It's Going to be a Long, Sad Night

I had a major argument with a close friend this evening. I say "close friend" but I'm not sure that either of those labels are applicable after our last exchange. I've been progressively spiralling for reasons unrelated to emet and confided in my go-to confidant. I was uncharacteristically vulnerable and simply needed to be heard; instead, it was garnished with insults and thrown back in my face.

Now, I feel dreadfully nauseous. I'm not anxious about it, I know that this nausea is the product of my emotions; not that I can really make sense of that swirling chaos right now.

Stress is a trigger for my abdominal migraines, and lord help me if I get one of those the neighbours will think I'm shooting a horror movie. The pain of a migraine localised entirely within your stomach; the accompanying attempts to vomit that prove physically impossible—when I begin to scream from the pain, it's time to summon the ambulance.

Forgive me, I sound awfully melodramatic; no wonder my bygone friendship is no longer thriving. It surely won't surprise you to hear that "pompous pr__k" was among the bouquet of rebarbatives that preceded my departure.

And it's okay if you agree, if with even this barest of context you sympathise with my long-suffering former friend. If you surely think that I deserve the intensifying nausea that is keeping me from my bed, and the anxious waiting for it to escalate, or not.

I just needed somebody to hear me this evening; I had nowhere else to turn, I'm ashamed to say. If you've read this far then you have my sincere gratitude. It's a comforting thought to know that there's someone else out there who has some sense of what I'm going through right now; who won't just insult me for feeling sick.

Thanks for listening, Pogo