I was a bed wetter. It was so bad that my parents refused to give me fluids after late afternoon. Sometimes I would get really thirsty and they’d flat out refuse to serve me, so I would sneak into the bathroom after everyone was asleep and steal drinks from the sink. To this day, water always seems to taste best out of my cupped hands. But, even on the nights when I went to bed thirsty, there was still a fair chance that I would wake up soaked. I felt pretty bad about the whole thing. My dad would sometimes get angry about it and say he was going to put a rubber band on my “Peter.” Thankfully, that idea never made it past the development stage and my penis remained rubber band free. Instead my parents invested in plastic sheets and underwear. Truth be told, the underwear probably about as comfortable than that rubber band would have been. They pinched my legs and stomach while irritating my skin and, if I did wet the bed, I essentially had a bag full of urine wrapped around my waist to deal with. They weren’t even really that effective at stopping leaks and I would gamble that the psychological shame they incurred probably was not worth it.
The whole situation made sleepovers a grim prospect. I remember being invited once and having to reassure my mother that I would be fine. I had gone nearly two months without incident and was feeling confident but the look in her eyes was that of pure terror. But she still agreed to take me. The house was the kind of place that made you feel a little bad about where you lived. It was new and it was big and it had an airplane hangar in the backyard with a small airplane in it. I hated how big it all was. There was so much wasted space. All the furniture was too far apart and it was easy to lose track of his family members. It just seemed too quiet and too cavernous to be lived in by actual people. He had a computer that talked to you and a few electronic toys that almost seemed too nice to even touch with. In fact, the only thing in the entire house that held my interest was his dog but he kept kicking it out of the room whenever I started playing with it. But even when it wasn’t around, and we were otherwise occupied, I still wondered what it might be doing in that big lonely house.
We ended up “shooting hoops” with some older kids that lived next door until after the sun went down. I had worked up quite a thirst playing all that basketball and probably had six glasses of Sprite. Jesus Christ, did I drink a lot of Sprite on that day. His mother set us up with sleeping bags so we could camp out together on the floor. The plan was to exchange stories and jokes but we immediately fell asleep. By sunup, everything in that sleeping bag had been pissed on. Even the chest of my shirt was wet; it was a full-blown nightmare scenario. Luckily, I had awoken first and had time to slip out of my pajamas, into my normal clothes and call my mom. The conversation went something like this:
“Hi. Can you come get me?”
“Is something wrong?”
“Uh… sort of.”
“Did you-“
“Uh… sort of.”
“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
However, claiming that I sort of wet the bed would be like saying the 9/11 was sort of a tragedy. I was trying to be nonchalant on the phone in case someone was listening in but the real damage had been done and I knew it. After hanging up, went into the bathroom and rinsed everything off, then I opened my duffel-bag and wrapped up my wet clothes with my dry ones from the day before. It felt like trying to conceal all evidence of a crime. By the time everyone had awoken, I was ready to go home. I made an excuse about not feeling well, thanked them for having me over, and promptly made my escape once my mom’s car came into view. As we drove away it was pretty clear that I was not going to be invited back to that particular residence anytime soon.
I spent the weekend watching television and drawing maps of what I thought the inside of a space station might look like. On Monday, he came up to me at school and asked about it. Kids have no tact and very little subtlety so the questioning went something like, “Did you pee when you spent the night?”
I, of course, denied everything. I acted like him even asking me about it was totally ridiculous. I made huffing noises and rolled my eyes. When he started to bring forth evidence and press the issue, I suggested that it was probably the dog. To this day I deeply regret having blamed the dog. If I could go back in time, I would assume full responsibility. My mind would not let me forget about that dog and I imagined a million different scenarios where they went home and spanked it or put it outside because they thought it had a bladder control problem. That dog was the shining beacon in an otherwise dreary and enormous house and I betrayed it so that I might save face. I still feel really guilty for having sold it down the river.
Eventually, as I approached pre-adolescence, the involuntary urination stopped completely but there were plenty of ruined sheets and couch cushions that had to be flipped over in the interim. Even after things dried up, I was still pretty apprehensive about spending the night anywhere. In fact, it was pretty rare that I would even bother going to another child’s house period. I may have been the only child in history that actively avoided birthday parties. The problem is that, until you’re about twelve, parents do the majority of the social planning in your life. You have a few real friends and then all of these other children who have parties that you are obligated to go to. My life contains countless examples of parties and play-dates that I wanted no part of, yet found myself participating in anyway.
The first set of twins that I knew were named Alex and Andrew. Even at the age of nine, I remember thinking that was an awful choice for any parent to make. They even had matching bowl cuts and similar styled shirts. Just knowing they existed gave me this sort of unpleasant uncanny feeling. I don’t know why parents like to trump up the fact that they have identical children, it’s already in your face enough without needing any extra help. But they were nice kids and were good enough to invite me to their birthday party. I tried desperately to get out of it but my parents insisted that I get out of the house. Usually, I could craft an expert excuse about the children that would get me out of it. Normally it had something to do with fighting or swearing. But the best I could come up with for Andrew and Alex was that I was not yet sure if I liked them or not. Again, they were good kids. My ruse didn’t work and my mother made it perfectly clear I had to go to their party. When we drove up, I remember having to go down a private drive. They too had the sort of house that made you feel weird about the one you lived in. Their backyard was the woods and their nearest neighbor was really far away.
