Anxiety and the Feminization of Poop

 It's been a while.  I know.  I've been dealing with some stuff.  Mental health is a big thing.  You need to take care of yourself sometimes... and that means if I want to come home from work and sit on the couch and chill, that is exactly what I'm going to do.  That being said, story time!

Casey has been perfecting her nightly rituals.  Working construction for a good portion of her adult male life, she has always said that she is lucky her skin isn't as sun damaged as it could be.  Both Casey and I, being in our 40s, are slowly fighting the good fight (I'm lucky- I had a headstart and have always been blessed with good skin) with an army of retinols, polypeptides, and serums galore. Our vanity also now holds a plethora of makeup brushes, cleansers, toners, etc.  I have my favorites and Casey has hers.  It has, for the most part, been pretty fun experimenting with Casey and seeing what works for her and what doesn't work for her.   In fact, yesterday, I had Casey help me with my own make up!  She showed me this great trick with my undereyes that helped me look not so exhausted when I had to meet with clients. 

Yesterday evening we were in the bathroom, Casey doing her nightly skincare routine and I'm hanging out, very uncomfortably, on the toilet.  You see, I started lexapro this past week.  Apparently, anti-anxiety meds make you poop.  A lot.  A little context for you: The stress of everything finally caught up with me, grabbed my hair like the little bitch I felt I was, threw me down and said "Alright, fucker.  I'm going to sing and you're going to listen." 

What proceeded was not just a concert, but a whole damn Coachella style festival of anxiety. Waves of horrible EDM panic attacks, followed by short intervals of light trip hop, crescendoing with raucus, throw your body around alternative riffs the like of Rage Against the Machine.  Looking back, I felt like I was dying but I really feel like I should make some sort of playlist on Spotify and share it with y'all. 

All said and done, I finally slept somewhere between 16-17 hours (the jury is out as to the exact amount of time due to the fact this occurred during daylight savings - the good news, it's a great way for your body NOT to have to adjust to a time change).  The lexapro is supposed to help me "refill my cup" and xanax is supposed help me calm my brain a little extra on days that I need that.   I had been taking hydroxcyzine on the times where I was hyperventilating or my heart was palpitating.  I really don't like how it makes me feel, though, because it knocks me out.  Hence, why I slept the 16+ hours.  It makes sense as it's in the benedryl family and benedryl has always put me to sleep.   I'm not thrilled about having to take anti-anxiety meds, but sometimes you just have to grind up that pill, put it in pudding and swallow it. 

The TL;DR version? Lexapro is currently doing a number on my gut. 

Casey and I, both being on the same meds (we are both on lexapro) were kvetching about the wonderful gut problems that it can cause.  

"Ugh! This is awful! I feel so... crappy!"  I said, annoyed that even with our tushy bidet I didn't feel clean nor anywhere near done.

Casey, slathering her face in moisturizer, doesn't even bother looking in my direction and is rather more focused on her crow's feet.  "Oh yeah, could take a couple of weeks to get used to it.  Or, you might never get used to it."

I think about it for all of two seconds.  "I'd rather have runny poop than those two liter sized poops when you're all backed up."  

"I don't know," Casey says.  "When those move past your prostate?  It's kinda like oh yeah...."  She shuddered with fake pleasure, grinning somewhat like a lunatic.  "You're all like, yeah baby!  That's good!  And she just slides out!  It's so satisfying, ya know?" 

By this point in the conversation I am cracking up pretty good.  And then it hit us, both me and Casey, at the exact same time...

"Well, I guess we have reached the point of transitioning where I'm feminizing my poop!"  High five!"

We actually high fived. I was still sitting on the toilet, she had half of her nightly routine done, but we high fived.  

There are some days that it's tough.  There are some days when I misgender Casey.  There are some days I don't think twice about calling Casey my wife or using the correct pronouns.  Above all, though, I'm happy and I love the fact that we can still make gross jokes and laugh with each other.  The past couple of weeks have not been easy.   Last week I was at the lowest I have ever been.  Casey was there for me.  I will continue to be there for her.   I think that for as crazy as our world is right now we're doing pretty good.  Today, I am thankful that I have hope and I have love.  I just have to keep remembering that.