Annons
Annons
Annons
Some of my friends noticed there was something wrong when I got depressed – one said that my complexion had changed, that I just "didn't look well" – but previous to this very few people had any insight into my mental health. Those who know mostly found out because they happened to be around me while I was in the middle of a panic attack, at which point I believe I'm on the brink of filling the entire place with torrents of vomit and have run out of fucks to give.At these moments, when I'm trying to explain myself, everything comes out at lightning speed. I tell them I can't eat outside, that I limit my food, don't travel any more and that my life has been destroyed by my obsessions. While I'm babbling away, my eyes are fixed on the exit the entire time, weighing up whether it would be better to vomit in the room, in the toilet nearby or outside. If I go outside I might not make it in time, but if I stay here other people might see me vomit. Every eventuality is nightmarish. As my mind races, I'll continue telling them about the panic out of desperation, somehow hoping that, in telling them, the fear will melt away. That I will look less insane if I just explain myself. Then, once the panic has subsided, I get swept up in the immediate regret of letting someone else know about my phobia.The idea of death was, and to a much lesser extent now still is, more tolerable to me than vomiting
Annons
Annons