I have been feeling a little sick over the past few days.

This is not a good thing.

The last time I was sick was the big d-day; the final swansong before I waved goodbye to a friend that I knew was killing me.

I realised, of course, that there’d be times when I might be ill, or instances when I’d find myself bending over the toilet again, whether I liked it or not; but, I didn’t anticipate the sudden stirring of memories that the once familiar taste of bile would evoke.

Like a horror film, with the flash-lighted-frozen-framed images getting closer and closer, the throbbing in my neck and the somersaulting of my stomach have triggered a slideshow in my head –

And it starts like this.

Ten past eight in the morning and a school toilet and a scrawny thirteen year old who’s holding her breath until the door closes behind the last person because she’s just realised that a finger down the throat will take away the fear of the yoghurt that’s been messing with her head –

- 1995 and the sudden liberation following the post-meal supervision and a desperate attempt to dig out anything that has been consumed during the day because fighting is imperative, and not trying would be given in –

– 1998 with cracked knuckles and blistered lips and the burning taste of thick yellow bile, because the last pasta spiral is lodged, somewhere, and my head won’t leave it alone –

- university lectures and half a bottle of mouthwash to swill away the smell that might reveal me and a hefty spray of deodorant, because nobody must ever know -

- 2001 and a carefully folded pile of clothes and a bag of empty wrappers; and, a skeleton, clinging on to the wheelchair bar to the right of hospital toilets because it’s just the right height to hold her up, and she’s reeling from the force and exhausted from the effort -

- rolled up trousers and turned back sleeves and a short sharp heave before its back to the office –

- hours and evenings and days, spent eating myself into oblivion; with the TV turned up to drown out the thunderous noise of the vomit shuddering through the sewage system and splattering across the walls –

- 1997 and falling asleep on the bathroom floor because my heads spinning and spinning and spinning and I just want to sleep now –

- sneezing blood and dreaming of throwing up teeth –

– waiting for the night nurse to pass by with the flashlight in 2006, because the desperation to throw up is whispering in my ear and making me jump every time my body tries to fall asleep, and there’s a ten minute interval between the checks -

- 2005. A deep breath and a quick stomach flick –

When I started this blog, I said that I wouldn’t visit these places again. No gory details, I promised, no giving up more time to the things that have stolen enough. Keep it clean.

There are some things that you can’t forget, however hard you try.

There are some experiences, that need to be captured, in order to be released –

And some times, when it’s okay to cry, bitterly, for the things that you have suffered; because it means that you’re feeling sympathy for yourself – rather than hate.

This is one of those times; because, whether I like it or not, I am probably going to be ill, at some point; and whether it’s pretty, or not, it’s important to acknowledge what happened –

- because I might be able to let it go properly then.

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2 Responses to “Sick”

  1. Michelle says:

    very inspiring. the gory details are not gory-they just are motivation why i, myself, would never go back to that ugly place. thanks for reminding me of that. :)

  2. melissa says:

    Thank you – a little scary; but, reminded myself too!