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butterflyinthewell · 7 years

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Most disgusting life experience ever.

The post is under a cut because this is disgusting and I don’t want anyone to see so much as a sentence during casual scrolling. Especially if you’re surfing Tumblr while eating or drinking something.

In fact, I recommend you finish what you’re eating or drinking before you read this if you decide to click, because it will make you not want to put anything in your mouth for a long time.

It’s that gross!

* * * TRIGGER WARNINGS:

-Vomit -Feces -Unsanitary -Food mention -Emotional abuse

* * *

Cats are just as capable of grossness as small children, I swear. This morning was my worst nightmare.

I exited my room and two steps later stepped squarely in fresh cat puke. It was still warm, and my full weight came down on it. I felt it squish between my toes and I slipped just enough that the entire mess transferred onto the sole of my foot. I stepped backwards involuntarily while keeping the puke foot on the floor, and my other foot landed on a fresh, mushy still-warm turd. It was one of those turds that are barely solid enough to have a shape, and now that mush squished between my toes.

Both my feet were contaminated now. My whole body felt these sensations being transmitted to my brain from my feet. So I felt it on my tongue even though my feet are quite far from my mouth. I smelled it too, the disgusting mixture of puke and shit. I might as well have put it all in my mouth because my body made it feel that way.

So there I was, frozen in place with my bedroom trash can in my hands. I was doing my Tuesday routine of collecting the trash from the bathroom bins to take it all out into the big bins out back. Then those bins are rolled out front for trash/recycling pickup.

But I was frozen in place with one foot in puke and the other in shit.

I started bawling. The explosive kind of meltdown I have when my brain says “I-have-competing-prompts-and-don’t-know-what-to-do”. Because I wanted to jump out of the mess I was standing in to get away from the disgusting squishy warm sensations, but if I did it would make more of a mess. Plus I was in the middle of a routine-oriented task that had to be done.

My brain decided a meltdown was the only course of action because any choice I made besides standing still would spread the mess everywhere else.

Dad, of course, woke up because he was asleep and I was right outside his door. He yelled at me to shut up without checking to see the reason behind my freakout. That’s what he always does. I can understand him being mad at me for waking him up, but it’s what he said when he saw why I was in distress that hurt.

“This is why you’re embarrassing to live with! You let the stupidest shit make you mad. You’re being a r*tarded baby! Grow up and act like an adult!”

I started screaming for my mom. It was the only word I could force out.

My poor mom-- she rushed in from out back and yelled at my dad to shut up. She told me to stay where I was and got out the stuff to clean up the cat messes. She brought paper towels for me to step onto and washed my feet off before anything else because she knows I can’t handle being in contact with bodily waste material.

That’s when my gag reflex went critical and I threw up in the trash bin I was holding. Mom took that and handled the trash stuff herself. She cleaned out my trash can and brought it back to me, told me to go sit down in my room and then took care of the cat messes. She gave my dad some hell for yelling at me and went back to the back yard to finish her gardening.

I sat in my room crying and melting down for a long time after. It’s taken me several hours to calm down.

I’ve been holed up in my room and only leaving it to go to the bathroom. I haven’t eaten since breakfast because everything is making me gag until I can’t breathe. Spit, my own tongue, even pills and water set off horrid retching. I’m so hungry and I can’t get food down because I still feel that warm wet squish sensation on my feet.

At least the bullshit my dad said didn’t really get to me, but it still feels like being kicked while I was down.

What he said was almost funny because HE has just as much of a gag reflex response to puke and shit that I do, but his Parkinson’s always gives him that convenient “out” for any manual labor since he can’t easily get up if he gets down on the floor. I don’t care about that; he’s disabled and can’t help it. But he thinks that’s a reason he can belittle me for a major gross-out response I had zero control of.

Right, okay, no. A part of me nearly wiped my shit and puke smeared feet on his leg to send him gagging as much as I was, but that would have been childish and disgusting.

The mess was Dickens’ doing. She’s an old cat(18 years old) and shits where she stands whenever she throws up unless she literally just used the litter box. Her poops are always right next to the primary puke pile, and the smaller aftershock pukes are usually peppered all over the house. You think you’re done cleaning up and that’s when you find another puke pile. You’re left begging for mercy by the time you’ve found and cleaned it all up. This cat is an impressive barfer.

We’ve been to the vet about this. Hairball medicine helps, but doesn’t entirely stop it. We’ve tried different diets and medicines. She’s a vomit comet no matter what we do. One thing that helps avoid nasty morning surprises is picking up the bowl of dry kibble at night and putting it down after breakfast.

Dickens tends to have puke/shit fests in the morning for reasons we’ve never figured out. I suspect she drinks water and wolfs down dry kibble faster than her stomach can warn her that it’s full. Kibble swells up in liquid. In essence, she overeats. You wouldn’t know by looking because she’s always been skinny due to being spayed at a very young age. She can and does keep food down most of the time, so it’s not like she’s malnourished. She can puke, go eat more food and be fine for the rest of the day.

