(TO FELICITY : Nothing I write in this blog entry is meant as any form of criticism of you. That’s going to be hard for you to remember, but I want you to hold onto it and know it to be true. Your reactions were not to blame. They were exemplary.)

(To everyone else : tonight’s entry contains detailed and graphic discussion of male urination and its equipment. So don’y say I didn’t warn ya. )

Had a self-esteem crash last night and I have been depressed ever since.

Here’s what went down. I was hanging out with Felicity and Joe at Felicity’s parents’ place, watching videos and enjoy one another’s company like we do, when the time came when I had to get up and go to the guest bathroom to pee.

And this has been an issue with me in the past.

For some reason, when I pee in that toilet, I tend to…. sprinkle. Not all of it end up in the bowl. I dunno what is so different about that bathroom, other than the fact that the toilet is oddly small,. but for whatever reason, I have had difficulties.

And over and over and humliatingly over, I have had to mop upo after myself. I try extremely hard to control my stream with pin point precision, and yet it just keeps happening every time I use that bathroom.

I used to think that it was entirely my fault. I have noticed in the past that sometimes my stream develops a tributory, if you will. A side stream shooting off at a bizarre angle. This is, as you might imagine, very frustrating.

But that was caused by a small sore on the inside of opening of my foreskin, and that sore is long gone, so I know it couldn’t have been that.

Further evidence that it was not entirely a me thing is that I have checked many times to see if the same thing is happening at home, and it isn’t. There’s been some times when there were a few errant drops, usually because my diabetes and/or sleep apnea has made me dizzy and disoriented and thus thrown off my aim.

But it’s hardly a regular thing.

Nevertheless, the problem persists in that particular bathroom and I don’t know why.

Where the depression comes in is that sometimes when I clean up after myself, I don’t get it all, and thus leave traces of my urine behind for some horrified person, probably Felicity’s mother but possibly one of her students, to deal with.

This fact had already filled me with deep shame before last night, but I was handling it.

Last night, Felicity had even gone to the trouble of providing me with a bottle of Windex and some paper towels to aid in cleanup. And they really helped.

It’s just sad that I made her have to do that.

So I pee, and yup, despite doing everything I could to control my stream, it went everywhere. Windex and paper towel in hand, I did as thorough a job cleaning the floor as I could, checking every inch of linoleum. Then went back to watching stuff.

Fast forward to the end of the evening. Two things happened back to back that acted as a severe kick to the groin for my self esteem.

First, as we are packing up, I go to sit on this little couch that is out of the way of foot traffic and was yelled at and told I shouldn’t sit on the good couch.

I had been warned about this before, but I forgot.

But that phrase – the good couch  – really dug deep with me and activated all kinds of issues I have about myself.

It made me feel like a big dumb dirty dog who people only put up with out of pity and who is a major liability to all who know me.

On the heels of that, after assuring Felicity that I had done a thorough job of cleaning up after myself, she does a quick inspection and then reports back to me that not only had I failed to flush, but that I had left drops of urine on the toilet rim.

Seems I had concentrated so hard on cleaning the floor that I forgot everything else.

And that sealed it. Clearly, I am a frighteningly and disgustingly incompetent horror who is a liability to all who know him and who should just stay home all the time because he can’t meet the absolute minimum standards necessary to be allowed around people.

I mena, I’m not even fucking housebroken.

And that sent my mood into the tailspin of a shame spiral and I still have not recovered from it, and it’s been 17 hours and two sleeps since it happened.

So i really feel like scum right now. I’m a disgusting monstrosity. Thqat’s why none of my profs from VFS would give me a recommendation to any job. They knew I would be an embarrassment to them. It’s a wonder that people put up with me at all. I can only assume they do so out of pity.

At least, that’s how I feel right now. But there is one thing that makes this incident better than similar ones in the past.

This time, I told someone how I felt. I told Joe on the ride home that I was feeling really depressed. And that’s quite a big deal for me.

Normally, I never tell anyone about my depression while it is happening. And when I do discuss it afterwards. it’s usually in general terms which make it very easy for me to detach and intellectualize the whole thing.

And very little emotional openness is required.

But to admit it in realtime means opening myself up to another person in realtime, and that is the sort of thing I simply never, ever do.

People can get close to me. I can be a very warm and sensitive and understanding guy. I can look deep into people’s psyches and “get” them, and I am highly empathic.

But I don’t truly open up to people. Ever. In realtime, I am always the lovable funny guy with the unique point of view and a lot of charm.

But not last night.

I actually told someone about it while it was happening.

And I feel good about that.

I will talk to you nice people again later.