Everything makes me feel sick.
Seeing photos of you and her actually made me throw up last night.
The fact that I turn 21 tomorrow makes me feel ill.
These essays make me sick with worry.
Applying to graduate jobs make me want to vomit.
The realisation that I have nowhere to live after uni makes me gag.
I am going back to north London today. I am stopping by your house to collect my mail, see your nephews and have a coffee with your mother. This makes me feel sick.
Nausea, not in waves, but constant. I feel it in the pit of my stomach. I feel it in my bones. My heart feels mangled. My body feels broken. You have destroyed me. Again.