I thought I would share with everyone the worst experiences I have had with v*. They are not pretty, so please don't read if they will cause you anxiety.


First, when I was 6 years old, my 5 month old baby brother developed a condition that made him projectile v* across the room. It had something to do with a stomach valve that did not function properly. I can't recall the name of the condition. "Something" stenosis, I think. Anyway, I remember my parents taking him to the hospital. I was staring out my bedroom window, feeling very scared and very alone. I had no concept of what was wrong with my brother. I just remember being so scared. He had an operation that fixed the problem, but that doesn't stick in my memory. I would bet that this was the event that triggered my emet.


The other really horrible experience with v* that I had happened a few years ago. Guess what? It involved my brother again! Of course, I had now been living with my phobia since I was 6, but I had successfully avoided anything too traumatic since that age. Well, that changed when my brother and I went out one night to a bar. I was feeling pretty good, but only drank half a glass of vodka an orange juice because my brother was drinking heavily and someone needed to be sober to drive. The really interesting thing was that I was not even worried about my brother drinking until we got in the car and I started to drive home. I am driving, driving and my brother is talking, talking. Then, quite suddenly, he became VERY quiet. That is when I started getting SCARED.


I would glance over at him, heart racing, hands clenched tightly on the wheel. He looked GREEN. He would put his hand on the dashboard, as if to steady himself, and tell me to slow down. Of course, by this time I was in a complete state of panic, so instead of slowing down, I speeded up! I just wanted to get home and get AWAY FROM HIM, before he got sick.


It wasn't going to happen. I hear this noise, this horrible gagging, wet noise coming from him. You all know what I am talking about. So I jerkily pull over to the side of the road so he can do you know what. I am shaking, hands over my ears, crying, "Please, I just want to be home," over and over again. I somehow managed to get almost all the way home, having to pull over a couple of times for him to do his business. But I reached a point where I just SNAPPED. I couldn't take it anymore. I left my brother on the side of the road, keys in the ignition, car running, as I walked, crying hysterically the rest of the way home.


A couple of hours later my brother arrived at the house with the car. He was FURIOUS at me. At the time, I was furious at myself. I felt guilty, ashamed, like I was a pathetic loser. But since I have been in therapy, I have learned that I did the best I could that night. I lasted longer in that car than I would have ever given myself credit for. That is what I needed to remember.


Anyway, those are my two stories. I would love to hear other's horrible experiences. I am sure lots of you have ones that are much worse than mine. I also think that talking about them can help you to feel better.