jan 2025.

preface for the general reader: this is a document of my notes about how having 'bad guts' affects my life throughout the course of my life and at present. it isn't organized. it is notes. i always like to see inside other people's raw brains so maybe other people like to see that, too. it is the only way we can feel connected to each other and know that other people really experience things that we thought only we experience. we live in a world now that feels polished and artless, a world without humans. idk what could be more human than me ranting about how bad i am at shitting and how i have PTSD from it. anyway, like i said, just notes, just a work surface for me. i am not considering you at all, dear reader, beyond this preface. you are spying on me, i am letting you take alook into my open book of a life. it's a lot of nightmares hahahahaha anyway here i am just trying to get thoughts down to form some kind of argument to share with doctors and the government and whatever. i am truly disabled by my guts (and autism, with the guts being a feature of the autism? i dont know, didn't know the autism was a thing til 2024) and it fucking SUCKS ASS. my guts have completely ruled my life for as long as i can remember. i want to be friends with them. i try to be friends with them. i'm trying again, right now, after a night in the ER, to extend an olive branch. i see you guts. i feel you. i know you have needs. i'm trying to accomodate you. please help me, please be part of me, please let's get along </3... and with that,

end preface.


(i don't know how to write so i guess i'll just rant out all my talking points and then organize it later for a doctor)

i have to be careful in the mornings so that my day goes okay and i don't scare the poop fairy away. if i have anything to eat, it won't happen. if i drink the wrong thing, it won't happen. if anyone touches me, it won't happen. i have to be completely alone. i have to breathe carefully, move slowly, drink a starbucks latte. every single day i have to live this way. every day since age 13 when i discovered it was potentially possible to poop. this is what i have to do. HAVE TO. NON NEGOTIABLE.

i don't eat until after i have pooped and feel hungry, around 2pm. if i don't poop, i cannot eat. if i eat having not pooped, i will become very sick and tired, and the pattern is broken, and things really start to jam. if this happens, it will take days to recover. if i do not take days to recover immediatley, i will end up at the ER. i have tried to survive. i have tried all sorts of things. please just believe me. please believe my needs. i know how to take care of myself, it's just a lot of work. please believe me.

i don't want to be sick. i don't want any of this. who would ever wish to spend most of their life alone, just trying to keep their body doing basic functions? this has been my life most of my life. it has been so sad. laying on the ground massaging my guts. it's awful. i am so traumatized from people in my life, doctors friends family lovers everyone, accusing me of not trying hard enough. all i do is try not to be sick! it's literally all i do, all the time. please believe me i am trying so hard.

i need to write something here detailing how my chronic gut problems have impacted my ability to work, which that have utterly. my whole life has been eaten up by these gut problems. it's hard to know where to start, explaining. it's also hard to write when i'm in so much pain and crying. i need to write it so that people might understand and believe. i need to write it for the doctors and for disability and for anyone who wants to feel sad and read aboutmy sad life lol. it is really depressing to try to explain in detail how much of a fucking failure and a mutant you are and how impotent you are at helping your own situation and how stupid you are and etc etc. i must remind myself the systems have failed me. a person cannot be the world themselves, they can't know eveyrthing and medicate themselves and all that jazz. or can they? i don't know. i can't.

i need to maintain a specific lifestyle with a fixed regimen particularly in the mornings in order to keep my body alive.
i know what this regimen is and it works most of the time.
i NEED TO BE ABLE TO TAKE CARE OF MYSELF
if i don't get enough sleep, everything is broken.
if i wear the wrong shoes i won't be able to poop and i'll have a lot of injury and malfunction in my pelvic floor, low back, legs, etc. and pain through this areas.
to me, it feels like all the nerves are just barely making contact throughout most of my abdomen and pelvis (and body, i guess) so it's a fragile situation
wow i really am so traumatized from people touching me without my permission. good to know.

