I sometimes wonder if I should bother writing. It just seems to take up so much of my time doing it. It just takes up so much time, because it is hard to find the words to describe what was going on. To capture the intensity, feelings or something that occurred over years in a few thousand words. Well I am going to give it a try today. Especially in regards to my childhood and bathrooms.
it is something I rather forget about to be honest. The smells of urine and shit. How people looked down on me for being that way. But most of all the struggle in my mind between wanting to use the bathroom and my fear of what may happen in there along with trying to hold it in despite the cramps I felt. It made school seem like slow torture than a place to learn.
What was my fear about my bathrooms? I could tell you, but you would probably wouldn’t believe me. Think I am using that as an excuse for something else. If you are a person that has gone through something similar, probably still wouldn’t believe me. After all it doesn’t happen to people like me anyway so I have to be making it up.
Don’t think I am judging you personally by saying that. Just my experience in the times I have told people about it especially as child and young adult. I understand if you feel that I am making it up. Reality can be a hard thing to accept. Easier to think that there is something else besides that. Something that fits and is more acceptable, because things like that don’t happen. Easier to think the person you thought so highly about would not do things like that and therefore I must be making it up.
But I have to remind myself that I am not writing to let other people know what happen and make them believe. It is for my own benefit. Part of the process of accepting who I am. Part of accepting that is accepting what happen to me and no longer shut it out. To accept the horrors that went on in the bathroom and for that reason was fearful of them.
Why the bathroom of all places? Well I cannot speak for my father, I can only speculate. I think because it was some place he could lock the doors and not have come in and discover him sexually abusing me. But more so in that it was expected to be locked if someone was in there. Plus the bathroom we had was small so made it easy to for dad to corner me. After time it became the place for other things. After father quit sexually abusing me he resorted to physical abuse there.
So that is why I became fearful of bathrooms. I associated with them the things that happen to me. Even more strongly outside of home because they where filled with people I didn’t know. So in a way the shame I had from going in pants was easier.
But I also despise myself at the same time for making it that way. Walking around with my clothes soiled that way. The body over from the lack of concern it seem I had at the time. using the bath in our bathroom was even harder than using the toilet. I only went in there kicking and screaming. I kept trying to force myself to use the bathroom especially at school or in public areas, but it wouldn’t happen. I couldn’t take the chance of something like what my father put me through happening there.
As I became a teenager, my problems with peeing and shitting myself seem to stop. That just seem that way. My fear was still there strong as always. I could convince myself to use a public bathroom if there was no one there. If there was people then I would just turn around and leave. God forbid if someone came in there when I was doing it. Those where the times I hated it most. My urge would go away to be replaced by the need to leave as fast as possible. Soon as I walked out of the door the need to go to the bathroom would return.
That all change as a young adult. I was driving home late at night when I had to go to the bathroom from all the coffee I drank. The cramps where becoming so bad that it was distracting my driving and I couldn’t wait until I got home. The only problem when I got to the restroom at the wayside was someone else walking up to use it. The fear was kicking up into high gear considering the circumstances. But I couldn’t go back out and drive again. I wasn’t going to sit in the car and wait for the person to leave. Assuming I did, probably someone else come along that would use them. So either go in there or pissed my pants choose one. For the first time I went in.
Something changed that night to allow me use the bathroom. I realized I was no longer the helpless child. If this person try something on me then I would fight back. Make them regret doing it. I trusted myself that I could do it because I had been fights before. So I went in there and did my business. Took me a while to relax enough to do it, but I did it. The fear was still strong for a long time, but it became weaker as I had more experiences where nothing happen.
To this day the fear is still there. It will always be there. I can’t undo or forget what I experienced. That was from someone who supposedly loved me. Who knows what a person might do that only sees me as a toy for their pleasure or a punching bag for their frustrations. But now instead of the fear being something that keeps me from doing what I want to do, it is something that keeps me safe. Makes me aware of what is going on around me and what I should pay attention so I am not surprised or caught off guard.