After my mom left, I spent twenty-minutes socializing and then immediately started playing video games while ignoring everyone else. I probably never left that room. While they were running around, playing games and eating cake, I was beating all of their high scores. At one point their mom came in and asked me if I wanted to play with everyone and I said that I did not. I think they got sick of me being antisocial because my parents showed up early to take me home. The point is, I was great at video games and twins creeped me out. It bothered me how close they were and I did not see any reason to try and break into that. I liked them individually but the instant they were around each other, they became off-putting. They looked the same, they sounded the same and they even smelled the same. I remembered thinking about all of the grown-ups who said we are all beautiful and unique individuals. “Not if you’re a twin,” I thought.
Being a twin always seemed like it would be awful because it would only take a couple of years until you figured out which one was the bad one. After that, the family would subconsciously nurture the good twin while ignoring the other. This would go on for decades until the bad twin inevitably went insane and start plotting against the other. The concept of an “evil twin” is likely based firmly in this reality. If it were not, why would the idea even exist? Why else would people put them into movies specifically to make the moviegoer uneasy? This was my line of thinking as a child and as an adult it has been difficult to condition myself not to continue thinking this way. It is my one true prejudice and it took years for me to overcome.
But, to get off that tangent and back on topic, I know that it is likely just a matter of time before I am wetting the bed again. Some night, decades from now, I will wake up to use the toilet only to find out that it was all a bladder confusing dream and that will be that. Thinking about it as an adult, it doesn’t really seem like that big of a deal though. In my childhood, bed wetting was an all consuming fear—but, today, I would probably piss myself almost every night if it guaranteed the rest of my problems could be more easily sorted out. Things like having enough money to live on, creating meaningful friendships, achieving any sense of fulfillment or just finding someone that will continue to love you are all much scarier problems to overcome. And, of course, we all have them. Then again, maybe I’ll feel differently about it when it actually happens. Life is usually like that.
You Monsters Are People. 
Reblogged this on IdeaBuster! and commented:
That’s experience!
Have a try, it’s a Good read.
I have that same dream, even today. Thank god that now if I see a toilet in my dream it’s a violent trigger to snap out of sleep and get myself into the bathroom. (Why do our brains try to trick us like that? Lazy, lazy brains.)
I think, subconsciously, we all just want to wet the bed. In a way, it’s better.
How wrong is it if I already knew this existed and had actually watched this very video?
Maybe the two traumas are linked! Perhaps you have a twin bladder and so your mind is never getting the message to get up and go to the bathroom because the nerves are getting confused? Just a thought… Probably a stupid one.
If I had a twin, I would definitely fight it to the death so one of us could have full possession of our shared soul.
That sounds violent and controversial.
You are one of the few writers where I actually enjoy reading you go off topic. Good good good, carry on.
I feel like I’m off topic enough to make it seem like it works– even if it doesn’t.
I can relate to your story, although I never had this specific worry. My childhood was mostly spent avoiding others for some reason, and feeling very awkward at all times. It was kind of you to share your experiences, and in such a thoroughly readable way!
It is pretty minor, when you think about it. The bladder business almost invariably sorts itself out, sometime between birth and adolescence. The figuring-out-who-you-are and forming-meaningful-relationships part is much trickier. I’ve potty-trained eleven kids, so far, and told at least as many parents to relax. It takes time. Stressing about that, or anything really, doesn’t make it happen faster!
Yeah it just sort of stopped one day and never came back. Like magic.
Also eleven kids seems like a huge amount. Do you run some sort of potty-training school?
Hahaha! Oh, God, no! I run a home daycare, I have two young kids of my own, and I come from a gigantic family :-) There is probably a market for a potty-training school, though. Run by someone braver than me!
I had similar problems before I was six, dad not hesitating to beat the crap out of me, so I learned early that dreaming of a toilet full of green peas meant I had to wake up and go to the loo.
Something like that stays with you for a lifetime… :(
God Bless!
Prenin.
It’s actually semi-common. I checked out the stats on it.
Unfortunate about the punishment though. I don’t recall ever getting a beating for it but I got yelled at a bit. It must be frustrating all around but that’s no excuse.
That’s pretty shitty….errr… Okay maybe the opposite of shitty….my TWIN had that problem too….it’s pretty common in boys…inconvenient nonetheless and probably a bit scarring. My father used to get angry at my brother too…pretty sure that didn’t help matters.
Though identical twins dressed the same is creepy, I will tell you that fraternal twins, of the opposite sex, dressed alike, with the same bowl cut… MUCH Creepier and I have pics to prove it…
Great post!
