Proof That Humans Are Inherently Butt Holes

Did you know that the first part of a human being to develop is its anus? We’re deuterostomes, which means the first opening to form during embryonic development becomes our butt hole (in other organisms, called proterostomes, that first opening becomes their mouth). To put it simply, humans are built around their butt hole – if it comes first, everything else is developed afterwards and around it, I guess. Which figures (as well as being incredibly ironic, I feel), because people are arseholes really, aren’t they? All that comes out of most of them, is a heck of a lot of (you know what word belongs here without me writing it, right?). Seriously, the first time I learned about deuterostomes in a lecture, my brain was all “oh that makes sense, because human beings are arseholes.” 

(Trigger warning. All the trigger warnings).

This evening things got so bad that I couldn’t handle being in my house any more. So I went for a walk. I was in the kind of mood that I was in on the day I left my flat in Mile End and walked 13km to the other side of Hyde Park. I wanted to walk and walk and walk until my body couldn’t take another breath, let alone another step. I put on the falling apart pair of old trainers that I practically lived in all through sixth form (and until that point hadn’t worn since), I stepped out of that front door… and I never wanted to come home. I walked briskly, the biting cold welcome because I was dead inside and also because I just wanted to hurt. I played music loudly enough to drown out everything else, I held back tears, and I tried to force my feelings to develop enough that I could identify them and figure out what on earth they were. I was running away from the things I couldn’t face. I was running away from my insensitive, toxic family members, and I didn’t want to go back. I couldn’t face the thought of stepping back into that house. Every time I tried to my brain was all ASDFGHJKL and my attention would be lost to the music again.

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Walking in the dark. A route I so often walked, but now as a shadow of the former self to whom it was familiar.

I walked the route I used to run/walk with my dog (it felt SO WRONG walking those paths without him, he usually joins me on my walks). I walked past my old junior school, past a house that used to be a second home to me (I could still see in through the window at brother friend’s parents sat there watching TV), past the village shops and the Christmas tree they lit last night. I looped back past my old infant school and the little library that shares the grounds with it… And I couldn’t handle the thought of the walk ending, as I got closer and closer to the house I’d needed to get out of. The trouble with living in the countryside is that you can’t just walk and walk until your body says no and then get on a tube and go home. You have to walk in a loop, because public transport is few and far between and the footpaths lead to literally nowhere. Beautiful places, but nowhere places. And there are a finite number of loops to walk.

I didn’t look before I crossed the road. At one point I walked in the road because I hoped it might make me feel alive. I didn’t want to get hit by a car, but when I thought about my own body lying mangled and broken in the road with the final moments of life leaving it, I wasn’t too bothered. All that bothered me was the thought that I might end up in a hospital, or worse, the hospital closest to where I was, and that I couldn’t handle. So my brain was all ASDFGHJKL and it shut down until I’d moved on and it could re-awaken.

Maybe I should cry for help

Maybe I should kill myself” – AWOLNATION, Sail (one of the lyrics that played in my ears as I zoned back into reality)

I started to think (and this is pretty much the narrative of the train of thought that happened)

The man I call dad has nothing to do with me, I have nothing to do with him – it avoids me ending up a beaten down suicidal mess. My mum is so disconnected from me (and insensitive about my mental health or emotional wellbeing) that there’s nothing between us any more. I can’t trust because of things that happened in my past. In the absence of an ability to trust, I cannot love (because isn’t the latter simply the sincerest form of the former – to lay not only your belief, but your heart, in somebody else’s hands?). Correction – I cannot trust or love anything that isn’t my dog. Words are shallow and mean nothing to me, and animals can only speak in actions, which mean so much more. They aren’t fooled by superficial words when they greet each other – they go straight for sniffing their new companion’s butt. I like that. If someone can see the most unpleasant, awful parts of me and still want to be around, they’re cool by me. But we hide that behind a smile, and promises that we are dependable and we will always be there and I’ll never let you down. Anyway. Enough of that.

