There’s a lot going on in the world right now, and also within the confines of my butthole. And while I recognize the importance of staying silent as a white person during a time when racial injustice is rampant, it was completely traumatic for me to not tweet about my hemorrhoids for three days. I can’t believe I was so oppressively silenced about something that was so sharply afflicting me.
Look, I get it. Police brutality is very bad. That’s why I posted that black square on my Instagram, and took a pause from tweeting about my very painful hemorrhoids. But for three days, no one knew how truly bad my poops were, so don’t say I haven’t suffered too.
Oh, you think I “could have taken a few more steps” like “simply share resources” and “protest”? Well, I’ll have you know that everytime I wipe my butthole I have to check my vagina to figure out if I’m on my period or if it’s just my hemorrhoids. Obviously people need to know about this, too, and yet, they didn’t.
Hemorrhoid silence is butthole violence.
As an ally to black people, I understand I have the responsibility to use my platform to amplify the voices of BIPOC and activists, and I kind of think I did that. But as someone who has swollen veins in their rectum, I feel like I should be able to tweet unasked-for updates about my hemorrhoids everyday.
It’s my right.
Anyway, as I have resumed tweeting about my hemorrhoids, I’ve been recovering from the trying 72-hour period of keeping my twitter drafts about my butthole to myself. The trauma of those days will never really leave me, but if I must be a martyr for the cause, I will.
