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skylersummer · 4 years

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My Emetophobia: A Year On (PART 1 - Getting CBT and Exposure Therapy)

It’s been just over a year since I wrote my last piece about my emetophobia and I thought it might be helpful for me (and hopefully some others) to revisit the topic, as there has been a fair amount of change in my life.

I know it’s also a little late to say this but I was absolutely overwhelmed by the response from my original post, I am so incredibly glad that I was able to educate and reassure with my writing.

I never in a million years would have even expected to tell someone about my phobia let alone post an article about it on the internet, however it was one of the best things I have ever done. It really reminded me of the importance of sharing anxieties and worries - so so many people got in contact to say that their experiences mirrored mine exactly and I only wish that I had been able to speak up sooner.

So what’s changed? Well, after finally getting back on track with my medications, I decided to refer myself to my local South London mental health service.

[ This comes after paying exactly £100 to a private therapist for two sessions which I never managed to attend. No one really tells you how expensive anxiety can be. I decided to go through the NHS (god bless) because then at least I wouldn’t be literally going broke for appointments I couldn’t bring myself to make. I was in a bad way. ]

I received a relatively quick response from SLAM (South London and Maudsley) and found that I had been put on a 1 year online programme called SilverCloud. Each week I was to be set activities and challenges and had to review my feelings which were then read by a mental health advisor who I was in contact with.

I think that had this been my first involvement with the NHS and their mental health team, it might have been really helpful. However, my programme was aimed at general anxiety and really didn’t target any of the specific symptoms/issues I experience daily with emetophobia. I discharged myself from the course after two weeks and explained to my advisor why I didn’t find it particularly helpful and she put in a request (? can’t remember exactly) with the London Maudsley Hospital to get reviewed for a course of CBT there.

It may have only been a month before I was called into the Maudsley to be assessed by a psychiatrist.

This took around 3 hours, and I basically had to explain the extent of all of my past therapies, medications, symptoms etc. so they knew exactly where I stood.

It turns out I was in a Not Good At All place (not entirely Emetophobia’s fault, but certainly didn’t help).

I received a call maybe a week later from the psychiatrist/psychologist (?) who assessed me and he told me they wanted to put me on a 12 week course of CBT with some Exposure Therapy. He asked if I would be happy to see a student psychologist, as this would mean hopefully getting seen sooner. I said yes of course. He said the waiting list could be up to 9 months. I didn’t even know where I would be living in 9 months. I said thanks.

I think I cried quite a bit at this point. (Don’t take important calls in the Co-Op)

I was already researching into the costs of private therapists instead, as I really didn’t feel like I could physically wait that long. Then a weird miracle happened.

I got a call from the Maudsley Hospital to let me know that a space was available for me, like, immediately.

I began my course of weekly 1 hour sessions with my lovely psychologist.

Luckily, one of the leading psychologists in the country who specialises in SPOV (specific fear of vomit) works at the Maudsley (and was one of my psychologist’s seniors) and The Maudsley Hospital is the UK’s specialist clinic for emetophobics. Also it was 10 minutes away from my flat.

I am not going to go through every session as I am aware this is getting quite long but I do want to explain the course I was on a little.

During my first session we discussed (obviously) my phobia of vomit and we made a chart explaining all the things I was scared of specifically, what measures I put in place to control these situations to make myself less afraid and then we wrote a list of goals for myself. These goals ranged from long term (Travel the World!) that wouldn't be achievable in 12 weeks but also smaller ones like Travel Without A Water Bottle.

Over the next few weeks I was set challenges to complete outside of the sessions, to stop myself creating this barrier in every day situations. So I eventually stopped carrying rescue remedy spray, water, anti-nausea tablets, heat patches, even headphones, all things that I didn’t think I could leave the house without in case I was or felt sick.

My psychologist told me that having these safety nets as well as my constant texts to friends and family whenever I felt anxious, seeking reassurance, were exacerbating the fear and giving it too much control over my life. She also said that dwelling on a feeling of sickness, can often make it feel worse, than say just ignoring it or distracting yourself. She asked what would happen if I realised I didn’t have my anti-nausea tablets or water with me, and I realised that I needed to learn to live ‘normally’ (aka not like an emetophobic) and not rely on these coping mechanisms, to avoid further panic if I discovered I didn’t have these things with me AT ALL TIMES.