But mom forgot to pick up the kibble last night and, well...I can tell that’s what Dickens ate to turn the hallway into a warzone.

Dickens always pukes and shits right where people walk or where my dad’s rollator walker wheels will go. It’s like she knows right where to make her grossness a centerpiece for all to admire. She’ll be fine, then she’ll yowl a bit, puke and then go back to being fine afterward like it never happened. She’s also remarkably quiet; she did that within a few feet of my bedroom door without me hearing a thing. Sometimes she makes that “blerk-blerk” noise, but you almost don’t hear it unless you’re right next to her.

My cat is a vomit ninja and I think today was the grossest experience of my life. I’ll be impressed if I’m able to eat dinner later because the gagging starts every time I move my tongue inside my mouth. Sometimes I dry heave.

All I can say is at least I didn’t step in that mess with slippers or socks on. That would’ve been worse because I would’ve had to throw them away.

I had to pause typing this to go scrub my feet with rubbing alcohol, then soap and water. I still feel filthy and I still feel the barf and shit on my skin even though I can’t get it any cleaner.

For the record: I don’t have OCD, I just get very squicked when touching any sort of body fluid or waste material from another living creature. I’ll even gag if somebody drips tears on my skin while they’re crying.

I can handle being kissed if the other person doesn’t give me a sloppy one with a lot of spit, and if I let my cats lick my hands(their tongues are stimmy), I make sure to wash my hands afterward.

I hope I never experience something more gross than today. My brain wouldn’t be able to handle it.

#actuallyautistic #actually autistic #autism #sensory hell #emotional abuse #meltdown #food mention #tw vomit #tw unsanitary #tw emotional abuse #r-slur #ableism #cats #pets #ughhhhh #I love my cats but eeewww #whyyyyy

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thelibraryshow · 7 years

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When you realize

Don’t bother to check Facebook. If they were your friends, they’d call or you’d make plans to do something. Friendships are not sustained by a thumbs up. Those aren’t my friends.. I’ve just known them for a long time. They have little or no idea what my daily life is like, even those I’ve known for almost 20 years. I actually pay attention and pretty much know what they’re up to IF anyone still posts anything real, non-commercial, or non-self promotional. It’s mostly reposts. I don’t even look at people’s pages, I don’t need to see another airbrushed, perfectly lit “candid” of your conventional family, the one you finally built, or your new car- the ford you’ve always dreamed of. I don’t really care about your favorite cartoon and I’m not buying your Tupperware, your paintings, and I’m pretty sure now hat we can choose precisely what we see, I’m on exactly nine lists. How do I know this? I always get nine likes. 23 if it’s something you have to like; a picture of your mom or someone who died young, anything military, your ugly new baby or anything nature-centric. Whatever the trend is, they will “like” it. Give it a try. Tumblr… well, I like the anonymity. This is the kind of stuff you’d share with your FB friends in the past or tell them over lunch in the way, way past. My real stuff got me alienated. I know the exact post that blackballed me with my white friends enhanced my standing with my black friends. My Asian friends love perfection, innovation and art. Girls? Depends on the girl. Guys? I don’t post pictures celebrating how many turkeys I bagged or the antlers of all he bucks I killed this year so… In my flesh & blood life, I get it! The people I’ve been close to the last year split when they figure out I’m really not going to show them how awesomely comfy by bed is.

I’m confused about all of this. From a thriving, overwhelming social life that just fell on top of me to a social life populated with users, losers and people who want to “chill”. I finally figured out that chill is code for sex in certain circles. Yeah, who knew? Not me, because I don’t speak American slang.

I’m lonely as fuck but id almost rather the only people I spoke to today were my mum, Aiden and a few cashiers. The cashiers were friendly enough & my family is always there… if I make the first move. Think I prefer my mother & the cashiers most days. No baggage. I’ve been a hardcore wardrobe slut since I bought my first bespoke blazers to comply with the handbook from my first boarding school. In this big Japanese house, my dressing room is between my room and the library. Typical living room size. I lounge there... I feel the hand-woven vintage fabrics, the suedes, the furs. This room feels more mine than my studios. Because however I want to present myself on a given day is neatly folded and hung behind glass doors? No, because I like shopping and this room is designed as a shopping experience. Mirrors surpass my 6'2". Rack piece of furniture Is a one off, designed for, imported by and beautifully crafted by five generations of my family. The library and every other room are similar. Does anyone know what it feels like to live in a museum spanning early 18th century to landmark mid century modern to early American? Carefully curated. It's everything and exclusively what I want to live with. Nothing more. It has to be... because.. .

I'm Working on getting accustomed to life without much human interaction. But then I’ve been working on that for a decade. I’m very social. How do I extract that trait?

People who like me like me a lot. Too much. People who don’t like me never say so, they just do shitty things- like when your cat gets pissed and poops on your bed. That’s never happened & my cats live in pure feline luxury as do my guests. People rave over my house. My cats? I give them what I used to give people I cared for. Time, attention, whatever they need or want. Try that with most humans. Turns out I don't draw convincing boundaries.

