Yup. It happened again.

I pooped the bed.

This time I was mostly asleep, resting up before hanging out with J&J and eatyching stuff on the PVR at 1 am. . And it all came sliding out of me.

And accompanying it both times was the feeling of extreme dilation. It really felt like I was wide open back there. Painfully so. Like someone had been conducting sick anal experiments on me.

Probably someone German.

And that would explain the incontinence, I suppose. If I am someone experiencing extreme rectal auto-dilation, that might well make stuff fall right out.

I dunno though. Doesn’t seem like a sufficient explanation to me.

What makes more sense would be the all too compelling theory that whatever is fucking with my muscles is also fucking up the muscles of the bowels and all points in between the bowels and the anus, and so sometimes, if the bowels get too full, the muscles just can’t hold back the tide any more, and the dam bursts.

If so, I am staring down the barrel of an adult diapers future, and I don’t think I can take that. I already have so little dignity and I already feel like I am a big gross overgrown baby with no legit claim to adulthood.

Being in diapers would just confirm both of those things.

And my God, would my social anxiety explode. I already feeling conspicuously disgusting in public. Imagine how much worse that would be if I was walking around with my Pampers full.

I would probably never want to leave the apartment again.

But I might have to leave anyway, and permanently, because if my arms also keep getting weaker, I won’t even be able to change myself.

And there is no way I would ask that of J&J. I would die of humiliation from the very thought of that.

So I would have to be moved to an assisted living facility. Some nice place where professionals are paid well to put up with my crap (ha) and where they, I assume, keep their judgmental thoughts to themselves.

And if they didn’t, I’d get their ass fired.

My baby don’t mess around.

Now I know I said that if it happened again that I would have to go to the hospital. And I had originally planned to do that at 1 pm today.

But 12:45 pm rolled around and I was just not feeling it. I was feeling fragile and ill and in that condition I was in no shape to handle the ER.

Yes, I get the irony of feeling too sick to go to the hospital.

But I will be heading there at 9 am or so tomorrow morning. And hopefully, the ER will be way lazy crazy at like 9:30 am on a Monday than it would have been at 1:30 pm on a Sunday and way way WAY less nuts than it was on that crazy Friday afternoon.

Technically, my instructions were that if I was to find myself either unable to pee or losing bowel control I was to return to the ER right away. but I needed time to mentally prepare myself for hours of ER boredom and stress.

I will, of course, have my tablet with me, but that only takes me so far.

God damn the ER sucks.

Oh well. Adulting I shall go!

More after the break.

My failure to launch

I’ve realized it was really a failure to be launched.

It wasn’t my fault that my parents took me and my brother out of school so they could take early retirement.

It was them being typical selfish fucking boomers.

I did nothing wrong. In fact, it was pretty amazing of me to fight my way out of the deep all-encompassing depression having my whole life and future yanked out from under me caused. I was seriously crazy there for a while.

Being malnourished, dehydrated, having a massive electrolyte imbalance, and having undiagnosed and untreated major depression all at the same time will do that to you.

And to think, when my mother asked me if this was related to being taken out of school, I, like a good little robot, said “No, of course not. ”

And to think she believed me.

But that was the scam, wasn’t it? Teach your kid to always say they are okay by completely refusing to even process any other answer, and then believe them.

If I told them what was really going on, I didn’t get hugs and support.

I got them acting like I had suddenly teleported in from outer space and sputtering and stammering as they were momentarily reminded that I was a real kid with real needs that they completely ignored most of the time.

And they continued to fumble until they found a reason to go right back to forgetting all about me again.

“But other than that, you’re OK, right?”

At no point was “treat this child just like you treat the other three” an option. They never made any room for me in the family.

There was them, my parents and three older siblings, and then there was me, all alone, with no friends, no family support, no help from my teachers or school administrators,. no other adults to turn to either, and daily torment from my peers.

It’s a wonder I didn’t turn into a serial killer. Or some other form of criminal.

So why did this little birdie fail to launch? Because the whole god damned Cape Canaveral, fuel tanks, rocket guides, and launchpad included, were yanked out from under me when I was halfway through countdown.

I barely survived the resulting crash landing.

But I did, and I managed to get back to a state of relative health. I wasn’t crazy, malnourished, and so on any more.

But I was nowhere near functional. And that is where I have been ever since. For around 25 years, my entire adult life, I have been stuck in limbo, living like a child on summer vacation and completely incapable of facing reality and finally getting my ass up and flying at last.

The truth is, I can’t face reality and take responsibility for myself and get myself going. I fall apart inside when I try. Too many parts of me are broken and/or too weak to take the strain, and until that changes, I am stuck here on the ground, living a pathetic life wallowing in my own squalor, helpless and useless, with a brain the size of a planet and a spirit so weak it wouldn’t even register on a PKE meter.

And I don’t know how to change that.

In fact, I am pretty sure that is not even the right question.

What I need is too deep and irrational and personal to be solved by any sort of rational query and answer process, no matter how broad and deep and robust it is.

To get what I need, I have to leave the light of the world and head deep into that big dark forest that is my subconscious mind.

There lies the me that’s always been, the me that is still the person I was before the rape and the bullying and the years of isolation.

That’s the me that needs to be listened to and understood so that it can finally stop holding so much in and start healing.

And that’s not something I can solve by writing.

Or… can I….

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.