I’m ill. I haven’t felt this sick in a long time. It’s like I’m having a chainsaw going rampage in my stomach, or a hammer is trying to slam all my internal organs upwards. I’m nauseous, and that’s awful. Really awful. Because I have emetophobia. For those of you who don’t know: emetophobia is the fear of throwing up. I must NOT throw up. It’s forbidden. I’m now quietly sitting at my desk, breathing as little as possible through my nose. I’m also taking small sips of water.

Last time I felt this sick, was when I was around 9 years old. I wanted to change the world, so I decided I only needed to become all powerful. I knew exactly how to get it done. It was a sunny spring day and I was in the back yard. I knew superpowers didn’t exist. However, that might be the case because no one ever did the right thing in order to get superpowers. I felt that with my intelligence and potential to become a professor, I was going to be the one to do it. I would get superpowers that day. And then change the world.

All I had to do, was do things that no one in the world ever did before until I did the thing that spontaneously appears to give one superpowers.

So I gathered some stones, put them in the center of my sandbox, and ran around them in circles. First a few circles clockwise – then a few counterclockwise. Nothing happened, so apparently, none of this was the thing that would give me superpowers. So I invited the 6 year old kid next door to sit in the middle of the sandbox while I’d run in circles around him. Maybe there shouldn’t be stones in the middle, but a person. I must admit, the idea took me back for a moment. If I accidentally did the thing that gives someone superpowers, it could also be the other person who ends up accidentally getting superpowers! I took the risk and tried anyway. He did as I asked and I ran in circles around him. First a few circles clockwise – then a few counterclockwise. I ran with arms up, arms sideways, arms down. It confused my friend, but that was because I didn’t tell him I was trying to get superpowers. Nothing happened. That’s when I began to realize how infinitely many things you could do that were never done before.

I didn’t give up.

I dug holes in the ground in the hope to accidentally find some kind of magical rock that would give me superpowers.

I rambled long, non-existing, garbage words, in the hope to accidentally say the magic spell that would give me superpowers.

I wrote “superpowers” on a piece of paper and buried it in my cat’s litterbox, because surely no one ever came up with the idea of having your wish fulfilled by burying it in a litterbox.

Then it hit me. It was so simple I felt stupid I couldn’t come up with it before.

I had to brew a magic potion.

The magic potion would simply be a combination of ingredients surely no one ever came up with before. My back yard was full of different plants and I figured that as long as I’d follow my instinct, I would automatically gravitate towards the right herbs. So I let destiny guide me, I gathered many leaves and berries, ground them together in a bowl, pressed juice from them, and collected all of it in an empty perfume bottle I found at home, because perfume bottles already look the part when it comes to magical potions. It wasn’t finished yet. It was missing one important ingredient.

That’s it! Of course! How could I have been so blind?

Powdered rocks.

The moment was there. The world was never going to be the same again. I ad-libbed a weird magic spell, and gulped down the entire bottle. It was the worst taste imaginable, but it was worth getting superpowers.

Ten minutes after, the aftertaste was gone and I felt great! I tried lifting my house but it didn’t work so I (and the world) had to be patient.

Twenty minutes after that, however, I felt horrible. It started with sharp stings in my stomach, turning into a terrible, burning pain and nausea. I went to bed and had to remain there for two days. My parents didn’t know what was going on, because I kept the magic potion a secret. Superheroes have secret identities, after all.

I never got my superpowers. I got emetophobia.

I’m feeling much better right now, but still not good enough to lift a house.

It’s Monday, at 10.45 am. I’m sitting in my practice room, constantly looking outside, sipping from my fifth cup of Earl Grey tea with a drop of lemon juice. My cup is blue. I’m rocking back and forth as I’m writing this. The day has only just begun. After the weekend, I start a little bit later because it takes ages for me and my motivation to boot up. Mondays are hard – especially when my first client of the week has yet to arrive.

Like right now.

I just stopped doing the back and forth rocking. After all this tea, I should be somewhat energetic and even excited right now, but my head is all chaos.

What on Earth am I going to talk about when he’s here? What am I supposed to say the moment he enters the room? What was my plan for this session again? What if there’s going to be an awkward silence and I don’t know what to say? What if the blur I now have in my head persists for the entire duration of the coming session?

Chaos.

Chaos.

Chaos.

My heart is pounding, hands are moist, my eyes feel like I could actually cry. I remind myself that pretty much all of my sessions go well. Emperical evidence proves that I’m actually a great therapist. But I just said it. Pretty much all of my sessions go well. That’s not the same as always. However, Joseph has so far always been a satisfied client. Crap. So far always has been. That means this time could be the first disaster. Alright this isn’t helping. Everything is a total nightmare.

And that ticking clock, reminding me that time waits for no one! I can already imagine the moment that God awful sound of the doorbell blasts through the room. Doo-doong! Doo-doong! Doo-doong! The very thought of it and its inevitability is enough to drive me insane right now. I feel like escaping from all this. Escaping to anywhere but here.

Alright, that settles it. I’m officially unable to do this session. I should focus on the many positive possibilities.

Joseph might have forgotten about our appointment, or he’ll call in sick at the last moment. Maybe he’s had an accident on his way here. That would mean I won’t have to talk to anyone for a whole hour. Heck, if he’s dead, then all future appointments with him would be automatically cancelled!

And if nothing happens to Joseph, there’s always the possibility of something happening to me. I’m extremely anxious. If the anxiety builds up far enough, I might get a heart attack which is one hell of an excuse to cancel all appointments for the time being. Or forever, depending on the type of heart attack.

One can only hope.

Oh crap, I think that’s actually his car parking outside right now. Nonononononononono

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The session went fine.