I used to have a lot of money. I spent it freely. I entertained, I traveled, I collected, I surround myself with lush gardens, and at times, gilded interiors. literally. I picked up the bill and ordered the cars... I spent extravagant sums on my art practice. Those same friends either bought or stole so much art I don’t even exhibit anymore. I design and redesign my gardens. Extreme gardening is a great replacement for interactions but even that garnered unwanted attention so, I opened my gardens to the public to raise money for a cause that didn't save one life, feed one person or clothe one kid, though the public library was something I did believe in before I realized they have never been short one dime.. 400 people in my garden, a years preparation.. in return I frequently looked out my window to see a couple of little old ladies treating my space like a public botanical garden. It was amusing the first couple of times. Then I moved.. and took the garden with me. Every tree, every stone. It took six months to relocate an extreme landscape, but it was satisfying. My extraordinarily well heeled gardener had quit by then. Work wasn’t his thing.

I’m alone in my new house. It’s mostly glass and big windows. It’s open with secret passageways between rooms and I love it more and more. I've become attached though not necessarily secure. I know I’m on the clock. Counting the days till I relocate this landscape too. My sources for hedging material and anything related to anything I do have pulled away, so, don’t ask how I obtain my materials. I haven’t figured out if I’m awful or if people like me who always have funds but no visible means of earning those funds are seen with suspicion. A few people continuously try to figure it out. They never get it quite right & the few I told didn't believe me so I never told anyone again.

I’ve been dating someone new. He doesn’t call, he’s autistic, he thinks he’s in love with me… or he did last time I saw him. He too wants something quite physical so I can’t see it surviving summer. It’s okay though, I’m getting good at resisting attachments. It’s painful. I suppose hermits gradually grow thicker skin? Or are they sad, miserable people numbing themselves to what they desire? I’ve Met numb people. They’d given up. They were like me; they never fit in and weren’t willing to sacrifice what they loved about themselves or what alienated others.

So, full circle? I resist attachments and can’t recognize a friend when it appears. I really am preparing to be alone. A hermit more or less. The weird cousin or uncle who’s never around. “ I’m not around because hearing how unusual and exotic I am got old the first time you observed it”.

Kinda lonely. Trying to become accustomed to it. Im to young and I still want... Replacing people with rare plants. I miss being center stage. I miss clubbing all night. I miss making pasta for a house full of people. I miss sharing my house, my food…my music especially. I miss making art in my studio. I miss my big family. I miss the illusion of friendship. I miss my one friend who knew everything about my favorite subject: art and design. I miss my crew: the people you never see by day.. because we’re resting up and shopping for something to wear out the next night. I miss long conversations about ancient, obscure books. I miss my friend Greg. The only solace is he died a year ago. Solace because we never split up. We watched every pre-1950 movie we could get our hands on. We spoke the same language, usually obscure references to films no one in any other part of my much compartmentalized life will ever know. I miss Greg. I miss NOT feeling like this. Crying, but nothing comes out. If I could have a good cry, I think I’d feel better. I miss being 100% sober. I take sleeping meds and anxiety meds now. I have a brilliant new psychiatrist I see every month or two. I look forward to it, but looking forward to it means looking forward to the onset of cold weather which presents a thousand other trials Yeah, I think about suicide. I know how and I know I can go anytime I like, but I’ve kind of promised myself I’d stick around as long as my mother does. She’s the only family I talk to besides my dad, when he’s not golfing and my nephew who’s five and adores Me. I know where adoration leads in my family. These people turn on a dime, especially when he becomes an athletic super star and his father finally gives a fuck. I’m a bit like a place holder when it comes to nephews. Tomorrow is my older nephews HS graduation. I’m not invited. When they’re young, my brother can’t be bothered to do so much as feed them. Then they grow up and do something that pleases him. Then it’s my son this, my son that. The most stunning thing about not being invited to any corner of this kids graduation isn’t that I’m not invited on the trip, it’s that before he was born, my aunt warned me not to get too close to him… and then she died. How was she so spot on? You know what else? Very, very little has come about which wasn’t available info to anyone paying attention to the patterns of my family over generations. If my family were a publicly traded stock, I’d be a trillionaire. As it stands I learned late how to use this to my advantage, though I know how to profit from each of them in some way. it doesn’t make me sad seeing what my nephew is, it makes me sad having to face it instead of guess at it and hear my mother deny what I thought, and now know to be truth. The only think I felt about that was I pretty: I thought of cutting him off financially. It’s paperwork I don’t want to do, it would ignite a chain reaction with My own inheritance, and in the end, he will never need anyone else’s money. If I do nothing and get hit by a bus, this snotty little bastard gets everything I have. I talked to my friend piyush tonight, he’s home in India now. He told me I’m always on my Mind. The best part is he’s always on my Mind too. Lots of people are on my Mind and I like knowing I may see them sometime. Piyush told me he was thinking of me and when he says it, I know he means it. I know it because we have ups and downs. He’s been rotten to me, I’ve been rotten to him maybe, we live in the real world. That relationship has sustained so much. It’s not the conditional, situational relationship one is accustomed to. Some good things happened today.

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