Levels of Stress

Level Seven

I lie in my bed, facing the ceiling in pure agony. Just opening my eyes was a tremendous effort, never mind eating with my stomach wanting to turn inside out.

I couldn't even keep meds down that awful day spent alternating from bedroom to bathroom. Along with the lack of sleep, my head was sure to have a fit of anxiety tonight. Hourly trips to the toilet to vomit took the life out of me bit by bit. Not only was I psychically empty, but emotionally as well. I drank water to give my stomach something to bring up and to remove the acidic taste from my mouth.

I had already been dropping in weight by tens of pounds, but I'd never been lower than 90. It actually hurt to put food in my mouth. Even before I caught this stomach bug, if someone saw me not eating, I would believably swallow down food and flush it down later in the day. It wasn't that I was trying to lose weight, because I wasn't heavy. I just didn't have a reason to eat.

The pain in my chest would come in waves. I'd lie in bed and concentrate on welcoming the pain, letting it run it's own course. I allowed it free access to my body so that, like some wolf sniffing me out, it might gradually grow bored of me and amble away. It left me alone and exhausted, but alive.

After half of the day, trips to the toilet became less frequent as I had nothing to give to it. The pain in my stomach subsided to the pain in my head. "How wonderful" I growled to myself.

Some pain, like the pain of a needle, is so specific: it announces itself in no uncertain matter. Often times, I tried to balance the pain out with the rest of my aching body, a sort of negotiation which I'd isolate one section at a time. I'd lie there and list away the parts that didn't hurt, then convince myself that neither did the parts that did hurt.

The pain centered in my head was the most difficult to deal with, certainly I'd known that from having all of my mental issues. It's one thing to ignore your arms or ignore your stomach, but ignoring your head is not so simple. Your head demands for attention and is so persistent that it won't shut up until you give in to it.

I did something I never do on a normal day, I fell asleep. Even at night, insomnia ate at my brain and forced me to stay awake. I couldn't sleep and couldn't not sleep. Obviously now, my body was too tired to try and put up a fight. So, I took naps, only to be awaken before I got sick again.

I felt too sick or lazy to try any methods that were give to reduce the stress. My arms were too weak to lift high enough to play any instrument. My legs couldn't carry me to anywhere but the bathroom, so football was out of the picture. I couldn't even sing, my throat pushed out a weak note, foreign to my body.

There was absolutely no way I would invite a friend over to keep me company. If this sickness is contagious, I would never forgive myself for giving it to someone. I felt I was a nuisance to my friends, bothering them with my problems before that could deal with their own. I stayed quiet and to myself, just how I liked it. I didn't even want to talk over the phone in fear that my weakliness might show through.

I hated pity. Every part of me despises the amount of times people have told me "I'm sorry". I developed the power to make someone feel bad for me and it was not a good feeling. I was tired of answering the common "How are you?" with "Okay". Therefore, I did whatever it took to not speak to anybody.

Eventually, when I was strong enough to stand again, I walked back into the bathroom and opened up the medicine cabinet. Countless bottles of anxiety and depression pills stared me in the face, my oxygen mask mocking me on the shelf above. I leaned against the rim of the sink and shamefully have in to them, looking down from their smirking faces.

I knew I had failed myself. I felt a wave crawl up from my stomach and up to my throat. It wasn't the feeling of needing to vomit, it was a sob. For the first time in a while, I broke down into tears. I knowingly sent myself into level eight.

Level Seven: Sick to Your Stomach Stressed