Here is the story of my worst panic attack ever while battling with emetophobia on public transport:
It started as a relaxing weekend to stay at a friend’s house who lives about an hour away, just an hour away, ended in a nightmare. Saying goodbye on our last day, we shared a margherita pizza for late lunch and around 7 pm I boarded the bus for my journey home.
However, what started as a normal trip quickly took an ugly turn. About halfway through the ride, a familiar but strong wave of nausea washed over me. Panic rising, I knew I couldn’t stay on the bus. I pressed the stop button, disembarked at the next stop, and my legs barely carried me to the bench. The nausea intensified, and I felt weak and overwhelmed.
Taking deep breaths, I pulled out my safety kit, desperately seeking relief, ginger, anti-nausea sickness, pinching my skin… you name it I tried it all. As I sat there, helpless against the churning in my stomach, an hour passed in what felt like an eternity. Slowly, a flicker of improvement. With newfound hope, I boarded the next bus, eager to reach home.
But the moment the bus started moving, the feeling returned. The fear of throwing up intensified, forcing me to abandon the bus after just two stops. Exhausted, scared, and utterly defeated, I stood there at the bus stop, the darkness and cold adding to my desolation.
Taking a deep breath, I made a tough decision. Hailing an Uber felt like a gamble, and the thought of being trapped in a car with the potential of getting sick again was unbearable. With no other choice, I faced the reality of a 1 hour and 20-minute walk to the nearest train station.
As I walked, the fresh air and the rhythm of my steps slowly began to ease the anxiety. My nausea subsided, and a sense of determination replaced despair. After what felt like an eternity, I reached the train station, took the train, and finally arrived home, well past midnight.
The next day, exhaustion weighed heavily on me, a stark reminder of the toll my phobia had taken. I could have been home by 8 pm, enjoying a well-deserved rest. Instead, this event had added over 3 hours to my journey, leaving me feeling like a crippled.
That night, as I lay in bed, I felt a deep sense of despair. Experiencing my phobia in such a debilitating way highlighted the significant limitations it imposed on my life.
While I’ve experienced more physically intense panic attacks, this one stayed in my memory, I think because I felt so vulnerable and isolated in the street and because it impacted my self-esteem so much because I couldn’t reach my home like a normal person would do. It served as a stark illustration of the complex and far-reaching impact of emetophobia.
And you, what is your worst emetophobia story?
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