thesilliestbilly: I used to poop on myself until the age of thirteen, by choice. Looking back at it, I can’t believe what the heck was wrong with me. I essentially couldn’t bother to go to the bathroom, I was too lazy. I didn’t wanna pause my video game, miss a bit of the TV show, or anything by the likes of it really.
There was even a point, probably around the age of six, where I’d scoop poop out of my butt and just smear it onto the underside of my desk. When I got older I’d just get rid of it in the shower. I’d push the poop down the drain with my toes. My parents of course knew of it but didn’t make any great effort to deal with it, we’d call it p (short for poop) as a code word so I could announce if I’d done it in public.
My mom would always clean my underwear. I stopped for good once I ended up going on a 3-week summer camp where if I’d poop myself, there’d be no way out of it so I was finally forced to do the most menial of human tasks; pull down my pants, take a dump, and wipe.
I haven’t thought about this section of my life for so long and writing it out is almost overwhelming. It makes me question the fundamental functionality of my mind. Were my parents at fault or was I screwed in the head from the get-go? I guess it worked out alright in the end though, I turned out fine I guess.
Other than my direct family, nobody knows.