It's Not All In My Head- It's In My Ass!

You know what I hate more than anything? I hate when doctors, friends, co-workers and family think that the painful stomach cramps and debilitating bouts of toilet hell I suffer from, is all in my head. Seriously, do you think I want cramps so bad, I feel like I could puke? Do you think I like having to cancel dinner plans or tickets to a concert in the park because I want to sit on my couch in my pajamas playing the harmonica? Wake the fuck up people! This is not a joke, this is not make believe, this is my shitty life. It's real and raw and it's not in my head, it's in my ass, and so much of it is in my ass and then out my ass that I sometimes wonder how that much stuff can come out of it. And then I wonder how it that is possible when all I had to eat the entire day was a banana and some toast.

I'm not lying when I say I can't come to your house today because I know sixty people are coming to your party and you only have one bathroom, or that I can't go to the secluded beach with you for six hours, because six hours with no bathroom for me is torture in itself. This problem was not created by aliens, however I would gladly go to their planet if they could cure me of this ailment. I would gladly give them anything they wanted. I might even consider being their test monkey if they could be the ones shitting and not me. I have a mad stomach, that is all.

The best way I can describe my IBS is to tell you it's like the Ocean. A person who has a sluggish digestive system would have an Ocean with very few waves. They would actually be considered as having lake current, not ocean current and people like me have ocean currents equivalent to Hawaii- freaking huge waves that have no mercy. They take you in a vortex of hell, roll you around until you're choking from the pain and right before the wave is over, it sucks you down one last time for a final fuck you. So the next person that wants to tell me that this "little problem" is all in my head, can come to my house because I may just sneak you some Ex-lax in your brownie and let you see that the shit ain't so pretty when it's coming out of you. Not that I think about it, I should be dating a surfer!