The university don’t care about me at all, and why would they? I’m a tiny microbe in an aquarium full of intellectual tropical fish all on show – I am part of the ecosystem that sustains the importance, but I am not important. To them I am just my student number. If I left, it’d be a huge knot out of their hair. Secretly I think they just wish I’d hurry up and die. My family criticise me a lot. They worry about the insignificant things because they have no perspective. My mum is the only one who really talks to me – my little brother is a teenaged boy and… Her husband… Yeah. She’s hung up on whether the dishwasher is full or who left a plate where or how I make the sofa look a mess when I sit on it with my stuff. I inconvenience them and do everything wrong (or so it feels). Then my mum says she loves me. And I’m sure she does, but words mean nothing to me. Words mean nothing to me because they are so easy to say, so easy to hide behind and mislead with. Actions are the language I listen to. Behaviour.

My friends would move on just like all the old ones did while I was in hospital. They say they’ll always be there and that they aren’t like the friends I had before but… So did everyone else. Everyone who walked out of my life told me those words. Everybody was different to everyone else. But they were human. They were inherently arseholes, and eventually that came through.

Over the past couple of weeks I have asked for help and support as my mental health crumbled around the ruins of my physical health. My doctors ignored and dismissed me, only focussed on getting me out of hospital or keeping me alive, no matter what the price to pay, no matter how cruel or how painful or how scarring (both mentally and physically) the treatment may be. The psychologist I tried to talk to said nothing, she sat there and smiled and asked me how university was going and when I told her I couldn’t feel and I’d watched a man die, the (probably supposed to be comforting) smile stayed and she just. Said. Nothing. And then told me it was good to see me engaging with treatment. My mum just shouted.

I just want to die. I want to hurt. I want to feel something. I want to escape this. I want to die. I want to be dead. It’s the only way I know how to deal with my mind.

“THIS KID’S NOT ALRIGHT” – AWOLNATION, THISKIDSNOTALRIGHT

I reach out for support and it isn’t there. I reach out for a human hand to hold and all I find are assholes and then… Four paws. And now some arsehole has taken those four paws away from me for no reason.

And there it was. There was the reason I was falling apart. My furry rock – the only thing in the world I trust, the only thing in the world I trust, was not there. And I now it’s pathetic that a dog means so much to me, that he has been able to do so much for me, but he was the only reason I was in that house. Yesterday at 12:30, a family friend said he wanted to take my dog for a 5-10 minute walk. Then he said he’d drop him off this morning. This morning turned into this afternoon. On social media he re-created this photo that I’d made my profile picture, and made it his profile picture too.

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And I began to think I may never get the dog back. I had considered going back to university this evening, but knew I wasn’t ready. If I had, I wouldn’t have seen my dog for weeks, and I wouldn’t have been able to say goodbye.

And then my mum walked into the kitchen, as I was sat there kind of imagining a sharp something running through my own soft flesh, and almost aching to make that imagining a reality because I just could not handle anything and I just… I felt I needed to hurt. As a punishment, just to feel something, or to override whatever was going on in my mind… I just wanted pain. She started shouting. She said I’m screwing it all up (my uni career) and that she won’t have me sitting around here for a year because they can’t take it. She said I was taking people down with me. She told me not to talk to her about how I feel because she couldn’t help and she didn’t know why I tried. Because she’s my MOTHER. Because that’s what mothers are for. Because who else in the whole world do you turn to when you can’t turn to your own mum? I tried to explain that I told her how I felt not so that she could help it, but so that she could stop un-helping it. She just went on and on shouting like I should care about any of what she was saying and I’d already explained time and time again that I CAN’T RIGHT NOW.

