Shy bladder low point: three years after learning the name

I’ve had trouble peeing around other people for as long as I can remember. I only learned the name for my shy bladder, paruresis, about three years ago. I thought a word for it would make things easier. It hasn’t, really.

The coach trip

Our school trip was a 13 hour coach ride to the mountains, and I never once got off at the stops. The whole bus smelled of crisps and warm seats. I told myself I’d just drink water until my body gave in and made me go. It didn’t. My head would rather put me through hours of pain than let me pee in a public restroom.

Looking back, that was not safe. Forcing down lots of water to make yourself go is a bad idea, and I won’t do it again.

Then we arrived and the rooms had no private bathroom, only shared ones down the hall. My parents had to come and fetch me home.

Now

Since then I barely drink in public. At school I go eight hours thirsty and holding it, and I only relax at weekends. My bathroom anxiety plans every day for me, and I dread working life even more.

Last summer our usual five hour family drive turned into fifteen hours on a bus, because my mum got ill the day we left. It left me more scared than before.

I’ve seen a therapist for four months and, honestly, there’s no progress yet. Reading other people’s stories online sometimes makes me feel like nobody gets cured, and I start to lose hope.

Once I read about a man who had this from the age of five and lived with it for fifty years. He learned cognitive behavioural techniques and now goes anywhere he needs to. He called it recovered, not cured, because it’s anxiety.

I don’t know if that will be me. Tomorrow I’ll pack my water bottle for school anyway, and it’ll probably come home unopened.