GOING TO THE BATHROOM SCARES ME

               

                Alright, I’m going to set the record straight.  Going to a bathroom doesn’t actually scare me.  It’s the act itself.  I’m not sure why exactly.  It could be the embarrassment, the sounds, the other senses involved, the fact that when you flush, millions of germs cover you and your surroundings or it could be because of a story I read when I was 14.  A boy had gone to use the bathroom in a local mall and ultimately was molested.  My mother had caught wind of this story and put us all on high alert.  Which roughly translated to, “never use public facilities or you WILL be raped.”  A heavy burden to place on a child I am aware. 

                It really struck a chord with me though.  I was so scared to ever use a bathroom in a public place for fear of what would happen to me.  Hell, even walking past a man by a bathroom would put me on the defense.  “Fucking pervert, yeah I bet you wish I’d go in there.  I don’t think so buddy!”  I don’t think any of them would’ve done anything to me.  They all had the same reaction and appeared much more scared of me than I was of them.  (A lie my father often told me about spiders and small creatures that I’m still not sure I believe). 

                So I would suffer bladder infections and other various forms of pain because I wouldn’t use a bathroom.  However, as I got older the problem became worse.  I now can’t go comfortably anywhere unless I’m home and drowned out by a lot of noise.  I had to become the James Bond of the bathroom.  If I’m at a friend’s place its Mission Impossible.  I hear the theme song in my head and everything.  It’s too much of a process as far as I’m concerned. 

                When nature calls, sometimes you don’t have the option of sending it to voicemail.  It sends me straight into panic mode.  I will sit there for up to 30 minutes fidgeting and trying to concoct ways of saying that I need to use the bathroom.  It seems like a harmless enough task to just up and go.   I always try to do it in such a fashion that I’m in and out and they will be under the impression that I left to freshen up.  I’m not one hundred percent sure what I would be freshening up but I need to be ready to dazzle!

                As I watch the cogs on the clock turn (I like to think of old clocks for this story, it makes it much more dramatic than a digital) this is usually when the pain starts to set in.  I’ll be sitting there and that’s when my ass starts sweating.  The ass crack sweat then slowly climbs up the small of my back.  I worry about what color shirt I have on and if the sweat will show through.  It can be traumatic at times.  I’ll then excuse myself and head to the bathroom.  Exalted theme music plays in my head once inside, even though it’s only a small victory. 

If I can hear people talking it makes everything worse.  I figure if I can hear them, any noise that I make they can certainly hear me and I don’t want to be labeled a ‘butt-trumpet’ or something hurtful like that.  Then I stand there and debate whether to turn the water on to drown out any incriminating sounds.   I certainly don’t want them thinking that I’m not going green and that I like to waste gallons of water for the sake of saving me embarrassment (I also have no idea why I’d be so gassy).  So I decide to take a seat and leave the water off. 

                Once seated, my eyes never remove themselves from the bottom of the door.  I look for shadows creeping by or any other suspicious activity.  I doubt anyone would linger outside the door to hear the soundtrack of my exiting lunch, but I can never be too sure.  From the moment the first piece leaves my body, I know the race is on.  I need to finish, and FAST.  It’s usually pretty smooth sailing from there.  However, it always seems to be my luck that someone will knock on the door or walk by when I’m pretty close to being done.  I am so bowel shy that it is in that moment that any shit that has left my body will fly out of the bowl and right back up my ass.  I will then pull my pants back up, wash my hands and pretend like nothing ever happened. 

If however, by some grace of God that I did manage to be successful the agony of flushing settles in.  My biggest fear in life is that I will flush someone else’s toilet and all of my excrement will rise like a phoenix riding an ocean wave, curling before it crashes into shore (or at least find its way to the floor).  So I stand there and stare at the handle, a challenge at its very finest.  I then hold my breath (that usually reduces some of the anxiety…not sure why this works) and reach for it.  Still holding my breath, as it swirls its way down to oblivion, each and every time I nearly black out from lack of oxygen.   When I regain proper thought, I think, should I light a match?  Then I think that they will think I’m trying to start a fire so I usually don’t.

If all goes well I’m able to exhale all of my worries, wash my hands, rejoin some familiar faces, and pray they don’t ask where I’ve been for the past hour.