She told me whether it was good for me or not I had to just go back to uni and just do it. She told me it’s only a few weeks until I break up for Christmas. It isn’t only anything. Then she said she understands I have problems. And then when I said that university wasn’t a helpful environment for me at the moment (trying to take responsibility for my own mental health) she shouted “and you think being here is helping?!” She told me that I’m risking my entire future. She doesn’t get it. She doesn’t get that if I go back there I’m risking my entire future even more because I genuinely think I’d probably take my own life. It isn’t a threat. I don’t want to. I’m scared that I would. All she cares about is my degree. I wonder how much that will matter to her if she was sat at my funeral. Even then she’d never understand. She said she doesn’t do mental health. And then she stopped shouting and pretended nothing had ever happened. So, tentatively, I just went along with it. We talked about dinner. After all that. We talked about dinner.

I mentioned our family friend taking my dog for a 5-10 minute walk yesterday. 31 hours later. 31. HOURS. Later. He brought my dog home, stiff and in so much pain he could hardly get out of the car (because he’s an old dog and had been allowed to run around for far longer than 5-10 minutes).

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This photo was taken before the front door had even been shut. My dog walked straight into the house, found me, sat right on my feet, and refused to move. He didn’t want to be apart from me either. Neither of us ever had to be separated. There was never any need.

But the arsehole wasn’t done living up to its embryological developmental first stage. He called my dog to say goodbye to him, and my dog wouldn’t move (he is literally following me anywhere and refuses to leave my side and it’s just brilliant to have that back). My stepdad pretended to be my dog, whining in a high pitched voice, “No don’t leave me, please don’t leave me” and laughed at me, because he too is an arsehole.

Sorry I stole your dog only… I’m not sorry. My dad laughed with him, clearly they were both highly amused at how distressed I’d been in the absence of my furry rock. My dad had obviously told him how I’d been. *cough* arsehole *cough*

Anyway, shouldn’t you be at university?  Was the next question.

I pointed out that I wasn’t because I’d nearly died 5 times in the last 3 weeks.

Well when you do die can you die quietly?

They then laughed when he said he’d have the dog for good then. This is an individual who likes to joke about me dying like it’s something funny. It isn’t. Some jokes are just insensitive.

Life has taught me how rare it is to find genuinely decent human beings (on account of the fact that they seem to be inherently arseholes), and I treasure the few that I have had the pleasure to encounter (including those of you across the pond, who I have never met, but know though this blog). And those people are even more remarkable, because it takes a whole lot of something to overcome an inherent thing. We’re designed to be selfish and look out for ourselves beyond others I guess… And for people to go against that, to overcome that. It goes a long way. It takes a special kind of person.

I just… I didn’t need to encounter any arsehole-like behaviour tonight, after the conclusions my brain was already drawing. I don’t have the guts to ever act on those urges. I hope. See. I’m scared. In the presence of my dog, they seem to just be replaced with an urge to cuddle up with him and hold onto his fur until the storm passes.

But anyway.

A lot of people just never develop beyond their arsehole.

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13 thoughts on “Proof That Humans Are Inherently Butt Holes

  1. so so sorry to hear that you have had to put up with this! It is so so unfair! I really wish that I could do something to make all this better or at least add a little something better to what’s going on. If you can’t make a decision between staying at uni or leaving then would interrupting be an option? Although that might just delay and prolong everything so I guess that might to be very helpful and you’ve probably thought about all this and to be honest I don’t know exactly what you mind is going through and it’s easy for me to try and suggest things but I might not actually be helping so I’m sorry. Also when/if you do come back to London I can go Winter Wonderland with you if you would like? I saw it on your list in your other post if that is something you still haven’t done and still want to do? Sorry I can’t be of much help but just want to let you know that I will always try my best to help and that I am always here for you and always thinking of you! ❤

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    • Ok so… I was expecting people to comment more “you pathetic arsehole, get a grip, you’re such a deuterostome and you never developed beyond being a butt hole!” So this is kind of a surprise to me.