It’s actually such a relief (and I am grateful to not have the extra expense) to not constantly have to check whether I have my rescue remedy spray, say, with me all the fricking time! Anti-nausea tablets are also a thing of the past now, honestly SEE YA.

We also went through some CBT and looked into past experiences/memories that may have triggered my emetophobia which was pretty intense and although we didn’t come to a proper conclusion it was really helpful.

But now ... we gotta talk about exposure therapy.

I am not going to lie and say it was fun. or easy. or not scary. And I did cry. Like a few times.

BUT I wasn't sick. This was the big thing. It was quite literally my worst nightmare to be in a non-safe environment (not my home: a horrible room with no window on top floor of NHS building), with a stranger, talking about vomit. I was quite sure that this was going to make be sick. In the room. With her. AKA ... my biggest fear. BUT IT DIDN’T HAPPEN.

We started off slow. They are never gonna rush you into anything you really don’t want to do. It’s not gonna be like BAM watch this video of someone being sick. They are not < quite > that evil. (Did actually call my therapist evil in one of these sessions, sorry Sarah*)

I am actually trying to find the website we used but I currently cannot. Do send me a message if you are keen to have a go at home, and I can try and send it over.

The first bit of exposure was the worst weirdly. Up until then it had sort of just been chatting about the phobia but I had built up all this weird anticipation anxiety around it which made it so much worse. (In retrospect it wasn’t bad at all)

We literally read through a list of different words for sick. Any ones that particularly scared me I had to repeat 50 times, to desensitise myself to them.

This was fine.

Then we moved on to sentences about sick/being sick. There was one sentence that I am not exactly sure why but REALLY triggered me (it was honestly about a cat but felt very graphic at the time) and I cried and asked to stop and to go home. Sarah calmed me down a little but she said “I don’t want to let you leave now because I think that if I let you go now you won’t come back for any more sessions.” She was really right. I had already started planning my journey home and also how I was never ever going to return to the psychologist ever again.

But I stayed. I stayed because I knew she was right. I stayed because I knew how lucky I was to be there, being treated. And I stayed because I knew I had to try.

This feels like a good place to stop right now and it’s getting mega long, but I will follow up with part two and the rest of the exposure therapy in the next couple of days. Please share if you found this at all helpful.

* Name changed just for privacy

#phobia #anxiety #therapy #emetophobia #emetophobic #emeto tw

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skylersummer · 5 years

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Looking At The Face in the Mirror

Like every other millennial out there (or so it seems) I suffer from a severe lack of self esteem. This is likely caused in part by the pure capitalist bent of the beauty and fashion and social media industries which force us to criticise our every minute flaw every second of the day.

I’ve always struggled with facial dysmorphia and the inability to work out what I genuinely look like, not just to others but to myself. Every mirror and camera and photo seems to show me a complete stranger. (And in my own defence a new friend I met last year upon looking at my Facebook photos said they could not “work out what I looked like” so maybe I’m just a lost cause).

Like most groups of teenage girls who own someone’s dad’s DSLR camera, there is a LOT of photographic evidence of my adolescence. Probably too much. But as soon as I properly hit puberty (age 18 for real) I completely lost sight of what I actually looked like. Bar a few standard Freshers Weeks photographs aged 18 I avoided nearly all cameras - especially as I began packing on the alcohol weight -and was becoming increasingly self conscious of how I looked.

Looking back over the last few years on my Facebook it’s made me so sad to see how little evidence of my university years there are purely because I made it my job to be the one holding the camera or ducking to the side of every photo where possible.

My boyfriend of two years provided some light relief as he picked up my love of photography and I quickly became subject to most of his pictures. But even looking back at these I don’t recognise the girl in them at all.

I try and take selfies and make myself look nice and am trying more and more to step in front of the camera regardless of how the photo may turn out but it’s certainly not something that comes naturally to me (can’t believe I was desperate to be a model aged 17).

It’s certainly easy to compare yourself to those on social media and having particularly Hot friends is a hard burden to bear and admittedly the photos of myself I do share look Nothing like day-to-day me ( I don’t think). And to be fair these days the only photos I post online are probably from my 17-18 year old phase because I’ve just been able to come to terms with what I looked like THEN.

Recently I’ve been told I look a lot like a) A member of Haim and b) Miley Cyrus.

For someone struggling with the way they look being told I look like two completely different people is Not A Big Help. I think I have just got generic white girl face and brown hair and I get landed with these examples and I really can’t tell if they’re compliments or not.

