office the other side of the school and then he ended the lesson.

I remember walking out of class and seeing a trail of blood leading away from the room. I knew that day to even speak to any teacher would prove fruitless and hampered my recovery massively.

I had gone from being a great football player, a fun and popular friend to being a invisable person. I tried to put my efforts into football but as time went by the school pushed me out of the school teams. It was brutal and lead to my trust issues of people.

All I wanted was someone to help me!

Paul, what's the matter?

That simple question was the one that allowed me to start a process of healing. I remember sitting in the Doctors office and he leaned in and asked "Paul, whats the matter?".

"I can't stop feeling sick"

This was the first time someone asked me that question. No fault to my parents because they did not know what to do. They felt helpless watching me fall. But that moment I was asked was the moment of "I need to let go". Im grateful I did as I think this saved my life. I do really mean that as there was one moment of thought as I was cutting an orange I could stop this pain. But remember strangely saying to myself "I'm cutting an orange, that would really hurt!" it snapped me out of it the thought of orange juice in a cut. My brain works in some very strange ways.

In fact I am happily strange. It makes people laugh and many occasions I am told you are very unique. Or so I thought untill I found out this phobia was common. I tried so hard to be abnormal but turned out common. I still try to be strangely happy it's fun as it keeps people guessing about me.

I digress...

But why was I always feeling sick, well this was just the after product of the anxiety of my phobia which ironically was being sick. It was a vicious circle you fear being sick, you feel sick, you panic, you feel sick more and on and on it went. I was stuck in a loop I could not get out of and it wasn't until I was given some medication for sickness I was able to grasp hold of this fear. But medication is but a sticky plaster and to attack the deep routed problem is where I need to place my effort while trying to become a teenager.

Therapy was needed to beat this...

Confession to a Barber

When people think about therapy you picture a chair in the corner with a sofa. The therapist on the chair with a notepad glasses perched on their nose looking down at you and the client laying down on the sofa looking up at the ceiling pouring out their heart. Well, that happened to me which I will come to soon, but it also took a form that I never thought would be significantly helpful and forever grateful.

Gary International Hairdressers was a great therapy centre. Not only could you tell your inner most but you could get a decent haircut. I had never been to Gary's before but my Dad had for somewhat 25 years. It was very old school. He even asked at the end of the hair cut "anything for the weekend, sir". I never knew what that meant and I declined politely. It wasn't till a few year laters wondering if what he offered may help my weekend, that I asked what he meant and little did I know barbers within the UK use to sell condoms. Have a hair cut the Friday and sex at the weekend was the idea of the question. Really use that haircut to great effect. Now my haircut story is one of a sexual revolution. But I will hold sharing that just now...oooooh the suspense.

My first hair cut was somewhat crazy. I had a total melt down over the most stupiest reason. Gary placed gown on me and then the neck thing that keeps the gown from rolling up. For some reason it felt tight and made me feel like was choking. I wasn't it was all in my head. This caused me to have a metal down. I wanted to run away. My Dad and Gary made every attempt to calm me. I needed a hair cut badly as my Kurt Cobain hair style was becoming somewhat unfashionable and annoying. In the wind it was like cousin IT. Gary held the top of my forehead which for some reason calmed me and he activated the clipper. The vibration of the clippers soothed me and the haircut was able to commence. Gary then did something that eased my troubled mind. He spoke about how as a young man he suffered terrible shyness. He would go red and sweat in front of people and had to run away from public events like going to a pub, a club or even a meal. He said it wasn't until he took up hairdressing that this started to leave him. Gary has cut hair all over the world in competitions and won many of them over a 30 year period. He had no ill effect and even set up his own band and played in front on hundreds of people.

He was my therapy for somewhat 15 years. He was always there with an ear, a story or just a nod of understanding. Even the shake of the hand at the end of the haircut and a hand on my shoulder made me leave the barbers ready for the world. He was truly an inspirational man and miss him so after he retired. He was very influential in my life. But this was only put into place by my father. He told Gary that I had lost all my confidence and needs help. My father asked Gary to talk to me knowing that Gary had suffered as a young adult.

Help comes in many different forms that doesn't always have to be in a doctors office, a therapist sofa. Sometimes it can be while your roots are being coloured.

To be continued...