      Thank you. I mean… Is it unfair though? Interrupting is a huge no for me because it assumes I’m waiting for things to change for the better and they won’t improve health wise so… I’d never go back I guess. Plus my parents (ok mum. She’s the only one who has anything to do with me. Mum.) has made it clear that I’m not staying here for a year OMG MY DOG JUST FELL ASLEEP ON ME AND IT IS SO ADORABLE AND I JUST… I MISSED THIS AND I HAVE TO GO JUST STARE AT HOW ADORABLE THIS IS WHY IS THIS ALL IN CAPITALS BYE

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    • Also you are awesome and obviously developed far beyond being an arsehole into being a fabulous awesome human. I know you need reminding of that so here is that reminder. Ew. My dog farted in his sleep. That’s less adorable seeing as he’s laying on me. But… I have missed this floof a lot.

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      • That’s fair enough I was thinking it might give you longer to decide whether you wanted to go back not so from a mentail well being perspective rather than physical but you’ll do what’s right for you and that’s all that matters and no matter what I’ll always be here to support you with your decision!! and aha I’m glad you have your dog back haha! And Aww thank you, you just made me feel even better than i did after this weekend! You can’t call yourself a butthole well you still have time to compliment friends!

        Liked by 1 person

      • There is nothing weak or pathetic about you. You have a strength you can’t see. Believe me, I’ve had my share of health issues this year (just had my 3rd surgery in 5 months last week) and people kept telling me how strong I am and I didn’t get it. I was just doing what I had to do to get better. But you’re doing that too. You’re starting to feel again, and that’s a good thing. Know that you’re never alone.

        Liked by 1 person

      • Honestly I don’t know what to say to this other than a thousand thank yous.

        Sorry to hear about your surgeries. Sounds rough. Repeated surgeries takes its toll I know from personal experience and I hope you don’t have to go through any more before the year is out! Wishing you the best health possible for you!

        Yeah I still don’t know what to say about the rest… Means a lot. Thanks

        Liked by 1 person

  2. I’m who the hell steals a dog for over a day and makes him hurt?? What in the world was that guy thinking? I’m guessing he’s a bully, much like not-dad. Ugh. People. Arseholes.

    I’m proud of you for feeling feelings, because that is hard. I’d offer you a spot on my guest bed, but I’m not sure that Americanized insurance would keep you alive 😦

    ❤️🐾❤️🐾

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    • I mean… I did think this about the taking of my dog for over a day, but my family weren’t bothered at all and told me I was being ridiculous, so I’ve been sort of worried that it’s a normal thing to do and I’m weird for being bothered at all (I definitely know it’s weird just how much it got to me). My dog clearly didn’t want to be part from me because since he’s been back he’s sort of glued himself to my side (although right now he’s in so much pain from his hip he can’t even sit himself up and is stuck laying down). Once he had the dog there was nothing we could do. It was seeing him re-make the profile picture of me and my dog and then make it his own too that really made me want to hit him to be fair…

      Feeling feelings is an interesting and so far unhelpful development. Thankfully I feel some feels and then my brain totally shuts down again, so there are some breaks I guess (mostly nothingness so…) Is it difficult, or am I just weak/pathetic?? If I had the money for a flight and had been invited to stay in your guest room, I would totally have loved to. You’re an exception to the “people never develop beyond being arseholes” thing. You seem to have one hell of a heart and an incredible brain.

      Thank you for this. I look forward to your comments. They are usually kind and helpful and that means more than you’ll ever really know I think 🐾❤️🐾

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      • You’re always welcome to my guest room if you find yourself in Minneapolis 🙂 we have a fuzzy dog who’s good at snuggles and 2 cats who are good at sitting on keyboards 🙂 they like it when guests come because there are more hands to go around for petting. I can’t wait until you live in a place that lets you have a fuzzy-buddy.

        Thanks for the kind words – I try hard to find the good in everything but some weeks it is harder than others.

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      • If I ever find myself across the pond I’ll make it my mission to stop by! Those animals sound so cute!

        I think I’ve given up on that ever working out, but maybe that’s just because my mind is void of all ambition and hope and anything at the moment. Actually, that’s not true, it’s now full of me imagining a fuzzy dog and two cats sitting on keyboards. No, thank you. Honestly.

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