I Don’t Mean To Make Things Hard
TW: Emetophobia
I don’t mean to make things hard, but there are things I can’t make easy.
Case in point: I absolutely love my family’s dog. He’s the sweetest, kindest pup who is known for couch snuggling, lap warming, injury healing, and squeak yawning, before he hurt his trachea.
Therein lies the problem - not only does he not make adorable squeaking noises anymore, but he also makes horrible noises instead, noises that would signal vomiting from any other animal. It’s like a wet cough, grumbly and gargling. He hacks away several times, sticking his tongue far out of his mouth and smacking his lips.
In the beginning, I thought that every time I heard the sound, it meant that he had thrown up, and my instant response was to get away from wherever he was as quickly as possible, even if I felt very guilty about it. I soon realized that even though he makes the sound many, many times a day, it is rare for something to actually come out of his mouth. By dumb luck, I tend to actually see when things come out of his mouth, which is always the worst.
His problem is closest to reflux - if he eats or drinks too quickly (which he does a fair amount, as he’s part Golden Retriever), he might cough some up. Rationally, I’m completely aware that that has nothing to do with the stomach, nor would anything he does ever get me sick since A. he’s not actually sick and B. he’s a dog.
Still, though, whenever I hear my dog make that sound, I instantly get out of the room or turn away as quickly as possible so I don’t have to see anything. Once it’s done, I hesitantly look over at the floor in front of him - usually, there’s nothing, but I’ve wound up in a position before where I’m either alone with him when he does it or I’m the first one to discover the mess.
Even though I know that he wouldn’t be able to make me sick, I still instinctively feel fear when I hear the noise. It feels like a fight-or-flight response, even though I know there’s nothing he can do to hurt me. And after he’s done coughing and looks over at me with his big brown eyes, usually wondering why I’ve stopped petting him, I feel very guilty. I feel even worse when I’m home alone with him and he does spit something up, and I literally can’t get closer to him.
If I’m not home alone - or the second either of my parents gets home, if they’re away - I call for them to take care of the mess. I’m ashamed of it, even more so because my mom is also emetophobic. As someone who tries to make things easier on people around me by doing the best I can with what’s going on in my head, I feel awful when I have to share the burden with those around me. I’m sure it would be a lot easier for my parents if I could stop myself from flinching or being afraid or making them clean up a disgusting mess, but so far, I haven’t been able to.
When I was a kid, I was always conscious of making other people’s lives harder. I knew, even as I spiraled out of control again and again, that there was only so much I could do, and that there was a burden to people around me. I could trust that the people who really loved me - like my family - would be willing to deal with it, but somehow I convinced myself that I needed to be the least burdensome person possible in order to be the best version of myself.
Now that I’m an adult, this has somehow translated into needing to feel unburdensome in order to make the people around me happy. I do my best to hide if there’s anything abnormal going on in my head, and things only tend to bubble over if it’s something extreme - 99% of the time, it has to deal with either medical things or emetophobia. I’m ashamed and embarrassed whenever this side of me comes out, but I know that I have people on my side who are willing to listen and care.
I’m also blessed to have my almost-15-year-old dog still in my life. I try to cherish every moment with him, even if his noises frighten me, and for his sake, I do my best to get back to petting him as soon as I can after one of his spit-up incidents. Even if this isn’t the kind of exposure that will help me fight my fear of vomiting, it’s still worth it to have such a loving and kind dog who accepts me, even when I make things hard.
Ellie, a writer new to the Chicago area, was diagnosed with OCD at age 3. She hopes to educate others about her condition and end the stigma against mental illness.