shutup

12:23pm You're exhausted, and you blame it on the stupid burrito. Your boring office job is exactly that, boring, but spending the day at a computer answering emails and redirecting phone calls was better than physical labor on days like today. Your stomach has been grumbling all day, but you're not really hungry, nothing sounds particularly good. You had a sleeve of graham crackers in your drawer at work, you've had a few this morning. They're good dipped in coffee, but both are rather dehydrating. Your favorite coworker came in with a big gulp full of nugget ice and gave you half. The cold water has been nice, but it's done little to solve how dry your mouth has been. You've made a cup of ramen for lunch, you're hoping that the warm and the salt will help you get through. Cup noodles aren't exactly your ideal lunch, but it's the least amount of effort and the least amount of chewing you can do, so you settle for it. You manage about half before your lunch break is over and you bin the remains.

2:00pm You hate this meeting. You hate this meeting so much. This is the most this could have been an email meeting you've ever attended in your entire life. It's virtual, which is good you suppose because that restlessness from this morning is back. You can look composed on camera, but your feet are tapping and you're not sure what exactly is wrong. You're thankful that you don't have to do much talking in this meeting, but the ramen did little to fix the dry mouth situation. If anything all the sodium bloated you. You've been to the bathroom three times trying to get rid of some of it, but all the liquid remains sloshing around in your stomach. You stifle a burp behind your fist and try to concentrate.

4:45pm Your boss left fifteen minutes ago, so you're going to leave fifteen minutes early. The sloshing in your stomach hasn't gone away, and you're too embarrassed to ask a coworker for antacid. You want to get out of here early, try to get home before the traffic gets too horrible. You just want to go lie down.

5:20pm You toe your shoes off as you lean against your door because you know that if you bent over right now you might be sick. The last ten minutes of your drive have been stressful, your stomach hasn't been enjoying the stop and go of traffic. You've been trying to keep it settled with breathing and small sips of your cold water, but your burps have been getting wetter and wetter. The three flights of stairs up to your apartment have done little to settle your stomach, and you are so thankful that you've made it home before getting any worse. You make your way to your bedroom and get out of your uncomfortable work clothes in exchange for your largest and most comfortable pajamas. You feel another burp ripple up through your chest, but your hand springs to your mouth when your stomach heaves. The back of your throat is cold, water unsettled from the drive home. You know things aren't going to get better, you make your way to the bathroom.

You settle onto the bathroom floor, a shiver running up your spine as you lift the toilet seat lid up. You run your hand over your bloated stomach and the groan that leaves your mouth is involuntary. You burp once, twice, three times. They're wet, but have no power. Your stomach gurgles under your hand, that shiver returns. You burp again, deeper this time. You're nearly sick, but nothing more than some spit comes out. You wonder how long it will be before your stomach finally gives way. The restlessness has not left you all afternoon, you know you need to stay planted but you're itching to move. Your hands run along your stomach as you hover in front of the toilet bowl, trying your best to relieve your aching stomach of the gas that's been building. It hurts, you moan. You burp once more, wetter, and the liquid in your throat doesn't choke off or leave. You can't cough, so you heave, and a torrent of cold water splashes down into the toilet below you. You try to catch your breath, but a bubble of air has rolled from your belly button and up through your esophagus. You burp, and more liquid erupts and splashes below you as your stomach heaves twice.

You try to catch your breath, but the contents of your stomach have shifted. The pressure in your chest is trying to keep your throat closed. There is a pressure growing in your stomach, your hand along its side can feel the way the liquids don't seen to slosh anymore, but stand ready for expulsion. You gulp down a breath of air, you burp. There is silence where you're waiting for a breath, but the pressure in your stomach has grown and it has won. You heave once, then twice. There's noodles in this one.

You have a moment to catch your breath. You're able to fill your lungs for the price of a belch, but a harmless one. Dry, forceful, and short, you hope they help regain balance in your stomach, but after only two or three belches liquid found their way up. You burp up a mouthful, your tongue dangling with drool. You think you've cured your dry mouth from all this morning before your stomach retches and forces out more than you knew had been inside of it. You struggle to catch your breath and force up a few smaller waves as you try and clear your throat. Your stomach aches, and you try to settle. You haven't eaten much today, there is no way you can have any more in your stomach to vomit up. Still, you're not confident enough to leave your position in the bathroom yet.