I’m sorry this has become increasingly self-indulgent with no real conclusion other than I Don’t Know What The F*** I Look Like which I’m pretty sure was apparent from the off. I think the end goal is to not care at all what I look like as long as I can still recognise myself but I think that’s probably going to take some time and I think that’s probably okay.

Mim

#blog #writing #facial dysmorphia #low self esteem #words most self indulgent blog post ?

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skylersummer · 5 years

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Goodbye 2018

Following on from my last post and mostly for my own sake, I’ve decided to actually write down my resolutions this year in the hopes that having them permanently and publically written online will force me to try and stick to them. So in no particular order …

Take a Self-Defence Class

This is literally something I decided I wanted to do in the last month, but I am surprised I didn’t think of it sooner. Although I may not be particularly fit, as a young woman, I feel like learning some Tips and Tricks for taking care of myself in a dangerous situation may well come in handy, I want to be prepared for anything.

Pack lunches for University

This is pretty dull but the amount I spend at the Sainsbury’s next door to uni on lunch and snacks is getting a bit ridiculous, and the university canteen is somehow even more expensive? Can someone tell UAL that £4.50 is too much for a # Hot Chocolate and a Panini to go

Exercise (obviously)

Pretty self-explanatory and probably on 99% of the world’s Resolutions. Would be nice to utilise my free gym + swim benefits though, and attend a few more Sunday night hockey trainings rather than retreating to bed.

Cut down on my meat intake

Yes I still eat meat and I am aware it’s awful, but I need to take small steps, I think.

Pass Driving Test

I finish uni forever in May, and unless I am literally tied down to a job in London over summer, I have no excuse not to learn (again) and pass that darn test. I refuse to be stuck using public transport when i’m old and grey.

Go to Persepolis

It’s a Persian (?) restaurant in Peckham and I always walk past and it always looks nice and filled with people chatting and drinking tea and laughing, even late into the evening. I want to become one of these people.

Delete all dating apps

They are genuinely a waste of my time! Go out and meet real humans, Mim.

Visit St. Michael’s Mount

Right, I have only been to Cornwall once for a post-GCSE frenzied underage club holiday to Newquay, so excuse my lack of knowledge but I recently just learnt about St Michael’s Mount. Hang on I will insert a picture (source: Aspire Holidays):

HOW BLOODY MAGICAL AND ETHEREAL AND UNLIKE ENGLAND DOES THIS LOOK?

Very, in my opinion. It truly looks like an Enchanted Place and I am sure it has a huge great story and history which I will at some point make time to research. Even without a supernatural backstory this place just looks like the sort of place where I would feel very at home. Cornwall I am coming.

Learn to DJ properly

I have been establishing myself in social circles as my far more cool alter-ego DJ MIR.I.AM since I was eighteen. I have been literally offered DJ gigs, so convincing is my act. My one issue? I have no idea how to mix music.

2019 is going to be the debut year of MIR.I.AM. Prepare yourselves, she’s quite the pip.

Get a Real Tattoo

And by real I mean not temporary and also not stick-and-poked on to my own ankle after a night at the pub. This all obviously depends on my financial situation but I also plan on suddenly become sickeningly wealthy in 2019, so it should be ok.

Keep Writing

One of the best things I did this year was start writing, even just with the letters to myself and now this (blog?) online. I always loved to write and have at least 3 unfinished books I started as a teenager somewhere in my bedroom, but with all the art and design I really let the bookish side of me slide. I am so glad to have rediscovered my passion for putting my metaphorical pen to paper, regardless of whether I am any good or not and regardless of whether anyone else cares to read what I am writing either.

I hope to write at least 1 blog (again ??? is that what this is becoming? God Forbid) post a month.

And that’s all I had written down on my iPhone notes, although I’m sure as soon as I publish this I will remember a whole host more, but such is life.

To see out the year I will leave you with one of my favourite writers, Neil Gaiman’s, words which he posts every year on his blog for the New Year, I feel like he always captures exactly what I wish I could I write, I’m sure you’ll agree:

A decade ago, I wrote:

May your coming year be filled with magic and dreams and good madness. I hope you read some fine books and kiss someone who thinks you're wonderful, and don't forget to make some art -- write or draw or build or sing or live as only you can. And I hope, somewhere in the next year, you surprise yourself.

