IL PLEUT. Who put the UK in India without my permission. Monsoons are rubbish. It’s been raining for about two weeks here and when the sun comes out everyone goes outside and looks confused. But the sense of seasonal change which I think evokes alterations in many peoples emotional meanderings has been a contributing factor to some serious self analysis again. I’ve been in a battle with myself for well over a month regarding messing. I’ve tried to be strict and say that’s it, no more. And then I start slipping into a black hole of depression which affects my life and relationship more than the shame of living with being a total mess sometimes. But that carries its own avenue of depression as you work a professional life trying to ignore the memories of all the times you’ve totally pooped yourself in public. I can’t really see a way out short of a brain transplant. Acceptance and moderation seems the only path that lifts the doom.
And so I had a ridiculous mess recently that was pretty much a full blown accident. Short of the whole holding on for days before hand thing. I won’t write a book this time but I’ll try to convey it in some detail. I had a day off and I knew my partner was working so I’d planned to go shopping somewhere new which was a good 45 minute drive away. I had the urge to go to the toilet but it wasn’t serious. By the way it felt I thought it was likely not to be too large so I just wore two pairs of underwear with some rolled up tights betwixt them. This proved to be a mistake and en route I had some pretty serious gas and cramping develop which usually means something unpleasantly sloppy is on the way. Traffic made this all the worse as I also now needed to wee. I’ve never had such an uncomfortable car journey where the urgency to poop and wee were in a full on battle, taking it in turns to dominate and I started to think it was possible I’d lose it in the car.
Finally getting out the car in the multi story brought on the most almighty wave of desperation to poop and I was suddenly glued to the spot with tightly crossed legs trying to hold on and hope that no one was looking. It slowly subsided but now I felt extremely full and knew I wouldn’t be able to control the next wave so I bolted straight into the shopping mall and managed to buy what I was after before anything unpleasant occurred. But as soon as I’d left the store my subconscious clearly decided to green light the need to poop. Similar to when you have your keys in the front door after needing the toilet for a while, mission control decided we are go. The problem was I had no idea where the toilets were which in hindsight was probably the most exciting thing about this particular excursion from sanity.
After some useless, panicked searching trying to overtake people that seemed to walk in slow motion I found a mall layout plan on the main concourse and located the nearest toilets which were conveniently the opposite end of the mall; near the shop I’d just come from. Standing still while looking at the information board was enough to initiate my start sequence though, and I was faced with the options of standing there with crossed legs until I had an accident in front of everyone, or attempt the waddle to the toilets which would result in walking and having an accident in front of everyone. I opted for the latter. My stomach was now game over and with decreasing leg dexterity my pace slowed and I became overwhelmed with cramping and pelvic muscle fatigue. I started pooping my pants as I walked and had to stop by the railing overlooking the lower level of the mall. I remember just glancing around through cringing eyes as I now uncontrollably pushed and felt a sudden rush of warmth cover my bottom. I turned my back to the railing hoping no one was seeing this disaster unfold. Surge after surge led to increasing control and I managed to stop but my situation was dire. It wasn’t a smaller mess like I’d expected and I had no way near enough protection. I felt back and it was bulging into my jeans badly and already wet in places. I knew I wasn’t done but the release in pressure meant that my bladder could gladly announce it’s urgency and as I continued to waddle to the toilets I lost control slightly adding to the chaos.
The toilets were located at the end of a large food court with a starbucks, burger king, various cafe’s, endless seating and huge crowds of people queuing. All I could do was dangle my bag over my bottom and try not to act too panicked as I bolted through it all but the busy toilets had a small queue and were boiling hot for some reason. If you’re going to have aircon anywhere in the shopping centre, why not the toilets? This is often the case although I’m usually pretty hot and flustered in these situations so maybe I’m exaggerating but I always hear other people complaining about it too. Waiting for toilets is a regular theme in my blog and I apologise for its lack of originality now but at peak times this is often the case with the ladies. I rarely see queues outside of the mens. Not particularly fair. When I’m not in messing mode, waiting gets extremely stressful if you’re urgent and I’ve nearly had real accidents at night clubs where a queue seems to be part of the deal.
This time I had to just wait there stinking as the need to wee gave way to the need to poop again. The woman in front of me didn’t seem to notice, or maybe she just politely ignored it, but a group of people joined behind me and I knew I was rumbled when they went silent suddenly. When I heard one say “she shit herself” I just held my bum and my breath, then let the pressure win. This was fairly dramatic as judging by the mess I was in I didn’t think there would be a great deal more but I quickly doubled the severity of my situation audibly. It went from bad to disaster in seconds and I felt the tell tale sign of a blowout as the mess forced its way out of my pants into the rolled up tights and also all the way into the front. It nearly reached the top of my underwear at the back and I was dumb struck. I looked around in panic to see three faces portraying a mixture of shock and amusement. One was holding her nose. I’ve no idea what they thought but I imagine they’ve told everyone they know about it by now. I can’t describe the stench. Large blowouts seem to have a distinkt nuclear character of their own. Sickly sweet and so potent even under clothes. I feel pretty bad about it but they weren’t intoxicated for too long and I managed to get into a toilet soon after. None of them offered me any help.
I stood there for a little while regaining composure and attempted to wee by taking down my jeans and outer underwear, then sat on the toilet and weed into the messed primary underwear and rolled up tights trying to channel it through the tights where there was less mess. It just made everything worse and all I could do was try to dab it back into a sustainable situation with lots of loo roll. I’d been in there long enough to stink out the toilets now; people were commenting on it and I had to retreat. Pulling up my pants and jeans was pretty gross and the jeans stained through totally. I took a deep breath and exited the toilet, washed my hands as if nothing had happened and walked back out into the chaos. I didn’t really care now who saw, I just wanted to get somewhere less crowded and headed for a department store in which I found private baby change toilets to let my heart calm down. It was only then, away from the chaos that I started to relax and see the silly side of it all.
I retreated back through the store eventually after a few more embarrassing witness incidents in toilets. The mess was getting lower into my jeans and in the back of my mind I knew I had a 45 minute drive before salvation. Sitting down in the car was an operation in itself. I needed two bin bags to protect the seat and as I slowly sat, the mess spread everywhere and the smell was horrific. I was umming about whether to stop on the way back to use a better camera for posting. The weather wasn’t great so I ended up just getting out of the car for ten minutes to try badly. In which time a dog found me and wouldn’t leave me alone, obsessed with how I smelled. They have zero manners. It left only after it’s owner shrieked repeatedly.
It was an epic mess. Being so recent I’m still a little defensive about it but the cringe is gradually giving way to the excitement it provoked. The sense of relief coupled with the shock of a severe pants accident, confirmed by the all consuming sensory nature of it made things enjoyable on the most bizarre level, the first time of which for months. I’m trying not to over analyse so much now but it was an extremely messy summer and the excess has played its part on my morale. But it’s only recently after this mess that I’ve allowed myself to get back engaged with posting and continuing the blog. I don’t know when another dip will come or whether I’ll try to banish this pants pooping witch that possesses me again. I literally have dreams about seeing myself pooped, with a witches face, writhing and fitting and spinning on the spot. It’s messed up. It’s all messed up. But ultimately this is some sort of cycle, and increasingly I’m accepting this is part of me and trying to permanently deny it is like trying to deny oxygen.
Thank you for reading
Happy Pooping xx