You feel weak, hot and cold at the same time, and you know that even though it made no sense, more was to come. You burp, and your stomach retches some more liquid up. You wonder when this was from, how it got here. It's warm and a little bitter, but it doesn't hurt your throat in the way coffee or bile would. You breathe heavy and your stomach gurgles again. You put your hand on your stomach and feel how unsettled it is. You begin to burp, and you can not stop. One after the other, you're choking on them and then another torrent of vomit, followed by a second so powerful your face is halfway down the toilet bowl. You breathe, you heave, you spit into the bowl. You're a little bit dizzy, but as you breathe and steady yourself, you feel as though the worst of it might be over. You spend several more minutes on the floor of your bathroom making sure your stomach was truly finished, and you begin to feel much better. You wonder what had kept it so upset in the first place.

2:36am The ripple that tears its way through your gut is both an auditory warning of what's to come and a pain that sends you curled into yourself. Your body feels heavy, as does your stomach. You took it easy last night, you ate soft foods-mashed potatoes and some pasta. You drank water, you took it slow. You were feeling fine tonight. Throwing up earlier had really helped, but now you're not so certain that assessment was accurate. Your stomach feels hard, and it flinches when you run your fingers along it. Your feet spring to action, you know you don't have much time and you'd rather not get sick in your bed or on your floor. You feel your throat trying to open up, prepare itself for the sick that will be making its way up momentarily. You try not to think about it too much, you settle onto the bathroom floor again.

Things are quiet. For several seconds things are quiet as you hover in the darkness over the bowl of your toilet. Your stomach hangs heavy, though it continues to twitch, trying to heave itself higher. Your mouth hangs open and you let out a little whine. Your stomach contracts, and several waves of sick force themselves out of you. You settle, but only momentarily. Your stomach heaves again, and more sick spews out of you without you having much say in the matter. You hope it will be over soon, you hope it will make you feel better.

The bloat and ache won’t move. Blaine starts to realize their stomach is upset, moreso than it might usually be from that amount of dairy. Still, it’s not surprising. They did still drink a glass of milk, and have a plate of cookies. It stands to reason that their stomach might have a little bit of a hard time handling that.

Blaine takes in a long breath through their mouth, then out through their nose with a glance towards the coffee table. Their plate still has a couple of crumbs, the glass a smear of milk, and their stomach gurgles again.

“Okay,” they murmur, rubbing their hand across their lower guts. They can feel a sluggish churn ripple through their tummy there, and they groan, readjusting again on the sofa, restless still. “Just dairy stuff. Just gotta let it digest.”

But a few minutes of scrolling later, during which Blaine is hardly able to focus on what they’re reading, the growing upset in their stomach still isn’t easing up. The uncomfortable fullness is becoming heavier, gassier, and tighter, and they shift again, trying to stretch the tightness bloating under their ribs.

“Ugh,” they groan, rubbing a slow circle over their bloated stomach. “Just need to let it settle.”

A low, wet gurgle answered them, and they grimace, shifting again as a churn rolled through their belly. A sour, heavy feeling is pooling low in their stomach, the thick weight of curdled milk and too much sugar. When a few bubbles of air gurgle through their tummy, they encourage the bubbles up. They bring with them a cold, sour taste that creeps up the back of their throat before they belch deeply, tasting sour milk and oatmeal cookies and curdled, milky stomach bile on their tongue.

Blaine groans, turning carefully onto their side. Their stomach sloshes with them, rolling over itself in a long, sluggish churn that seems to refuse to settle once they are actually laying on their side. The pressure in their belly makes them curl tighter up, knees pressed towards their chest, but that pushes on their bloated belly in a way that makes them burp again, sour and gross.

“Fuck,” Blaine curses, closing their eyes as their stomach growls, low and wet, before more bubbles work through their guts. It sounds like hot burbling through a thick soup, and their mouth waters so much they have to swallow.

Pressing a hand to their sternum, Blaine rubs hard there and tries to work up another burp. They’re not coming from their chest, though, they’re only coming from their bloated belly right now.

They can hear the clock on the wall ticking, every second dragging as they become more and more aware of their body and their belly. Putting their phone aside, they put both hands over the center of their belly. The pressure and bloat makes their tummy feel solid, but upset and gurgling at the same time. Inside the too-round swell of their belly, there’s another snarl, louder and deeper, and they groan again.

