Confessions of a Shy Peter

Yesterday I went to the bathroom for the umpteen zillionth time in my life in a public place. I was in an office building when I realized my bladder was pretty full and needed to be relieved. For most people this is a pretty normal occurrence. They notice the sensation one gets when the bladder is full, they look for a restroom, and they take care of their business. For people with shy bladder syndrome, or what the medical establishment has termed "paruresis" this can turn into quite a stressful situation, and sometimes may even lead to a full mental meltdown. For those of us that suffer this problem it is a daily reminder of the fact that when it comes to something as normal and as mundane as urinating we paruretics have very little say in the matter. I can't even begin to explain where the fear comes from. According to studies, about 8% of the population suffer some form of paruresis or shy bladder syndrome. I haven't a clue as to why some people just can't pee in the presence of others...even when the others are outside of a bathroom stall with the door closed. Our rational minds know that the people around us do not care about our urinating. They are not watching or listening or thinking about it. But none of that matters. For people with bashful bladder syndrome there is only one thing that will allow us to pee in peace: complete privacy.

The building is large and occupies many offices with many employees, but surprisingly the restroom traffic isn’t too heavy. The architecture inside : three urinals and three stalls, all in a row, the third stall abutting a wall and measuring larger for handicapped users. I step up to the restroom door like a soldier in a state of supreme alertness. There’s no enemy fighter waiting for me, but there may as well be, for all the stress I’m feeling.

I push open the door, having mentally worked out the possible scenarios: a) nobody inside, b) one guy at the urinal, c) guys at both urinals, d) guy in one stall, or e) guys at urinals and stalls.

I glance down under the stalls for feet and spot a pair in the handicapped stall. Bad. Very bad. It means I can’t use this bathroom at all, because if my experience over the last thirty years means anything, I’ll seize up. Paruretics, like paranoids, or neurotics, or storms, differ. I’m the type who can’t handle anyone being in my vicinity while I try to pee. If I suspect that’s happening, I may as well try to pee standing on my head.

I notice I’m standing totally still; soon the handicapped stall guy is going to glance under the partition and see me. I know this, even though, of course, I don’t. I even know I don’t, but it makes no difference.

I can’t keep standing there in total silence. If I hesitate much longer, this guy will know I can’t pee, meaning he’ll know he can control me, meaning he’ll know I’m weak and not quite a man. Because you can’t push real men around so easily. And men, of course, can pee.

Yes, I know. All this is taking place in my mind. It doesn’t matter.
I step up to a urinal, feeling like I’m approaching the hangman’s noose. I flush to get comfortable. I try to imagine the guy in the stall as an old man, or a kid, because for some reason, I don’t care how geezers or kids feel about my failures as a man. But God, if he's someone I know or someone I see regularly and I just stand there he’ll know my terrible secret! And even though I know it really isn’t all that terrible, some part of me, deep down, is completely inconsolable about it.

“Take it easy,” I say to myself. But for some reason I can’t heed my own advice. I hastily zip up and sprint out of there, omitting the fake hand wash. This bathroom is out.

There’s another one on floor two, but the stakes are higher now, because if that one doesn’t work, I’m really screwed. I’ll have to get in my car and drive to the Starbucks down the street with its merciful single-user locking bathroom. Whichever it is, I’m already feeling powerfully humiliated and emasculated.

This issue has always been an annoyance and even a source of embarrassment for me. While other guys could just whip out their tally whacker and pee on command while in the presence of others, I have always had to seek out more private environs in order for me to drain my bladder. There are different slang terms for this issue such as having a "bashful bladder" , "shy Peter" and "pee phobia". It wasn't until I was compelled to urinate on command by our criminal justice system that I actually researched this subject and discovered that I am not alone, and that there is actually a medical term for it. I’ve even heard of fellow sufferers who solve the problem—get ready for a shock—with a catheter. “Self-cathing” means shoving a long tube up the tiny hole in your male member, pre-lubed with jelly, until it arrives at the neck of your bladder. Then you push it a little farther and voila, a stream dribbles out. There are guys who can go into a stall and perform this process so deftly you wouldn’t know it from the next one over

Okay, so I’m about to burst. I take the elevator up to floor two—and the upstairs bathroom is empty! I dash into the handicapped stall as a conga band plays in my lower abdomen. As I unzip, I notice that this particular bowl is closer to the back wall and thus farther away from the adjoining stall than the handicapped toilet downstairs. This additional three-foot buffer allows me the comfort to pee even if others are in the room, whereas in the downstairs stall there was just no way.

I concentrate for a minute or two, and fortunately I am able to start up a stream. Just then someone walks in.

It doesn’t matter. I’m on my way. One of my rules is that once a stream gets going, nothing can stop me. The problem is getting to that point. I finish, wash up and get out of there.

I have many “rules” for urine elimination, none of which I like, agreed to, or seemingly can do anything about. Where, I have wondered, is it written than I can’t pee unless I can see a solid wall that is part of a building structure? Or that I’ve got a fifty-percent better chance if the restroom is dimly lit? Or a zero percent chance if I’m in a moving vehicle or an airplane?