And almost half a decade ago I said,

...I hope you will have a wonderful year, that you'll dream dangerously and outrageously, that you'll make something that didn't exist before you made it, that you will be loved and that you will be liked, and that you will have people to love and to like in return. And, most importantly (because I think there should be more kindness and more wisdom in the world right now), that you will, when you need to be, be wise, and that you will always be kind.

And for this year, my wish for each of us is small and very simple.

And it's this.

I hope that in this year to come, you make mistakes.

Because if you are making mistakes, then you are making new things, trying new things, learning, living, pushing yourself, changing yourself, changing your world. You're doing things you've never done before, and more importantly, you're Doing Something.

So that's my wish for you, and all of us, and my wish for myself. Make New Mistakes. Make glorious, amazing mistakes. Make mistakes nobody's ever made before. Don't freeze, don't stop, don't worry that it isn't good enough, or it isn't perfect, whatever it is: art, or love, or work or family or life.

Whatever it is you're scared of doing, Do it.

Make your mistakes, next year and forever.

#blog #2019 #2018 #New Years #New Years resolutions

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skylersummer · 5 years

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Realising Things

2018 has been a year of change, or as Kylie Jenner so eloquently put it back in 2016, ‘Realising Things’. I found myself single for the first time in almost two years just a week before my 21st birthday, and although the relationship ended mutually and happily I found myself feeling somewhat adrift, without the weight of a Significant Other whose presence would guide most of my thoughts and actions. Suddenly I was just Mim again (not the girlfriend of ... etc ) and for the rest of the year I’ve found myself trying to figure out exactly who Mim is, or at least who I want her to be.

It’s safe to say I made a few mistakes along the way, falling back into old habits and clinging to a false identity that made me come across as aloof and uncaring but also eager to please. With the help of good friends who truly know the real me and who had the courage to confront my false sense of self (and made me realise that it was indeed false), I am beginning to shed this persona, and show people what I like to think is the real Mim.

A storm, the heaviest and most dramatic rainstorm I have ever seen outside of the tropics, signalled the start of a bizarre summer. Travelling back with my sister from a festival in East London at the end of May, we stood sheltering by London Bridge as the hot rain pounded the tarmac and fork lightning lit up the skyline across the river. A lot changed after this storm, it signified new beginnings and falsely led us to believe that the unbearable summer heat was coming to an end. How wrong we were.

After the storm I found myself listless, with no summer plans and a job I was about to get fired from (only three days later). I began taking risks. Some of these were probably more stupid than others, but I have my impulsive nature to thank for a great deal of new friendships and experiences, too.

I also reached rock bottom in summer; struggling to do anything other than exist in the stifling heat of London, and without anything or anyone to motivate me or distract me I became very very sad. I took some time away from the city back home to try and pin point exactly why I felt so heartbroken and so wounded, when nothing really bad had happened to me at all. Many (too many) people saw me cry this summer, silent and ceaseless sobs that would keep me awake all night. I have always struggled opening up to people around me and part of me is still embarrassed by these unprecedented crying sessions but I think they were also necessary. This was when I began to realise things needed to change and my false persona was beginning to crack, probably left out in the sun too long.

With the help of my best friend, confidante, flatmate, soulmate and older sister Rose, I learnt the hard truths of not being true to yourself. My attempt at being cool and distant was hurting people around me, and the guilt was weighing me down. I was pushing away anyone that tried to get close to me and I was taking the advice of people who didn’t have my best interest at heart. We began to pull apart this false Mim-shaped mould that I had built myself and picked apart exactly why it was there in the first place.

Since summer I have been trying hard to be as true to myself as possible, however scary and naked that may feel.

As part of a university project, but mostly because my tutor (shout out to Hannah) saw how unstable I was at the beginning of term, I began writing letters to myself every day. I have (ironically) always hated writing about my personal life, and any old diaries I attempted when I was younger are now objects of Deep Shame for me. But writing a stream of consciousness everyday for a few weeks, not necessarily revealing any huge existential crises, and sealing it up and physically posting it to myself was incredibly cathartic. One day I will hopefully be able to read these letters without wincing at every word.

Posting publicly across all my social media platforms about my struggle with emetophobia was honestly one of the most terrifying things I have done (ever), but I can’t stress how glad I am that I did it, and that others felt that they could relate to what felt like a battle I was fighting on my own. It really felt like a huge step towards becoming this honest version of myself, being honest is the key.