Inside, it feels like the churning is shifting around everywhere. It slides under their ribs, squelches through the middle of their belly, then gathers low again, unsettled and rumbling. Their stomach groans loudly, and Blaine takes a deep breath as their guts give a sloshing, liquidy gurgle.

Blaine tries to breathe through it, speaking aloud to tell themself, “You’re okay. Just breathe. It’s just milk. You can digest it.” To their stomach, they beg, “Just settle down, please.”

The milk and cookies in their belly doesn’t seem to want to settle, though. Nothing is sitting right, like everything they ate and drank is squirming around in their stomach right now. They keep trying to rub their stomach in slow circles, their knees bent up, trying anything to ease the pressure in their belly, but nothing seems to be able to calm it down right now.

Briefly, Blaine entertains the idea of getting up to get Pepto, but every slight movement seems to jostle everything in their belly, making the milk and cookies shift around again before another small burp comes up. It tastes and smells like sour milk, and they groan, upset at how poorly their stomach is handling this.

It almost feels like the cookies are just sitting there in clumps inside of them, heavy lumps that refuse to digest in the swamp of gurgling, bubbling milk curdling and churning in their belly. They burp again, feeling their stomach turn over slow and thick; still, everything inside feels like it’s just sitting there, too heavy and unmoving. They can feel every bubble forcing its way through their tummy, an upset string that gurgles in the worst way.

Their skin prickled with heat and discomfort. The air around them seemed thick, their pajama shirt and pants clinging to their skin with humidity. Their next swallow feels too thick and they hiccup, then groan as a wave of queasiness rolls through their belly.

Clearly laying on their side isn’t helping, and so Blaine makes themself sit upright. For a moment, they lean forward with their elbows on their knees, trying to relieve the pressure bloating up their belly that way. It doesn’t work; they try rubbing along the bloated upper crest of their belly, hoping to coax out some of the sour air, but they only manage to make a bubbling growl curl through their guts.

Rising to stand, Blaine tries walking back and forth across the living room, hoping the motion of walking will help. The motion makes the heaviness in their belly feel like it shifts up and down at the same time, a sluggish weight that rises and falls. They walk through the living room to the kitchen, feeling another grumble snarl through their guts, and they have to stop to put their hand on the counter and breathe.

Blaine closes their eyes, taking slow breaths in through their nose and out through their mouth. Even the faint orange light off the stove feels too bright right now; Blaine squints against it, then has another sour burp bubble out of them, taking thick and disgusting in the back of their throat.

It’s so sour that Blaine has a suspicion, and they cross to the fridge again. Opening it up, squinting again against the brighter light inside, they reach for the milk carton they drank a whole glass from earlier. Just looking at it makes their stomach turn, rolling over itself, queasiness swelling a little.

Frowning, bringing the carton up to find the expiration date, they discover the printed numbers. Though they’re faded from condensation and age, the date is clear. They blinked at it once, twice, then whispered, “Fuck.”

It isn’t just lactose intolerance, they’re realizing now. It’s that and the fact that this carton of milk seemed to have expired two weeks ago.

The realization comes with a wave of something that is a mix of panic and nausea, a full-body rush of awareness that something is in motion inside of their belly that they can’t undo now. They shut the fridge quickly, bringing the milk to the sink and turning it over to empty out.

As they dump out the milk, they can see the clumps in it, can smell the sour spoiled milk, and they have to breathe heavily through their mouth as they set the carton down hard inside the sink. They grip the edge of the counter, just trying to ground themself, and take a deep breath.

“Okay,” they say to themself before they hiccup again, their lower guts grumbling. “Okay. That’s fine. It’s fine. Just digest. It’ll be fine once it all digests.”

Their stomach rolls uneasily, and Blaine, unable to smell the milk in the sink anymore, makes their way back to the sofa in the living room. Sitting down this time makes them grimace as it puts more pressure on their stomach, rounded and sitting heavily in their lap. The noises in their tummy are constant now, their stomach restless and upset as they rub their hands over their middle with increasing desperation.

By the time the clock chimed for four o’clock, Blaine could no longer pretend they would be able to digest this.

Their stomach hurts. Not something they can digest, or something they can rub away, or something that will disappear with one good belch. It’s a deep, uneasy, churning stomachache that is driving their nausea up with each snarling grumble through their upset belly.

Their stomach was trying to work around the milk and cookies brewing up horribly inside them, but it wasn’t working. Soft cramps were starting to build and crest in their stomach, leaving a soreness behind when they briefly fade before the next one comes.

