Letting Sh*t Go

I woke up with vomit on the duvet. It was over my feet so I knew that it wasn’t mine because I haven’t done yoga in nearly ten years. Riel had curled up in between my legs, slightly higher up on the bed than where he had emptied his stomach. It was only a few minutes after the moist duvet had interrupted my sleep that I noticed Riel trying to take a shit. After about thirty seconds of effort, he shrieked and I knew that he was constipated.

This is Riel trying to poo while constipated.

The move hasn’t been easy on either of us nor has it been smooth going for E– and Mikka, her cat. Since leaving my old place and transitioning over, the four of us haven’t been in the same room together. My girlfriend and I haven’t even spent an entire night in the same bed, despite having purchased a lovely new ENDY king-sized bed.

After Riel’s third attempt at a satisfying poo, I messaged my girlfriend to let her know that he was constipated. She suggested that I take him to the vet. We went together a week earlier to have him checked out before introducing him to Mikka. They’re both males so we weren’t as worried about STIs as we were about feline diseases.

It’s been a difficult introduction, worse than many first dates. Even without knowing each other, they can’t help but express their curiosity in an aggressive, forthcoming manner. They only thing that keeps them comfortably separated is the bedroom door. They aren’t even interested in eating near each other, much like many first dates.

All we can really hope for is that time will bring them closer together because distance has not made them fonder.

Riel and I have been together for ten years. Of those ten, we have been on our own for seven. Together, we have moved across the country, lived in three different cities, and settled down in four different apartments. He and I have become comrades. He and I have come to understand one another.

Since moving in with my E– and Mikka, I feel closer to Riel than I ever have. Watching him navigate his new space and try desperately to come to grips with his new routine has been informative. While becoming accustomed to his new surroundings, he has remained true to his nature. He may be unsure of where he is but he is not unsure of who he is. I, on the other hand, am experiencing the opposite.

This is Mikka. He is wearing my hat.

I’m not uncomfortable here. Nor am I unhappy being here. Indeed, I think that this is one of the best decisions that I have ever made. Getting to see and spend time with E– is fantastic. It’s a treat. Even when we are busy doing our own things, I feel close to her. I don’t have to be glued to my phone to communicate with her. For that, I am grateful.

I, however, use things to help me see myself, to help me define myself. I am partial to material objects because they reflect a piece of who I am. Strangely, I’ve never owned a full-length mirror.

I was never very discreet with her about how I live my life. She is fully aware of how well I am able to manage my life and all of the things that I have collected and brought into my surroundings. Still, she has accepted me. In the process of moving, I had to get rid of a lot. Whatever I did manage to bring with me is slowly being culled through and sent to either storage, the bin, or the Sally Ann.

I’m still unsure of where many things are. I do know that some went to my sister, more to my parents, a fair bit of furniture went to a former neighbour of mine, and my bed and dining table stayed for the next residents, who happen to be friends of my former neighbour. There were random boxes that were delivered to other relatives, but I can’t be sure of who has what.

My dad came out to help me move. Without him, I wouldn’t have been able to manage. The thought of packing up all of my things, removing them from their space in my life, is difficult for me to deal with. He was somewhat ruthless. I had planned to put together an e-book to document the things that I wanted to keep a memory of. Unless I was able to take pictures and make videos while he was out, I missed my opportunity to document my past life.

My dad started calling me “delawar.” He told me that this loosely translates from Hindi to “someone who gives things away freely.” And, I did. There was little that I wasn’t willing to get rid of. When my patience gets low, I look for the easiest way out. If giving something away is easier than any other option, no matter the cost, I’m all for it. In fact, it cost me a bunch of money to get rid of a good bit of my stuff.

Even after all of this generosity, I’m left with a shitload of stuff. My things are tucked away in corners and drawers. Some of it is slowly making its way out and into plain sight. There are things.

Moving was the laxative I needed. While it hasn’t been altogether comfortable, it has come with a sense of relief. I feel like I’ve grown up a bit and gotten rid of redundancies in my life. I’ve been trying to be more careful about what I bring into my life now, knowing that whatever I don’t use will eventually become waste.

The visit to the vet wasn’t cheap.

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