I have come a long way in a year and as awful as it was at the time, hitting rock bottom in summer made me realise that things needed to change for good.

I still think back to the night of that storm, and how completely unaware I was of what was about to unfold: the highs and the lows. And that’s just it; life can change in an instant, feelings can shift in hours or minutes and you have no idea what is to come, so just appreciate the present moment, and perhaps, once the storm has passed and the smell of hot summer rain still lingers in the air, everything will change. For the better.

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skylersummer · 5 years

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My Secret Phobia

Until I was eighteen years old, I kept a secret from every single person in my life. I didn’t tell a soul. Had I been brave enough to take to the internet and read about my secret, I would have realised that what I was dealing with on a day to day basis was nothing to be ashamed of or embarrassed about, in fact it’s fairly common.

My secret? I suffer from emetophobia.

Emetophobia is the fear of vomit; either physically being sick, seeing, hearing or smelling sick will send me in to a panic attack. Anxiety UK claims that 6-7% of women and 1.7 - 3.1% men will experience emetophobia in their lifetime. Had I known earlier that this anxiety disorder existed outside of my own personal life, let alone amongst thousands of people, I am certain I would have confided in someone about my fear. There’s only a handful of information on the internet (that I’m not too scared to read) about this disorder I’ve grown up with, so I would like to share my own personal experience in the hopes that it helps those suffering in silence realise that they are not alone and to help those who don’t have it, understand the complexities of the condition. I want to keep this as trigger-free as possible, as a lot of sources I have found on the internet I’ve found far too graphic to be of any help to actual sufferers of emetophobia, but bare in mind I will be continuously using the word vomit (a word which would make me flinch and feel physically sick until recent years.)

I am not aware of any one trigger for my emetophobia, there was no obvious experience that set off this whole disorder, all I know is that I have had it for as long as I can remember, from around the age of four.

Here’s something I want to make clear now, to those who don’t have emetophobia. It is a phobia of vomit. When I’ve told people in recent years, I’ve had some laugh at me, Of course you don’t like sick, no one likes being sick. Emetophobics don’t just ‘not like’ vomit, or being sick. Of course, it’s not pleasant for anyone and no one particularly enjoys the experience, however this is a fear. We fear it on a daily basis.

When I was younger, and suffered with more severe symptoms of anxiety, the sound of someone nearby coughing would be enough to set me off into a panic attack. I avoided school trips for fear of anyone getting travel sick on coaches and I avoided places I couldn’t easily exit in case someone did vomit. For these reasons I found school, in particular, very troublesome as there were rules and regulations - you couldn’t just leave lessons whenever you felt worried.

No one could work out exactly why I was so scared of school trips, or wanted to sit by the door in assembly or in class. Age 11 I had my first counselling session with the NHS Child and Adolescent Mental Health Services (CAMHS). I quickly came up with a lie, telling my psychologists that I had claustrophobia (ironically a phobia I actually gave myself), an excuse I deemed socially acceptable and far less embarrassing than the truth. I discharged myself within 6 weeks.

The fact that no one understand the root of why I was so scared of seemingly normal situations meant that no one could properly help give me the therapy that I needed, and I don’t want this to appear as a critique of CAMHS, or school, or my family who I know tried to do what they could, given the information they had.

As I joined secondary school my anxiety and panic attacks became more and more frequent. I would have to leave lessons almost every day, and would avoid the school toilets where possible.

Unfortunately one of the main symptoms that my emetophobia causes is nausea, and naturally this makes me worry even more that I will be sick. It becomes a vicious cycle.

Throughout my adolescent years I was in and out of doctors and hospitals multiple times as healthcare professionals tried to find the cause of my stomach pain and nausea. I had blood tests upon blood tests, I tried cutting out dairy, cutting out gluten, but nothing worked for me long term. The daily nausea persisted: from the moment I got out of bed to the moment I fell asleep at night.

During some of my worse periods I feared leaving the house entirely, in case I somehow became sick outside the safety of my home or in case I came into contact with someone else who was sick. I refused to go to school on a daily basis; until the age of 16 I would be dragged into school crying and screaming by my parents. By the time I was 17 and on study leave for my AS levels my school attendance had dropped below 50% and I was very depressed. My claustrophobia had turned into agoraphobia and being home alone during study leave had me spiralling into periods of psychosis, imagining voices and seeing imaginary figures around my house.