Blaine presses the heel of their hand into the center of their belly and try to rub again, their mouth watering thickly. They swallow as their stomach lurches, the milk inside them bubbling like a chemistry experiment gone wrong.

“Should’ve checked the date,” Blaine grumbles to themself. “You absolute idiot. Shouldn’t have had milk at all.”

They stop and swallow again around the lump growing in their throat. They’re usually pretty good, and yet now, they fucked up. They’re a grown adult and they know better. They’ve had allergies for years.

And yet here they are, shaking and clammy, trying to talk their stomach into staying put.

Briefly, Blaine considers going to the bathroom, but the idea of standing up and moving right now feels unbearable. Instead, they curl up tighter beneath their blanket on the sofa, breathing shallow and slow as their stomach groans around another gurgle before it lurches and makes them burp sickly again.

Then another hiccup comes up, sharp and sudden. It makes their chest burn, and Blaine rubs it before another burp comes up, bringing with it a low, ominous gurgle. Another burp comes up of its own accord, though it doesn’t feel like it relieves any of the bloat. It only brings another deep, wet, burbling sound that rolls through his gut, as loud as thunder.

A series of burps comes up next, almost overlapping each other. Blaine has to sit up again, rubbing their stomach to try and help them along, but each one is wetter and more uncomfortable than the last.

With a groan, Blaine curled forward, making noises like a boiling swamp failing to digest a car. Their mouth waters again, and they swallow again as they groan through the nausea that hits like a wave then— slow at first before it crashes over them with force.

Their stomach sloshed, the sensation followed by a churning gurgle they can hear and feel. They could practically feel the milk and cookies fighting inside them, bubbling like a cauldron. The burps and hiccups won’t stop now, with every hiccup making their stomach lurch and every burp tasting sour like spoiled, curdled milk.

Another grumble comes, low in their guts, gurgling unhappily through their lower belly. Another loud, sloshy gurgle squelched through their bloated belly, followed by a growling snarl that rumbled through their distended lower tummy with a ripple.

A wave of nausea washes over them again. A heavy, wet churn rolls through their stomach and their guts simultaneously, right before an uneasy bubbling sloshes and shifts their lower tummy, making a sharp cramp twist there. The feeling of fullness in their stomach refuses to settle, and the restless, uncomfortable, queasy heaviness makes it impossible for them to keep sitting upright and still like this.

A new gurgle echoes low and deep. It feels like it moves through their stomach and further down, stirring up their intestines, their guts. It's like some of what won't digest is going straight through them, upsetting their tummy further and making their lower belly gurgle roughly. Waves of rolling nausea press up and down alternatingly, the sour heaviness spreading through their intestines and up behind their ribs at the same time.

Blaine presses both hands over their belly and rocks slightly, trying to ease the pressure and nausea. When their stomach growls again, another full-body clammy wave of nausea washing over them, they curl forward with their elbows on their knees, rubbing hard over their bloated stomach and gurgling lower belly, shifting slightly with a groan.

“Oh, fuck, I don’t feel good,” Blaine complains to nobody except themself. A low rumble moves through them, and a sick, long fart comes out of them, turning their stomach as it does. A sour burp rolls up, curdled milk in their throat. With a groan, “I really don’t feel good.”

They belch as their lower guts gurgle again, and they lurch upwards at the same time their stomach does. Blaine all but sprints for the bathroom, barely managing to make it to the toilet before their stomach rolled upwards again, pushing a wet belch of milk out of them with a harsh retch.

Their lower belly rumbles loudly and they fart again before they burp, sweating all over. They clench hard as another burp comes up, and then they’re belching up a thick wave of sour, chunky vomit that splashes into the bowl under their chin. Their stomach lurches again, growling, and they groan, hiccuping mid-retch, making their chest burn. A horrible, miserable sound catches and they belch again, their stomach cramping hard.

They barely have enough time to lunge upwards and sit themself on the toilet before they’re unable to hold back. Everything just feels like it opens up, their guts turning to water and emptying out in a dizzying rush.

Another lurch of their stomach tells them they aren’t getting a break from vomiting just yet. They lean forward, their bloated belly pressing heavily into their lap. It forces up a thick belch; they barely manage to grab the trash can before another wave of vomit is burping up and out of them into the can at the same time another wave of diarrhea comes out the other end.

