In the dungeon of the watery throne

by maximusaurus

There are a lot of things I’d rather do than use a public toilet. Like hug a cactus, then take a lemon juice bath while listening to a mixtape of Justin Beiber, nails on a chalkboard, and a baby crying. Or swallow a live sea urchin, that sounds about as fun.

When you have OCD centered around a fear of contamination, they’re torture; every surface, every other occupant, even the air you breathe feels electrified. It’s like if you were an arachnophobe, and every inch of the building’s interior is crawling with spiders. The walls seem to close in around you, and you can almost feel microscopic particles in the air sticking to you, polluting your clothes, your skin, your hair, your lungs.

Even once I leave I feel like I’m carrying germs back home with me, which will spread the terror to what is usually a safe haven.

Ask any Zelda fan; water dungeons are the worst.

Naturally, I put a lot of thought, planning, and often discomfort into avoiding this ordeal. Fluid management is absolutely critical. I make a point of not drinking anything for two hours or so before I go out, (and emptying my bladder right before leaving) and while I am out, I have to carefully manage my liquid intake. Sometimes even these measures are not enough, and it becomes a matter of uncomfortably “holding it” until I get home.

Back when I was 17-19 and my OCD was in full force, even the one in my house was a terrifying menace, and only after years of fighting back my disorder did it become more manageable.

Make no mistake; this is a phobia I intend to someday vanquish. After all, five years ago using public transport daily seemed an insurmountable obstacle, but now I do it with ease. Maybe in another five years I’ll look back and wonder why I ever made such a fuss about something so mundane as a public dunny.