What a 4 AM Bed-Wetting Incident Taught Me About Personal Shame
Yes, I wet the bed at 22, and it was every bit as embarrassing as one might expect
I rarely dream, but when I do, I’m being murdered by a family member or doing something mundane like going to the bathroom.
Believe it or not, the bathroom dreams are the scariest.
I can discount everything else as fantasy and fiction, but these ones — the ones when I envision myself doing normal everyday activities — seem real and visceral. Like the lines between our world and the dream world are blurred, and I lose the ability to distinguish between the two. These dreams plagued me throughout my childhood. There was always this overwhelming sensation of wakefulness.
I blink my eyes open and sigh, annoyed that the overwhelming urge to relieve myself had woken me from a deep sleep. I roll over onto my side and sit up, blanketing my feet in my fuzzy pink slippers that I always placed neatly at the edge of the bed.
The creak of my rickety old bedframe echoes into the quiet apartment, threatening to rouse everyone else from their slumber. I make the short trek — which felt eternal at 4 AM — to the bathroom down the hall. I hold my breath at the deafening flushing sound that seemed to bounce off the…