i am too emotionally fucked up and in too much abdominal pain to talk about this right now

i can't eat food when i'm not hungry. i can't eat certain foods. i can't eat in certain conditions such as wrong time or place. (i write these things and hear people mocking me in my mind telling me to get over it, wow ptsd is awesome hell yeah lol). i don't understand why all people want is to come into my life and prevent me from taking care of myself. why would anyone do that to someone! how horrible!!!!!!!!

i can feel everything. i can feel every part of my guts and always have been able to. i used to be able to feel my heart beating and my lungs moving but i've had to shut that out. i have had to distract and try to ignore all these internal sensations because it is so overwhelming. i have learned this is a feature of autism.cue mournful rant about hwo everything could have gone better for me if i'd known i was autistic. i can feel everything inside of me, and it's all very sensitive. 

i used to breathe deeply a lot and run around a lot and have muscles and use my muscles and my activity to whip my guts into shape somewhat. they were still mostly dead, most of the time, but i'd hit them with coffee and laxatives and alcohol. i would lay on the floor and try to manually squish my guts to life. i've learned about exploding kittens. i am stuck, i guess, at that developmental stage. i am doing alright for a drug baby. i am a strange creature, i am a mutant, and i am doing alright all things considered. self-affirmation interlude etc. 

if i could have one wish it would be to be healthy and not special-needsy. since that is not possible, i guess my second-place wish would be to have conditions of my life where i am able to take care of my needs and  (man it's hard to think about any of this stuff because tehre's a chorus of mean people from my past screaming at me in my mind about it all) have noone be mad at me and be in relative good health and enjoy whatever is possible and not disappoint anyone and etc. i am trying so hard. i don't know how to try harder. i don't know how to try harder!!! i wonder if it's not a joke being played on me, The Retard, when people tell me to try harder. like a riddle i can never solve, just to keep me out of their hair. I am slow to notice this. decades slow. Terrible world, where doctors don't help, where people don't help.

i am so traumatized! god damn! trauma tangent time:
in my study of emotionatl trauma i have figured that the real way to overcome trauma is to have good experiences of the same kind. like if you were bitten by a dog you need to go have fun with a lot of dogs over time and then you can understnd that the dog bite was a rare event and not how things generally are. i think this is probably known in psychology but i am a moron and have to learn everything myself the hard way. anyway, that's how i'm pretty sure it works. so i know that what would untraumatize me is if instead of people yelling at me they would say thats ok, i understand, and things like that. unfortunately the wealth of my experience still is bad. over and over the same bad responses. so i still believe that i am bad, should just try harder, etc. but in my heart actually i do know that this world is full of assholes and morons and i am not a liar. it was a great relief to get an autism diagnosis because a PSYCHOLOGIST with EXPENSIVE KNOWLEDGE AND BOOKS told me that it's true, everything i feel is true, and i'm a a real special person, a different type of being (those arne't his words), and i'm not just a defective version of a Normal Person. so that was validating. but it was just ten minutes and from one person. i think feeling validated is very important. i think it's probably impossible to get validation from the world around you, because, again, the world is full of asshole lunatic moron capitalist wankers. internet used to be helpful for finding community but now it is not so good. in reddit and facebook i'm shouted down always for my experiences. noone experiences like i do. or very seldom do. hair hurts, shower hurts, so many things. my life by this age is such a hodgepodge of experiences and ideas, it's really too unique i guess for anyone to fully understand. but that is ok. if someone knew what it was like to be me, they would die. they would not be able to bear it. there are probably people out there on opium who are like me. i think nate's brother merlin who invented some new math for radiation detection is like me. i think that's why he did drugs for so long. i can tell when i met him because i just want to hug him. it is not a conscious thing, it is a retard wavelength thing. i have that also with my work wife. this trauma tangent turned itself into thinking about nice hugs, so that's nice, hah!but connecting with people who are like me, even if not the same, or connecting with people who are smart enough to just believe other people, is healing. healing for trauma. i am being retraumatized all the time trying to get help from doctors, aides, government offices, jobs, anywhere. but now and then there are angels. or whatever. isn't the only angel on earth Lucifer???????????? i should look that up

okay yeah i guess some other angels were cast out and i would know that if i had read all these books i have. i digress.