They can hardly breathe as their body wrings itself out. All they can taste is sour, expired milk; they burp halfway through another hiccup, then belch as their upset stomach rumbles loudly and forces up as much as it can at once.

It’s clear their tummy wants to get everything out as quickly and forcefully as possible. They don’t know how long they’re there, slumped over the trash can in their lap as their body empties itself from both ends violently, but it feels like days. Their belly just won’t stop gurgling, still feeling unsettled and sick no matter how much comes out of them. Even when they think they can get a break, in the next minute, another wave would hit— a burp, a hiccup, a gurgle, a cramp, a growl— and the next thing they know, they’re vomiting again, shitting again, or both.

Their stomach feels like an actual war zone. Loud, wet burbling can be heard echoing through the bathroom, accompanied by sharp cramps and tight bloating that makes them groan as they burp again. Their belly is so bloated and noisy, every shift of their body or churn of their stomach triggering another round of nausea that either has them retching into the can or urgently sitting back down on the toilet.

By the time they can breathe again, their mouth tastes like sour milk and vomit and nothing else. Their clothes cling to them with sweat, and the bathroom smells horrible, soured milk and stomach contents having come out in both ways. Their legs are shaking so bad they’re not sure they can stand, and they groan as they clutch the trash can and slump to the side, letting their forehead press against the cool tile wall. Another hiccup jolts up, and they groan, letting their eyes close.

When the morning light starts coming through the small bathroom window, Blaine can almost see it through their closed eyelids. They take a deep breath, and their stomach twists, reminding them of how upset it is and why, that it’s not just lactose intolerance but obviously food poisoning from the expired milk.

Their stomach feels fragile and sensitive, as well as still being bloated and tight and tense. They burp again, and when nothing more comes up with it, they slowly rise to empty out the trash can into the toilet.

Of course, it’s so disgusting this triggers another gag. They flush quickly, setting the trash can in the shower and turning it on to rinse it out before they lurch for the sink to burp up another wave of sour milk. It feels like more is coming out than went in somehow.

They move slowly, closing their eyes to flush the toilet again and close it before they empty out the trash can, rinse it one more time, and set it on the floor again. Twisting the shower off, they return to the sink, then take a slow, careful sip of cold water from the tap through their cupped hands. It tastes clean and cool and smooth compared to everything else that’s just come in and out of them, and they set their hand against their sensitive, upset, rumbling belly as the water hits it. They can feel the wet, liquidy grumbling. There’s a few bubbles before they burp again. The water churns their belly, but nothing comes up, so they take a deep breath.

A dull heaviness lingers in their belly. Their guts are still growling, and their stomach is still bloated. More than that, their tummy is still clearly upset, their belly aching and nausea still roiling inside them in both directions.

They don’t want to be in the bathroom or on the sofa any longer, though. They instead make their way to their bedroom, finding Diego sprawled out and fast asleep, and they curl up beside him, knees drawn up, arms around their rumbling stomach as a shallow burp rolls up. They cover it with their fist before their hands sink down to rub their belly slowly, hoping to calm it enough to let them sleep a little bit.

Blaine’s body aches, every inch of them clammy, sore, and shaking. Their belly is still so bloated and noisy, it’s a wonder that Diego doesn’t wake up from its sloshing gurgles and wet, bubbling churns that feel too loud in their quiet bedroom.

They stay curled on their side, knees tucked up, one hand slowly rubbing their belly. The pressure almost feels like it’s helping a little. Just not enough.

A hiccup jolts through them, followed by a burp that tastes like curdled milk. Their mouth waters again, thick and nauseating, and they swallow hard, willing everything to stay down and let them rest for a while. They’re hoping whatever’s left can digest and come out when they wake up and end this torment.

The nausea won’t leave, though. It’s almost like it works its way into them to become part of them, like a storm cloud gathering and hanging low and dark and heavy, waiting for the right moment to open up again.

Their stomach gives a long, wet gurgle, and Blaine groans, knowing their upset stomach is likely nowhere near done with them, not even close. Regardless, sleeps tugs at them; they’ve had a long night, and their eyelids are heavy, their limbs like lead. The exhaustion is so bone-deep that they’re being dragged under even as their lower guts continue to twitch and burble and protest, and their tummy continues to gurgle and snarl and churn.

Even as they’re falling asleep, they can feel the way their belly shifts with every breath that’s a little too deep. The nausea curls tighter every time they move, and so they hold as still as they can as their intestines and tummy gurgle and bubble like they’re still deciding which direction to move through next and when.