My parents and sisters tried desperately to find the source of what we all knew was just pure anxiety. I persevered with CAMHS until an unfortunate misdiagnosis of my emetophobia as anorexia. Only recently have I started to realise how much the emetophobia affects the way I treat food. I’ve always been naturally slim but, I think, during my school years I was subconsciously eating very little, for fear of feeling too full in case it made me feel sick. Between the ages of 16-18 I had an average BMI of 13.5 which, upon discovering, doctors believed was caused by anorexia. I’ve read recently of emetophobics who’ve become hospitalised; their fear of vomiting making them too scared to eat anything at all. I only wish that the mental health professionals I dealt with at 17 had known about other atypical eating disorders instead of quickly trying to label me with anorexia, which ultimately led me never to return to them (I did a full on running-out-of-the-CAMHS-building and never looked back).

By the time I was 18 I thought I’d exhausted every way of getting better. I had heard the phrase ‘fight or flight’ in reference to my panic attacks (if you know, you know) too many times to count and I was begging for someone, anyone to figure it out, so I didn’t have to tell them. I legitimately thought my daily panic attacks were normal, and that this giant secret that was gnawing away at my insides was going to be something I dealt with my whole adult life. The thought of being stuck like this made me even more depressed and my body was struggling to keep me healthy at such a low weight - I had severe (and recurring) bronchitis during my final year of school which led to me getting post-viral fatigue; I was completely exhausted. I was so tired of being tired all the time, I really felt close to giving up.

Whilst my friends were out experiencing their adolescence as they rightly should, I was instead being picked up from parties at 9pm, too scared to drink alcohol in case it made me sick, too scared of someone else being sick from over-drinking as was so common at teenage parties - unfortunately something I couldn’t always avoid. I wouldn’t touch cigarettes as I’d heard so many people say they’d been sick after trying their first one. I couldn’t, and still can’t, go to the cinema for fear of an unexpected and graphic vomit scene, or go to fairgrounds or theme parks. I’m still petrified of flying in case myself or anyone around me is sick. I couldn’t enjoy anything a normal teenager was supposed to and I became somewhat of a recluse.

During my final year of school I was attending a private therapist with my mother and sister (I was too anxious to be alone with strangers by this point.) It was around then that I started to crack, and they began to notice how I reacted when the word ‘vomit’ was mentioned - I would immediately leave the room, crying in panic. They’d always known I didn’t like being sick, but I don’t think anyone really knew the extent of the phobia, how it dominated my life each day.

At age 18, I was finally put on Citalopram to target my anxiety and panic disorder as well as the depression. I know that antidepressants do not work for everyone, but personally it changed my life. I’d been a shell of a person for the past 5 years, and I honestly think I would have just vanished had it not been for the medication. Alongside the relief of being honest with my family (and eventually friends) I dramatically became a fuller, happier version of myself. I finished school with three A Levels (something I am not sure anyone expected to happen only a year before) and even managed to go on holiday with my friends for a week (taking an aeroplane and even a dreaded coach!) Without the structure and pressure of school I really was a new person.

I started my Art Foundation at Oxford Brooke’s University in September 2015, and my exposure to lots of student drinking and therefore vomiting (other people’s as well as my own) dramatically helped me begin to overcome this phobia which has stolen half my life.

I’m in my final year of university now and living in London, and it hasn't been a completely smooth ride. I’ve had to switch medication twice now and I still struggle daily with public transport and the thought of being sick in public, but it’s definitely an improvement on where I was only 4 years ago, barely even living.

I still haven’t received any professional help or treatment besides my medication, for my emetophobia and that’s something I really want to do in the future, but I’m just trying to take small steps at the moment whilst I finish my degree. The thought of potentially having children (morning sickness, general kid sickness etc.) seems completely unattainable and terrifying to me, but one day I’d like to be brave enough to have the option.

I’m still recovering and I do have set backs, I’m still only just figuring out the extent of how much this phobia affects my daily life, but I do want to say that it is possible to get better. Age 11 I would have never dreamed of even telling someone about my phobia let alone be writing a public post on the internet like this, ten years later, but I think that’s probably why it’s so important that I do this. It’s not going to be easy, and I know the most obvious way forward for me is to get proper exposure therapy (gently exposing myself to sounds, television shows and movies featuring vomit etc.) but I do know for sure that I am going to beat this, one day, whatever it takes.

#emetophobia #emeto tw #emetophobic #mental health #mental disorder #positive mental attitude #tw ed

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