waht is it called when you are too gaslit and traumatized to keep trying to explain something important? this has been an ongoing issue my whole life because people don't believe me and tell me i am crazy even for innocent things like "i don't like ketchup" for example, and this led me to not speaking to anyone ever for many years. i am trying now to speak up but i don't know how to say things right. and i dont think anyone wants to listen in good faith. Amy at the disability service office tells me to keep being the squeaky wheel but i said if the wheel just squeaks forever eventually it breaks. it has been decades of me trying to get help with things. there is no help. the body is falling apart. no! no--i must remain hopeful somehow. i must keep trying to explain. that's what this whole file is, me trying to figure out how to explain. even as a child in school, for as long as i can remember, i was told i communicated wrong, and i needed to form certain shapes with the words, make certain sentences, or, the message was, i was not worth considering. that's so fucked up! so fucked up, wow. i think the non-violent communication book reminded me of that. it is wrong to demand people behave in the way you want them to. i don't know what will make people believe me other than just a person who wants to believe me and truly help me. if i had a mom, would she have wanted to understand me? is that love? i've really gone big with this paragraph. it's not a good paragraph. paragraphs have a certain shape and topics and words. i got into sentence diagramming for a while. why is language an art that i have to learn? if i have to learn it, then why are people able to speak? i am not certified as able to communicate and yet i do. i get through the days with no formal knowledge (i forgot sentence diagramming, hah). who am i trying to speak to? why? how will i know the best way to tell them, how can i learn their language? anyway one particula rthing i hated about english was that i need to have the subject be the human. i cant remember the exact language term for this, but i was supposed to say "the girl picked up the cup" and not "the cup was picked up by the girl". this is called passive voice and is bad for some reason. there should always be an actor acting on something. to me there is. the cup is being acted on by the girl but the emphasis is not on the girl because the story isn't about her. i am actually probably quite good at english from hate-studying it from being told i was stupid and wrong forever. stupid and wrong about everything. i really like my mind actually an have a lot of fun it's just my body that is so awful and the way other people think of me just as a body when that's the thing i least am. i like ti put these words here. a body of work. that is all i want to be: a body of work.

Writing, aka the attempt at communicating, makes me feel less powerless. It isn't empowering exactly, but there is hopeful feeling generated by my attempt. i am trying. i am doing the work the best i can. building a body from my work. is it a wrong body? yes. i have no right body to compare to. my body here made of flesh and bones and my second, nasty endoskeleton of poop and tumors, is not the right kind of body to model from. i look back and think how i haven't had right models for anything in my life. i wonder if i can get the right models. i wonder how. how to learn to be something else. how to learn to do things. but then i remember, also, i have tried to for 39 years and failed, because i have a disability in my nervous system, in my mind, in my ability to learn. for me it is always going to be a garden path sentence. but who doesn't enjoy a garden path? there's a lot to see, and maybe snacks, and flowers and birds. little bits of trash people dropped from their pockets, gum wrappers etc. smells of plants, bugs, precipitation. i love you, ya know? but how can i make that feeling helpful for you, how can i harness my feeling into something that would mean something and make you feel good? i guess it's a matter of communicaton. isn't it always. i will have food for you, i will send you photos, i will try to find what delights you and leave it on your doorstep. who is the pet now? maybe we are both just animals and can nestle together in a tree trunk and wait for the spring. but i can't do that. because of my guts. my horrible, cursed, ruined guts, and the additional emotional pain i feel knowing that my physical disabilities are a burden on you. how can i show you i love you? the question for the ages. i fetch you the pitcher, as you wish. my body has fallen apart. i don't know if you want me to love you, but i do. i love the way you slouch in the car, i love the way you move so softly, and how you fidget along with the music. i want to hold you and kiss your head. i guess i just hope you know i love you, and i'll do whatever i can for you. what i can do is not much, and for that i am sorry.