Lacking answers to these questions, I can only become philosophical. I’ve determined that two types of people inhabit this world: 1) those who can do what they want, and 2) those, like paruretics or alcoholics or agoraphobics, who can’t.

One particularly irritating aspect of this worldview is that the people who have the freedom to do what they please usually think those of us who can’t simply need to change our thinking and act differently. Can’t pee? Forget about what people think! They don’t care!

Believe me, I would if I could. I would happily relinquish any amount of money to be free from this. Maybe even a finger or two, if it came down to that. Did I mention that some of us shove tubes up our penises?

The question that begs to be asked is this: Why do I care what others think about whether I pee or not? My answer: I don’t. At least not consciously. And that is precisely the issue. The paruretical wiring is located on a deeper level, one not accessible to the conscious mind. Do those normal pissers think I want to avoid concerts, restaurants, skiing, hiking, or the freedom to move about as I please?

Paruresis is characterized by one having a significant fear of urinating in the presence of others, or at least being so self conscious about it that it is virtually impossible to complete the task in public. This became a particularly stressful issue for me when I was in a court mandated drug rehabilitation program stemming from a dependence I had with prescription painkillers some years ago. I had to pee on command with a probation officer watching me a couple of times per week. In the beginning it was horrible. I was mortified. Not only did I have to pee with someone close by, but I had to actually produce urine while this person stared at my Johnson. They wanted to make sure that the urine that goes into the bottle actually comes out of the penis that is attached to the offender. The probation officer was naturally suspicious when I related my problem to him. He thought I was trying to pull something when the truth of the matter was that I just have a heck of time producing urine when someone is watching me.

Fortunately, I had a decent probation officer who allowed me some degree of privacy by turning around and running water in the sink. Even so I would have to push so hard that I would lose my breath sometimes while my face turned red and veins bulged from my temples from squeezing my muscles so hard to put pressure on the bladder so that the urine would be forced out. And the irony is that despite all this effort and hardship I would still only produce a half ounce or so of urine. Many people think that if your bladder is full enough and it hurts enough that you will go no matter what. As anyone with paruresis knows, this is simply false. I have had situations where I had to pee so badly I was nearly in tears, and yet I could not get anything out if there was someone close to me or in the case of the probation department, watching me directly. Early in this program I was told I would have to figure it out or I would have to be terminated from the program. That was a terrifying prospect because termination from drug court would mean jail time, and having a criminal record. By completing the drug court program the charges against me were dropped so that I have no criminal record whatsoever. I was lucky though that the modest concession that my p.o. made to help me out was enough for me to squeeze out just enough pee to satisfy the requirement.

I have researched this topic trying to find out the causes, and if there are any ways to resolve it. All the literature I have read indicates that it is basically "all in one's head". The doctors suggest practicing and trying to relax and not think about it. Well that is much easier said than done. I don't know why I have this issue. I have no idea why I freeze up when I'm about to pee in a bathroom and someone else walks in. My rational side knows that the person could care less about me and my pee. Yet in my twisted mind I become completely unable to pee. As I have said it is annoying, and even embarrassing sometimes. I am grateful that I finished the drug court program over a year ago so I no longer have to pee on command for the benefit of the court. However, my peeing issue comes up all the time whenever I have to go to the bathroom when I am away from home.

So this is one of my "hang-ups" in life. I try to carry my strange burden as best I can with the help of a little perspective. I suppose lots of people have hang ups of various sorts. People are afraid of heights, social situations, spiders, driving on freeways, and enclosed spaces to name just a few of the more common fears that afflict people. Others have body image issues. There are hoarders, and purgers and folks who have varying degrees of obsessive compulsive disorder. In some way I suppose I should be thankful that I don't have some of these other phobias. As long as I can empty my bladder in relative private I am fine. Once I am finished everything is good. I can go back to living my life and no one is the wiser. But if you are one of "us" people who is shy when it comes to peeing around others you can take solace in knowing that you are not alone. There are many of us out there. There are countless websites that discuss this issue which shows just how prevalent it is. Hell, there are even support groups and doctors who claim that helping paruretics is a speciality. So don't fret. It's alright. Next time you are in a stall and can't pee until the last person leaves the restroom you don't need to feel like you are different or weird. Uh, let me clarify that....you may in fact be different or weird, BUT it is not the fact that you have a bashful bladder or a shy peter that makes you different or weird. Oh by the way, for some reason and I'm not entirely sure why this is the case, or even why I am bringing it up, but almost 70% of people with bashful bladder syndrome or male. So if you have this issue, you are among good company, and although one would probably be hard pressed to find some who is proud to have bashful bladder syndrome, there is certainly no reason at all to feel ashamed of it or embarrassed because of it. It is one of those things in life that as my grandmother used to say "builds character and makes us who we are."
Labels: Pee Pee Post
11/7/09