From November to February, I am pretty much incapable of leaving my house. I spend my days curled up on my bedroom floor punctuated by trips to the bathroom to wash my hands over and over again. Every few hours I burst into tears, shaking uncontrollably and dreading having to go through the same thing tomorrow.
I am deathly afraid of vomiting. Actually, it’s worse than that. I’ve often said I’d rather die than be sick: it seems extreme, but that’s exactly what the problem is.
I have emetophobia, which is an extreme fear of being physically sick. The term comes from the Greek word “emetikos” meaning “to vomit”’. Emetophobia is thought to be quite rare – sufferers make up around 0.1 per cent of the population. Of course, no one likes being sick. But would everyone rather die than throw up? Would everyone rather wash their hands red-raw or not leave the house for months for fear of catching a bug? That’s the difference between dislike and a phobia; one is manageable and the other is life-inhibiting.
I was 15 when I was diagnosed with emetophobia and it has taken me to the edge of my sanity. I am constantly balancing between rationality and psychosis, and occasionally the scales tip in favour of the latter. Once, in the height of anxiety, I stripped my childhood bedroom bare. I took every poster off the wall and every ornament from the shelves. I had convinced myself that everything I owned was contaminated and that if I didn’t remove it, I would be sick.
Even in the moment, I knew that my behaviour wasn’t normal, nor would my actions prevent sickness. However, once I had made the connection between my belongings and my possibly being sick, I couldn’t be around them anymore.
The main things that activate my phobia, other than feeling sick myself, include someone saying that a sickness bug is going around, telling me they have been around someone who was sick, or saying they feel nauseous. I abhor the depths of winter when illnesses are rife. I try to avoid bugs as if my life depends on it because, to my mind, it does.
My life is dictated by whether anyone I know or have come into contact with, has been unwell. If that is the case, so begins a self-isolation that can last anywhere from five days to a few weeks.
Last week, I was at a friend’s house for dinner. He disappeared for 10 minutes and came back stating he was feeling unwell. Stupidly, I asked, “Do you feel sick?” – another frustrating thing about phobias: morbid curiosity always wins. He responded, “Yeah.” That was the end of dinner.
I excused myself, powering towards the door before anyone understood what was happening. My poor boyfriend trailed behind me muttering apologies. I was in shock as we drove home: shaking, hyperventilating and disassociating from my body.
I haven’t left the house since we got back. I have long memorised the gestation period for sickness bugs and it takes about three days (plus another two just for safety) before I can even contemplate leaving the bathroom and resuming my normal eating habits.
So how do I cope with this debilitating fear? Honestly, some days I don’t. My coping methods consist of mindfulness colouring books, breathing techniques and my very understanding boyfriend. He does the food shopping and runs errands that are out of my designated safety zone. And bless him, he doesn’t comment when I anti-bac my phone for the fifth time in a day.
That’s why it’s easier to just stay inside. Risking the outside world at this time of year is not worth the anxiety that follows. Winter is a beautiful season of joy, togetherness, and time spent with friends… but it’s also a season of illness and germs, so I’ll just catch up with everyone in March.
