Halloween (body) Horror Nights

Walking around Halloween Horror Nights in Orlando this September felt like wading through a fleshy sea of my exact marketing demographic. This is the mother lode for purveyors of black graphic tees, quirky pop culture crossovers and Loungefly backpacks, and I acknowledge with complete humility that I fit right the fuck in.

I had a fabulous time at Epic Universe and Halloween Horror Nights, despite an awful endometriosis flare-up that coincided with the trip. We ended up with a weeklong stay at an Orlando resort after throwing down the winning bid at a charity auction for Televerde Foundation, an amazing organization that employs one of my closest friends. It's not a trip or a resort we would've booked on our own, but we were down to see where it took us and happy for the time off work.

We ended up renting a car, and during the week we drove through swampland, hunted down a British pub, lounged by the pool with drink service and Dimension 20 in our ears, and saved up our energy for two days of Universal parks. That last part was crucial, considering the pocket of pain in my lower-right abdomen that trip, making me puke and bringing me to my knees in ripping waves. The current manifestation of my endometriosis makes the bones of my right hip and leg throb from deep within, and it strips me of all energy; I feel the cyst on my right ovary as a throbbing, over-inflated balloon. Walking for long periods of time tends to make these symptoms worse, inflaming my entire body.

We took it moment by moment, built in plenty of breaks, allowed ourselves to be flexible, and ended up truly enjoying our time in Orlando. Hail Satan for supportive, patient and loving partners. Trips like this tend to destroy my body, especially when actively fighting a flare-up, and travel in general is a common catalyst for some of my worst symptoms. Twice I've been crouched in line at the airport in Frankfurt, Germany, half-convinced I was having a heart attack and forcing myself past security checks in an ear-ringing daze. Many of my memories are organized by the amount of pain I was in at the time and how much it shaped my experience. At least nowadays I know what's causing it, and I don't just assume my organs are failing and I'm about to die. As I said to another one of my best friends recently, it's no wonder I'm such a fan of body horror.