The last time I pooped my pants

The last time* I pooped my pants I had salmonella which brought with it uncontrollable diarrhea for a week straight, almost 2. It was immediately after I’d broken out into excruciatingly painful hives because of new medication. Medication I started because I’d lost my mind of Romeo and Juliet proportions and was suicidal. And somewhere between starting the medication and the hives my relationship with the second love of my life ended. I know people are still dying, but it was devastating in its own right. I went through a wild ride of hurt—sadness to betrayal to anger. And all this over a relationship I chose to end. Which of course meant quite a bit of guilt and internal bargaining as well. But it needed to end and I gave enough where I had no more to give. So, voila, love comes and goes I suppose. And I was also in so much physical pain, I couldn’t focus nearly as acutely on my emotional pain. This also contains bonus poops because I shat myself 3 times—once in my own bed, once in the hospital and once again, in my own bed. The first time was an accident, the second I was too exhausted to properly get up quickly enough and the third was also an accident. The medical system in the U.S is shit. I would say literally, but they didn’t even take a stool sample until I insisted. So fuck that white guy that was my doctor and fuck capitalism. I don’t know what’s better, but surely this can’t be the best. Although, whether or not the white guy doctors or capitalism gets into a later and later stage, we persist and have to find a way to do that comfortably. So, I’ve forgiven my dad for any perceived misgivings. He’s scarred by his own series of traumas and I understand why he is the man he is. It helps that my memory sucks—I’d say it’s all the weed smoking, but I didn’t start smoking til college, so there’s no answer for those early years. This is all to say: forgive. Break generational curses or whateva. Forgive the people you love for hurting you—because they will, if they haven’t already—forgive each of their misgivings and forgive your own. People aren’t good nor bad. We are human and we sometimes do things that hurt other people, frequently because of our own emotional dysfunction. And whether you’re honest about pooping your pants or not, no one is exempt from that.

* for now...