The Crap

Day 1

The nurse weighs me, checks my blood pressure, takes me into a small room with an examination table. She says, "Take off your shirt. The doctor will be with you in a moment." I take my shirt off and look around. Posters, cotton swabs, cabinets. The doctor walks in, shakes my hand.

"Hi, I'm Dr. Wells. Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you."

"So. It says that you're here for a, let's see...a bowel issue?"

"Well, sort of. I didn't know what else to write."

"Okay. What's up?"

"I crapped out my soul yesterday."

The doctor doesn't say anything, he just stares. I say, "That's what I'm here for. I sat down to use the bathroom and...I don't know how else to put it. I crapped my soul out. It was weird."

Doctor laughs and says, "I'm sure that's not the case. You're probably just seeing a change in the consistency of your bowel movements. It's something that can happen for any number of reasons and it's quite normal. Have there been any recent changes in your diet?"

"No."

"Changes in medications? Stress?"

"No. Nothing like that. It wasn't just a different kind of bowel movement. It was my soul. I'm sure about that."

"Why?"

"It...glowed. It had an unreality to it. Even though it was in the toilet it was still really beautiful. Until, you know...I flushed it."

The doctor looks confused, says "You thought it was your soul and you flushed it?"

"I didn't know what else to do. I mean, it was in the toilet. And I'm scared. I'm not sure what it means. I'm an atheist, I didn't even believe in the soul until yesterday, but now I'm worried that I'll, like, die or something."

The doctor laughs again, which is starting piss me off, and says, "Let me assure you: you're not going to die. How you deal with a spiritual struggle is your business, but there is no physical organ called a soul. I'll do a basic exam today and if everything checks out I promise that, atleast physically, you'll have nothing to worry about. Okay?"

He's being way too dismissive so I don't respond.

The doctor claps his hand on my shoulder and says, "Hey. If after this you're still worried you might want to consider the services of a good priest."

The exam goes okay. I leave. At home, I open the phone book and look under "Churches".

Day 2

Father Perry shakes my hand. We enter his office and I explain the situation.

The priest says, "Wow, you crapped your soul out. Holy Shit."

I sigh and stare at him.

"That...that's a joke. Hello? Is this thing on?"

"I need help father."

"Okay. Let's think this through. One's soul is a spiritual force. It's not something that can be voided or physically expelled."

"But I know what I saw. It glowed. It had...I don't even know how to describe it. It had images in it."

"Images?"

"Right. Intricate layers of moving pictures. It was like dozens of these strange images superimposed on one another. It was incredible."

The priest is looking at me now like I'm crazy. Eventually he says, "I mentioned that the soul is a spiritual force. This also means that it is infinite. It is not a part of you...it is not connected to you...it is you. Your soul and your primordial identity are one and the same."

"That's what has me worried. To see it in the toilet like that, it was scary."

Father Perry stands up, starts walking towards the door. "I really think something else is going on here. If your worried you might want to seek the advice of a psychiatrist. Worry is a species of anxiety and, aside from counseling, I'm not sure what other options you have. I wish I had more to say on the topic."

I'm depressed, embarrassed. I shake his hand and leave.

Day 3

Dr. Phillips, a psychiatrist, hears my story and proceeds to laugh his ass off.

"Wow! That is totally fucked up. Damn!"

I'm not finding his reaction to be terribly constructive. "I need help. Atleast I think I need help. I guess I'm just not sure what to do."

Dr. Phillips rubs his eyes and says, "I don't know either. Do you like pills? I can give you a bunch of pills. As many as you want. Lots of pills."

"But you're a psychiatrist. Don't you know anything about what I'm going through?"

"Hell no. I'm a Buddhist. I just think...you know? Poof. That's it."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"Poof. I guess I believe in physics a little bit, in the interconnectedness of all things. But magical spirit-organs?"

The doctor starts laughing again. Eventually he says, "Wait, I'm supposed to ask: are you hearing voices?"

"No."

"Seeing things?"

"Like what?"

"I don't know. Leprechauns. Elk. Whatever."

"No. I'm not crazy."

"Well, there you go. It's not all bad news. Just take pills. Lots of pills."

He writes out a series of prescriptions, says, "I get all sorts of promotional crap from the pharmaceutical companies. Here, take some free med samples. You want pens? Hats? Mouse-pads? Take 'em. Free shit. Go."

I go home and google variations on the words "defecation" and "soul", trying to see if this has happened to anyone else. The only thing I find is a bunch of weird fetish sites. I feel sort of hopeless, out of options. I look in the mirror, checking for subtle differences. My eyes may be a little bloodshot and my hands are shaking.

I brush a loose eyebrow from my cheek.

I scrape flecks of dry skin from my forehead.

I scratch at my teeth.

Am I pale?