I never really had an issue with non-identical twins and I might have even trumped up the whole thing in general for entertainment’s sake. Regardless, please send me that picture right away.
I’ll send tonight…it’s old school and I need to scan it!
I am waiting.
Sh*t totally forgot to send pic! TONIGHT!
Reblogged this on The Debut and commented:
awesome writing!
Awesome sharing!
Hello there amazing being! Because of your witty and beautiful blog I nominated you for the Inspirational Blogger Award! Here is the link to see how everything works: http://wittynini.wordpress.com/2013/02/26/very-inspiring-blogger-award-2/
My heart always goes out to bed-wetters and former bed-wetters, because given my medical background, I know this is something that is not the child’s fault. It cannot be controlled. It’s an immaturity in the brain/bladder connection, which is something that takes longer to develop in some kids (and there’s a strong family history of it–usually one parent was a bed wetter). Alarms and meds can help, but these are preventive techniques rather than cures. It has to resolve on its own. I’ve spent plenty of time counseling parents on this and reminding them not to get angry at the child or blame the child. It’s a tough thing for the entire family to deal with, and I think you covered it perfectly and with a great sense of humor, too. You touched on the sleepover issue particularly well.
Thanks for stopping by my site!
Thanks for writing this, Matt – I love reading about all your anxieties, worries and nightmares. Really. My son wet the bed for quite a while and the pediatrician recommended some sort of pad with an electrical connection that would blare this loud screech if so much as a drop touched it. The only person it woke up was me, so I could go and change the kid and the bed at 3 a.m.
The weird thing is I never really got all that worked up about it. I rarely get anxious and, despite the havoc it created, bedwetting wasn’t much different than anything else. It was an annoyance and I didn’t really see it as something to be ashamed of until I was a little older. Now I couldn’t care less– it was a sad situation that made for some funny stories.
That device sounds just awful. Hopefully your son outgrew it quickly.
Well, he didn’t outgrow it quickly but he outgrew it. Thankfully, he was not electrocuted. I think you had a bit of a fatalistic attitude when you were a kid – like it’s going to happen so I will just deal with it as best as a young boy can. Sometimes cruel parents hung the sheets out to dry so all the world could see but shame never works for a little body that is not quite under the owners control.
great post. I remember sarah silverman also telling a story about how elvis presley saved her from a similar situation.
Its really comforting to read your posts esp when you write about childhood experiences. I relate to many of them like being forced to spend time with kids your parent pick out as your friends and an older post you did about growing up going to church (ugh..Im still recovering from my churchgoing to this day and Im 39yrs old!) I like your honesty and your humor. Maybe you should consider writing some sort of memoir or ?
I suppose that’s a possibility. What did you have in mind?
When you come to think about it, controlling the bladder is not a natural part of being a living creature, it’s very human and only human really. Birds don’t bother (I often think that when they poo near to a person, it’s cos they love them so much rather than the opposite) cats and dogs kind of are able to be trained at least to do it at certain times and in certain places but left to their own devices they probably wouldn’t bother. So we’ve got to look at why peeing is so bad? And of course, it damn well isn’t.
I can’t remember wetting the bed when I was a kid, but I sure as hell manage it a few times now i’m getting older (do not, under any circumstances, get a memory foam mattress!) and I try to avoid the ‘oh my god I’ve had an accident and I am so bad’ mentality. It’s just… pee.
Why do we need to teach children shame? That I don’t understand. And as a non-parent I never will.
It takes guts… or loneliness (I too wet the bed up to a similar age)… to write something like this, publicly, and go into detail.
I just had a need to tell a story and this was the one I picked.
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I loved this post and your writing style! (new reader here) I used to have a bedwetting problem. My mom never made a huge deal about it so I think that helped me out a bit. I hope that poor dog didn’t get spanked! As for the twins tangent – I’ll never understand why parents like to dress em the same way…wouldn’t they get confused? I guess I wouldn’t know until I have kids or twins.
I’m glad you’re into it.
If you find out you’re having twins, consider selling one.
In grade school I would have a hunting for the bathroom dream. I would being going from friend’s house to friend’s house looking for one. Eventually I would get home and mind MY bathroom and the inevitable would happen. I learned to wake up when I started thinking about bathrooms in a dream. I also learned lucid dreaming. Eventually, I was able to take complete control of bad dreams and nightmares and spin them around.
And the moral is: Do not eat your twin in the womb because he will take root in your bladder and his parasitical life will be devoted to p*ssing you off…
Ps. I’ve read a few of your blogs now and really enjoy them – the toons are particularly good, I feel your pain.
Oooh, that moral DOES makes sense…
I had to stop reading to comment because plastic underwear is just too damn funny! Geezus, it reminds me of this plastic swimsuit I found the other day: http://designpinoy.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/01/plastic-bag.jpg
Now reading on.
It is amazing how hundreds of mental images in varying degrees of horror could be projected by just two words:
“Sort of.”