The symptoms began when I was 12 years old but they did not register with me. I thought it was a normal discomfort that everyone went through, like puberty or growing pains. But when the difficulty in swallowing (motility disorder) began, then I was freaked out.
Coming from a latin family who fed and fed and fed, having difficulty swallowing, as you can imagine was not going to be recieved well, especially in my family.
When I was young I was alway thin and I would rather play outside then stay inside to eat dinner so I was what they called "a picky eater" (malamaniosa) to use a latin term and coming from a strict and stern upbringing was forced to eat my meals with my mother sitting across from me with a belt in her hand.
Everytime I said, "I'm full, I can't eat anymore." I was given the strap.
So I was gagging on my food and getting hit for it. My thighs were stinging in pain from the beltings and my throat was closing up this was a daily routine, so much so that I hated 5:00 pm (dinner time ) because I would be getting hit.
This stopped when on one occassion I turned red and couldn't breathe. The food wasn't going in or out but it was stuck in my esophagus. This scared my mother and she dragged me to the bathroom and put her finger inside my throat until I vomitted.
From then on food became more and more difficult to swallow but that did not stop my parents from believing I was making it up so that I wouldn't have to eat and it didn't stop the strap either.
Until one day my dad grabbed me by the arm and put me in the stationwagon. He had enough! He drove me to my favorite fast food place and ordered a meal for me at the drive through. I told him I would not be able to eat it but he got angry and told me to stop my dramatics. We pulled into the fast food parking lot and I was forced to eat, tears welling up in my eyes and then after 2 bites , I felt that same sensation the food wasn't going down or up and I did like my mother did I opened the car door put my finger down my throat and threw up. My father very calmly said ", Okay, your not a picky eater, we'll make a doctor's appointment tomorrow."
By the way, the worst thing in the world is being sick an nobody believing you.
The first of many tests entailed a long, thick, black rubber hose put down my throat with a camera at the end (under anesthesia) of course.
Nothing. The doctors found nothing and this went on and on, test after test after test and the vomitting went on as well.
I became thinner and thinner and was scolded many times "It's all in your head!" So the dinnertime beatings continued.
My father passed away at the age of 41 from heart disease and family life went further downhill. I thought I was crazy and continued to force myself to eat, gag, throw up and try again. Until, once in high school in the cafeteria I choked so badly that I ran to the bathroom, being stopped by the bathroom monitor. "You better not go in there to smoke." Before I could answer her, the food came out of my mouth and fell on her shoes. Of course she screamed, she was so grossed out and everyone in the cafeteria turned to look. "She threw up on me!" she cried and that pretty much grossed everyone out of their appetite. And all I heard was a chorus of "ewwww!"
I was relieved and ridiculed.
Relieved that for the first time in a long time I did not have to force myself to throw up but the food, albeit painful, came out on it's own.
I was ridiculed that I threw up on someones shoes at the school cafeteria, so much so that I ran out of the cafeteria, downstairs and out of the building. I cut the rest of the afternoon.
I walked from my high school (Bay Ridge High school) at the time (Now Telecommunications) on 65th and fourth to my destination 52nd street between 5th and 6th where I lived at the time.
I was throwing up the entire time, having to stop between parked cars to vomit with tears in my eyes, you can imagine the stares from passersby.
This became scarier for me because my symptoms worsened. I became anemic, would pass out frequently because of lack of nourishment and dehydration and my chest began to ache painfully from the constant vomitting.....

* side note* count how many times the word vomitting is used in this post if you get bored by my story.

Anyway...I began to rebuke Satan and claim the name of Jesus Christ because if this was all in my head it had to get out, but it didn't stop. I would pass up front very time there was an altar call so that I could be delivered from this mental state that closed my esophagus. Altar call after altar call after altar call, to no avail.
By this time my mother of course stopped force feeding me and with the marriage of my older sister, my brother moving to Columbus, Ohio , my father dead and my mother beginning her new life, I was pretty much alone with this and would constantly bring myself to the emergency room.... when even forcefully vomitting did not move the food and so I would spent countless hours alone in the emergency room until I threw up, to then walk home at 3 in the morning without anyone noticing I was gone. I actually preferred it this way because frankly, if there wasn't anything wrong with me, it was humiliating. I was embarassed to have such a gross "fake illness."
I grew older carrying the guilt of my "food malicia" I continued going to church. Dating was hard. My boyfriend, Angel would bring me out to eat but I would refuse to eat. He couldn't understand.... and how could he if I never explained it to him? And frankly I didn't understand it myself.
On one occassion we went to Burger King , He was starving, and ordered himself a meal and looked at me as if to say "You're gonna eat right?" I ordered fries. This made him very happy. I sat and watched him swallow his meal with such envy and didn't touch my fries. After a while, concerned, he insisted I eat the fries. Having spent the entire day with me and I hadn't eaten. I ate the first fry with my heart beating quickly. "God, please don't let me throw up, pleeeaaaassseee don't let me throw up" I would pray in my head.
Each bite of fry stacked one on top of the other and didn't move. I ate 3 fries and said , "I was full." It was very difficult to say those three words because I was "choking" on my fries. I didn't speak all the way home. I couldn't, I was in excruciating pain and wanted those fries out of my esophagus before something awful happened.
He walked me to the front door and I ran inside. No kiss goodnight. I ran up the stairs and into the bathroom to induce vomitting. I wept ugly. And asked God what was wrong. I asked Him to deliver me. I told Him I knew He could do it because He had miraculously healed my hands. I wept in the bathroom for along time

I was in love with this boy and I knew that if I did not get better I would have to break it off with him.
One day at Charlies Pizzeria we sat in the booth in the back alone. It was after a Friday night Jovenes Service and I asked if we could sit alone, away from the other Jovenes because I wanted to speak to him alone.
He was confused but complied .
I was going to break it off with him that night , in Charlies pizzeria!!!!

To be continued....