A Declaration of Independence from my Bladder

Dear Stupid,

Let's get a few things straight.  For 41 years we've been doing what you want and I'm sick of it.  I think you need to figure out that I run the show from now on.  You were in charge for a lot of years and did a good job for the most part except for that phase in your teens when you would pride yourself on seeing how long you could hold it.  It was a long time, but do you remember bladder infections?  That was me crying out for help.  Did you listen?  No. You're an insensitive jerk. We worked well together for a really long time, and I can honestly say it was almost totally because of me.  Sure, you got all the credit but we both know who was really keeping things under control behind the scenes.  Did you appreciate that?  No.  You took me for granted.  If we had a sign in the break room that said, ___ days since we've had an accident, it would have been in the thousands! (hundreds) But now I feel like we've grown apart and I don't like you anymore. I'm tired of playing a supporting role in your so-called life.  If I could live without you, I would.  I'd get a little apartment downtown and work at Starbucks and never talk to you again, but we both know I can't do that. 

From now on we do what I want, when I want.  You don't even get a vote.  Capiche?  I will get my way and if I don't, I will flood (pun intended) your brain with constant overwhelming thoughts about how bad you have to go, and if you try to ignore me or stifle me by doing the old squat-and-hold-your-breath move, I will embarrass the piss (pun intended) out of you, again. 

I thought you knew the score but then you tried to take an innocent trip to Target to get some wrapping paper.  Did you really think you could just whip in and whip out without making an obligatory stop at the bathroom?  Forget it!  I love that bathroom! Yeah, you tried to show your dominance by finding an empty aisle, doing the squat-move with some deep breaths and force me into submission, but it didn't work, did it?  Previously, I would have caved under the pressure and just done what you wanted, but I finally had enough.  I thought, "That's it, I'm not going to take it anymore! Why do we always have to do what you want?  What about my needs?" and then I forced myself to expel approximately one tablespoon of urine.  Enough to make your pants wet-ish but not enough to cause real embarrassment.  It wasn't easy.  I'm conditioned to not let that happen, but sometimes you've got to say enough is enough!  Yeah, you've got a pretty good kegel, but it's not going to be sufficient anymore.  That single tablespoon of urine was a symbolic shot over the bow.  A warning.  It was me finally casting off the shackles you've kept me in!  Next time you try to hold it when I suggest we make a pit stop I am going to totally unload no matter how hard you try to stop me.  God, I haven't done that in a long time.  Remember back in Mrs. Nelson's first grade, when we had to go, but you thought we could hold it, and then when the class was lining up to take a bathroom break we couldn't hold it anymore?  I really tried to hold it in.  I really did. We were a team back then, but I honestly couldn't control it.  I had to let it out until I was totally empty.  I felt bad that it had to happen on a day you were wearing white tights, but what could I do?  I was young. 

Well I'm not young anymore.  I feel like I've wasted my life doing nothing but holding in your disgusting urine for longer periods of time than any bladder should be expected to hold anyone's disgusting urine.  I'm more than a digestive organ you know!  Have you ever even bothered getting to know the real me?  No!  You haven't!  What's my favorite color?  What's my favorite movie?  Did you know I'm a Republican and have been quietly putting up with your liberal bullshit for decades?  Do you know anything about me?  I have feelings, you know. 

Well, from here on out we're living for me and for what I want.  Think you can watch a movie from beginning to end anymore?  Think again.  You better get an aisle seat.  Airplane bathrooms make you nauseous?  Too bad.  Better bring your barf bag in with you.  And if you have any ideas about getting into another battle of wills with me just know this: your bowels are getting sick of your shit (pun intended) too and all I have to do is say the word and your life gets real bad real fast. 

Sincerely yours,
The Bladder