Sometimes Shit’s Too Hard, Literally
“We’ve never talked about poop before, I’m glad we broke this barrier,” I told my friend the other day.
Constipation. Yes, I’m going to talk about constipation. We’ll get there, don’t worry.
Last week I got my wisdom teeth removed. It was like a bad joke. A Charlie, an oral surgeon, and a panic attack walk into a room.
After my semitraumatic interaction with laughing gas, and several nurses trying to hold me still and calm me down while I had a semi conscious panic attack during the procedure, I went home to a liquid diet, several days of ice packs, and a bottle of oxy.
For everyone who probably already knows, narcotics make you constipated. (Surprise!)
Being the logical forward thinking high person that I was after my surgery I figured I’d be fine with just a small amount of laxatives- I was only eating smoothies, really.
But 4 days later, with my face a marginally deflated balloon, having yet to poop, I decided I needed reinforcements.
I HAVE TO BUY MY OWN LAXATIVES? I CANT DO THAT. IM NOT A *REAAAL* ADULT.
So I go to the store and spend like 10 minutes trying to figure out what to get. Me all “why are there so many choices, I just want to poop” and the shelf all “exlax, colace, sennekot, ducolax, pills, suppositories (ghost noises)”. Eventually I pick some out and head over to the register- feeling Lyndie West and her decoy tampon purchasing items. “Oh these? These aren’t for me. They’re for my, uh, grandma. She- I just. I’m just getting them for her.”
No, idiot. I walk up to the cash register avoiding eye contact as I set my items down. “I JUST GOT MY WISDOM TEETH OUT AND I CANT POOP OKAY, LEAVE ME ALONE”. Can he hear me scream this from inside my head? Is my mouth still swollen enough? Because wisdom teeth pain makes constipation less shameful? Are my telepathy powers working today?
Of course, the counter guy doesn’t give a flying fuck that I’m constipated. And so the point is to say, no one cares about your shit. Sometimes shit is hard and no one cares. Don’t get me wrong. People love and care about you, they care if you’re okay and want the best for you blah blah blah. But truly, they do. It’s just that no one is judging you for you literal metaphorical emotional physical shit, because they’re all to busy worrying about their own shit. If only there was a laxative for the rock hard turds lodged in your heart- amiright? And in a way there is. You can let your shit loose, it won’t get rid of it completely, pooping is part of the whole person gig, but if you can muster the bravery and to go to the checkout stand, constipation and all, like me and my wisdom-teeth-poop, it’ll eventually become at least somewhat more regulated and healthy. But that’s difficult. You have to find your figurative bran or probiotics, or whatever- Metamucil. And you’re afraid. Since you’ve held everything in for so long there’s too much to let out. You’ll have uncontrollable massive amounts of diarrhea that will overwhelm the toilet (and the world) and turn you from a semi human facade into a visible walking cesspool, forever.
This is of course, untrue.
No one thinks you’re a terrible gross weird fundamentally awful person because you’re depressed, your parents are weird, you have that HUGE NOTICEABLE zit or because you don’t feel like wearing a bra today and you feel weird that boobs are pointy boob shaped and not bra shaped, or whatever else. No one cares enough to spend time judging you. Your constipation, acne, and mismatched outfit, are unlikely to garner more than a passing glance. Your poor mental health and history of trauma will evoke empathy (or sympathy from a less adept listener), if you want to talk. But no one really cares, in the way that you’re worried about.
I leave the store texting my friend about this entire purchasing ordeal, thinking I’m hilarious for making this rite of passage. (Now that I’ve purchased my own laxatives I can be an adult!) Because despite the fact that being constipated is a universal experience- I’m sure this is true according to science- no one ever talks about being constipated. “Everybody poops”, yeah sure. But I think “everybody also has some crappy (this is a pun, yes) experiences with constipation” is the underrated children’s title. “People do body things because they have bodies.”
Not only do people do people things because they are people, and as a person, it is normal to be a person, but no one actually really cares what you do. Don’t take that the wrong way. People do care about you, they just are generally too self absorbed to be worried about whatever bullshit you think is embarrassing/weird/gross/whatever. The slow process of realizing this- and forgetting and rerealizing, “wash, rinse, repeat, repeat, repeat”- has been liberating.
And sometimes people do make comments. But when they do, it’s most likely either because they’re also insecure about that same thing or because they’re an ignorant fool. Either way, what they think is irrelevant.
With kindness and consideration, do what you want. No one cares about your shit.