Burgers anyone?

I had felt sick since that drink from the water fountain.

So I'm walking home and it hits me. Halfway through the 45 minute trek, as the gag reflex kicks in, I plug my nose, hold my hand over my mouth, and manage to keep myself from losing my lunch all over the sidewalk in view of the entire neighborhood.

I couldn't believe it.

I didn't throw up! And just because I had covered my mouth and plugged my nose!

I was never going to throw up again, ever! I had discovered the secret trick. Who knew it was so simple? Maybe this was my new mutant power I had been waiting to develop! I smiled to myself the whole way home.

I was eleven. It was November. Sixth grade was tough, but throwing up? I had that completely under control.

The next 3 days I must have run to the toilet about 10 times, and not just to pee. I felt so defeated. What about the trick I learned? It worked when walking home, but it sure didn't work that evening during reruns of The Golden Girls.

Following those 3 days of pure joy, I made a vow. I had clearly lost the magic I had the other day, but I promised myself and God (no, really) that I would never, EVER throw up again. No matter what.

That promise lasted a solid 15 and a half years.

Anyone who knows me decently well knows that I am deathly, and I do mean deathly afraid of throwing up. I actually would rather die. You know in Lord of the Rings when the ring is being forged at the beginning of the movie? I would rather have that same hot, molten metal poured into my eyes, while rabid wolves tear violently at my rib cage to reach my beating heart than throw up one time in the next hundred years. That or a quick bullet to the back of the head, whichever is more convenient at the moment.

Last Saturday my family invited me over for a bbq. I saw the pictures of the last bbq on my mom's blog and got jealous. Dad was fixing burgers and I hadn't been over there in a few weeks, so why not? As usual I was a bundle of exploding energy, running around outside with my sisters, throwing rocks at the neighbor kids, charging up and down the hallway with the dogs, and pretty much just being me.

We eat outside on the deck with the new...canopy thing, and basically just have a good time. Eatin' outside, makin' up songs with Leah, watchin' the dogs eat mosquito hawks, you know? After a good burger, what's better than watching Shrek 3? Hadn't seen it yet, so hey I'm down.

About...oh 30 minutes into the movie, my stomach is killing me. Nobody better touch me cause I must have eaten too much. It keeps getting worse. Man I really do feel sick, this is weird.

The peach cobbler's ready to eat, so everyone except me scoops heaping helpings into bowls and smack after smack, devours the sticky, slimy peachyness. I can hear the cobbler squishing in their mouths, I can feel the moist peaches in my mouth and I'm not even eating it. Its grossing me out. I can't take anymore.

"I have to go to the bathroom"

For ten minutes I sit in front of the toilet.

"There's no way, there's no way. I'm fiiiiiiine. I'll be ooohhhkay."

"Don't....don't woooorry Ry, you're not gonna throw up, it's all in your head."

.....

Ok, I feel really....light. No....heavy. What's this strange feeling, it's like...there's this mist in the bathroom. Is that smoke? I can't really see very clearly right now. Why do I hear a high pitch... whistling? Mom's not making tea, she never makes tea. Maybe....maybe if I just smile I'll be ok. (Please keep in mind my fear right now. Don't laugh)

I smile. I'm in a happy place, yeah. This is just fine, just wait...wait...it out....it'll.........paaassss. No, no ok this is real, no no no no

Those hamburgers didn't taste as good the second time.

Or the third.

The fourth.

aaaand the fifth.

......

It's funny how under normal circumstances I avoid touching the toilet like the plague. Anything other than my butt cheeks are absolutely off limits. Even flushing it is a bit gross for me. So why is it that in your most vulnerable moment, you will lay your head on the toilet seat. Not even the lid, the INSIDE of the toilet. You know the place we like to pretend pee doesn't collect on. I had absolutely no qualms with my hair and my face touching every bit of that filthy, germ invested monster (my parent's toilet is actually very clean as toilet's go, but still...gross).

Writing this made me realize I owe someone an apology. So...

I'm sorry God. I broke my promise.