Blaine isn’t going to sleep for very long. They know that much. With how upset their tummy is, wanting to get the milk out and prove to Blaine how stupid they were to drink it in the first place, they’ll be waking up soon— maybe in a few minutes, or an hour or two— with another horrible round of nausea and gurgling and cramps, and they’ll have to sprint to the bathroom for another series of waves of nausea and sour milk vomit and miserable sickness.

For now, they force their body to drift.

In their sweat-clinging clothes and humid sheets, their stomach groaning and sloshing and gurgling like a clogged and haunted old pipe, Blaine closes their eyes and breathes until they can sleep. It’s fitful and uneasy, with the taste of spoiled milk heavy in their mouth, but at least they can get some rest before the next round. And maybe Diego will be able to comfort them when it’s happening this time.

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This is a combination of the following prompts:

"What about someone who's lactose intolerant deciding to have a dairy product, but they don't realize that it's gone bad. And then it all either just goes straight through them or makes them sick from both ends. That's the best I can come up with- If you do write it, I hope you enjoyed the prompt. And if not then I hope you have a good day!" (Anonymous)

"I saw this one once before and it might be a little gross but Whatever. Someone who's lactose intolerant drinking milk and not realizing beforehand that it was spoiled (would LOVE to find the og fic that came from this prompt, but i just find it so specifically nasty that i needed to share <3)" (Anonymous)

Not mine, got it from here. Just imagine her, belly full of diarrhea and vomit, begging to come out...

i can't really control my body's reactions to my stomachache anymore. like, my hands are sweating, my heart is pounding. i can feel my pulse in my belly. i just put my hand on my stomach to feel my heart beating there and it's so round. i tried pushing into my tummy and i thought i was going to burp, but instead my stomach just did this really weird and fucked up gurgling thing on the right and middle side. it was like a bubbling churning that went into the upper center of my stomach and just stayed there, and now it's like, burbling there i don't know if that's a digestive spot or not.

my mouth is feeling really dry. which i guess is good, because at least my mouth isn't watering? i probably just need to lay down and digest and i'll be fine. even if i'm currently shivering because i'm getting so queasy. my whole body is shaking right now. i actually have been feeling worse as i've been writing this, and now i'm starting to feel really nauseated, which i wasn't expecting.

actually, i'm starting to feel really, really nauseated. like something is really wrong in my stomach. i wasn't expecting that when i started writing this. it feels like there's this thick, tight, tense storm in my stomach. everything is straining so so tightly. my stomach feels just like, stretched too tight inside me? like it's as full as it can get, and i didn't even eat that much compared to what i've eaten in the past. i just ate something wrong, i guess. or too much too fast, or the wrong things, or something. i don't know. i just know i fucked up, because i'm getting worse and worse and i didn't expect that and i don't know what to do.

fuck. i'm feeling so queasy. i don't know what to do. i started out with a small stomachache from eating just a little bit too much (or so i thought) and then i started writing this down and now my tummyache has become what feels like a very upset and overfilled stomach, unsettled and heavy and tight, and really starting to nauseate me.

i was going to write more, but i actually have to stop because i think i might be sick. i'm going to lay down and hope that i can just force myself to fall asleep and make my body digest instead of getting sick because i really, really do not want to get sick. wish me luck! i'm sorry for what was supposed to be a quick and dirty post and ended up being a stream of consciousness of me feeling sicker and sicker until i couldn't write anymore.

i definitely can't write anymore. my stomach just did its first loud audible gurgle, and it was so loud my partner heard it and asked if i'm okay, and i don't think i am. it wasn't just a gurgling noise, it was a gurgling inside me, and my stomach cramped really hard at the same time, and i think my belly is rejecting something i ate - or everything i ate - and i can't control it anymore. it just gurgled really loudly and thickly in the lower right of my tummy, and my nausea spiked so severely i threw up in my mouth a little bit, which is not fucking good.

okay i really have to go now, it won't stop gurgling and cramping and i just feel so so nauseated right now and my hands are shaking and the back of my throat feels really thick and like it's burning and i thought my stomach was just a little too full but it might be way way too full not just a little too full. or else something is really disagreeing with me because this feels so so horrible i can't figure out what else could be going on. i'm such a fucking idiot. fuck i feel so fucking sick right now.