Wednesday, April 06, 2005
| Night Vomit: or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb I woke up on Monday morning and felt very odd. I smoked a cigarette, showered, and got dressed for work hoping that it would dissipate. By the time I was half-way through my second cigarette the panic started to set in. I quickly glanced at the door and the jaws of anxiety opened up and swallowed me whole. I called work and told them that I had a stomach ache and then I got back in bed, not emerging until 4pm. Yesterday when I got to work, everyone was like “How’s your stomach? Are you okay? Will you possibly survive the day?” I didn’t feel comfortable telling them that I stayed home due to my constant bout with depression, so I went along with the sick stomach theory. “Oh man, I’m so nauseous; I don’t even know why I came in today.” When lunch time rolled around, all I wanted was two greasy slices of pizza, but since “my stomach was bothering me so much” I had to sip on seltzer water and nibble on crackers instead. The crackers actually tasted pretty good, but by the time 5pm came my stomach was growling with an angry hunger. After work I went over to Ari’s to hang out for a bit. 6pm turned into 7pm and 7pm turned into 10pm and then the double bottle of wine that I brought over was gone – mostly consumed by my drunk ass. Ari walked me to a cab and I threw myself into it. Although I was completely in the can, I felt strangely alert and decided to make a few phone calls to my friends. I left some messages and then ended up on the phone with my friend, Angie. We talked for a few minutes as I sped over the FDR in a cab. The driver was swaying back and forth and all of a sudden I felt chills running up and down my spine. “Angie, I have to go right now.” “Why? Are you okay?” “I’ll call you back”. I quickly hung up the phone and sat in the cab, taking very slow and purposeful breaths. The driver veered off the highway and entered the side streets of downtown Manhattan. “Sir, can you pull the cab over, I think I’m going to be sick”. “What? What did you say?” “Pull the cab over, I’m going to throw up!” “What do you mean? Were you drinking?” “Pull the cab over right now or I’m going to throw up all over your backseat!!!!” With that the driver pulled up to the corner and I jumped out. Within seconds, vomit spewed from my mouth and covered the ground. I held on to the cab with one hand and let loose. Over and over, I puked onto the sidewalk. After a few deep breaths, I got back in the cab and sat down. “I’m very sorry about that, but I didn’t want to get sick in your cab.” “No problem at all, I’m just glad you told me you were going to puke.” He continued to drive me home. I sat in the backseat humiliated. I called Angie and explained what happened. She immediately wanted to come down to my apartment to make sure I was ok. “I’m fine. I just need to drink a glass of water and eat something. I’ll be ok.” “Ok, but if you need me, just let me know.” I hung up the phone, took the elevator up to my apartment and marveled at the fact that only 12 hours ago I was dealing with a “fake stomach ache”. Karma. It’s a bitch. |
