Just want to say I've been here too. I also had supposed gallbladder failings. Bouts of painful nausea so strong I couldn't begin to describe. Vomiting for days on end, even water un-drinkable. Nearly every episode ended in tears, screaming, non-stop dry-heaving, brain-stopping trips to the ER, where only Dilauded would calm me enough to sleep and somehow "reset".

After 25+ of these episodes (which would last typically 2 weeks, building towards the end), 7+ doctors, so many scans and tests I can't describe, long periods of missed work and play, and abuse of drugs that helped (thankfully none really did much, even weed in copious amounts barely helped so I never used it much). I'd get so sick from eating I was prescribed Xanax for the massive panic attacks I'd get just looking or thinking of food, because my fear of pain was so strong.

I had my gallbladder removed by the 5th doctor. I thought it worked. I stuck to a very clean low-acid diet after that, avoided tough food (I had developed a hiatal hernia from the vomiting), and took PPI's religiously and was fine for 8 months. I thought I was cured. I stopped the PPI's and within a month I was back at the ER. Pretty devastating. Now, I can control it. I cycle on PPI's, avoid all smoking and alcohol, as well as eating hot/spicy/acidic food too often. I've been 4 months now without an attack on this regimin and I feel pretty confident.

The worst part they never mention with undiagnosed illnesses of things are the mental side-effects. I was pretty much ostracized by large groups of people who certainly believed I was either looking for attention or avoiding admitting I had an eating disorder. I even had a doctor at the ER once tell my mom that's what she thought. My parent's even began to doubt I was actually ill. Finally, after months, I even doubted myself. The pain was real, but perhaps I was inflicting it on myself somehow? (crazy for me to think back on my mental state at this point). I felt too weird to even hang out with old friends, it's not masculine to not be able to eat. Paranoias and fears grew with each sickness and month of uncertainty. By the ended I was certainly clinically depressed. I felt my entire persona had melted away, I was empty. I didn't even know how to talk to my mom on the phone, I knew she would immediately recognize something wrong with me. I lost confidence, happiness.

Luckily that all returns if you can maintain health. Just four months ago I had reached my low; malnourished, weak, paranoid, afraid, tired, forgetful, slow. So scared of more pain, because at this point I felt I was running low on "reasons to live".

But, within a month of eating well my energy and happiness were back, with two more months I found myself feeling like "me" again, something I hadn't felt since those last 8 months of health, and before that since years before. And the difference was just small changes to diet, and avoiding many social situations that make that pretty much unavoidable.

I don't know what the moral of the story is. I feel like I did everything I could and struck out, and it's pure luck that I'm still here today. But I guess I'm thankful. I still am dubious on whether life is "worth it", and I couldn't imagine bringing kids into a world where the sort of suffering I went through is even remotely possible. But perhaps it did help me grow up and gain perspective on what matters.

Keep searching for solutions, keep experimenting, don't be afraid to ask for help and tell doctors to fuck off.