I peed at my desk in third grade and now I'm afraid to sing

I know I am different. I know I go for broke. What if my gift is rejected?

By Cary Tennis

Read more: Schools, Advice, Holocaust, South, Torture, Cary Tennis, creativity, Since You Asked, Life

Nov. 7, 2007 | Dear Cary,

One day when I was in third grade, while everyone was studying quietly, I had to go to the bathroom. I was too scared to raise my hand and break the silence and speak. Everyone would know that, right then, I had to go pee. Everyone would look at me. I thought another option was for me to quietly get up and walk across the room to the teacher's desk and ask her so that no one else could hear, but I was afraid she would get mad at me for getting out of my seat without asking first. So I just sat and held it as long as I could, but my bladder got the better of me. I peed at my desk. Obviously then, everyone really was looking at me and judging me.

A few months ago my boyfriend of two years and I broke up. I missed him terribly at first, but I've come to realize that all that time I was with him I was too scared of being myself around him that it could have never worked. Now I feel crazed with all this newfound freedom to be me again. I do things that in the past I would have been too scared or embarrassed to do, like buy pink padded bras cause they make me feel sexy, or drink wine and dance at my cousin's wedding. Everyone remarks about how much fresher and happier I seem, and I feel that it's right.

But I am a shy person, so doing new things under my general umbrella of awkwardness at life makes me feel a bit of a spaz. I need to be able to find my center and spend time alone when I should, but I also want to be able to allow myself to guiltlessly do these crazy things I want to do.

Case in point: Recently, a friend of mine expressed interest in playing music with me. I'm a good singer, but as far as instruments go, I'm not very good yet. I told him that, but he still seemed eager to play with me. He asked me what popular songs I like to play and I was embarrassed because I don't know any. I just play whatever comes to me. I don't necessarily feel that's a disadvantage, and it's certainly not when I play by myself, but he has been in bands before and he might not think the same. I've protected the creative part of myself so long from other people out of fear of their judgment or ridicule at what I consider is the best part of me, perhaps at the cost of its own growth, thinking that letting someone hear me sing or play is like letting the person in on my secret. It may not be a big deal to him, but if I let him see this deepest side of myself and he doesn't think it's any good, I'd be crushed.

My ex-boyfriend and I used to play and sing together, and if nothing else, I really miss having that creative outlet. So I worry that I am going to try to substitute this guy for my ex. I find this person attractive and I like hanging out with him, but I've never really learned how to just be friends with guys. His eagerness somewhat befuddles me and adds to my apprehension about being friends with the male sex for fear of unknowing what he may or may not want from me. Why would he want to play with me if I can't play that well? 'Cause I'm a girl? So in that regard I am tempted to just tell him never mind about the whole thing and not chance making a fool out of myself by thinking it means something more than just playing music and being creative together. But I really want to do this.

I am still afraid about silly things, like the fact that maybe even as you're reading this you'll think I'm ridiculous and just pass it off. But I know I am organic and creative. I know when I create things I do it with all of my being. I know I have something good to share if I can just let it out. If I dance, I dance as if to bring down the house. If I sing, I sing as if to drop the moon. I don't want to be afraid to show people who I am anymore. But I am still pretty fucking terrified at times.

~spazzy pee girl (holding it as long as I can)

Dear Spazzy Pee Girl,

When I was in fourth grade, I was the kid who vomited. I was the kid who vomited frequently. I was the spazzy vomit boy. I was a worrier, an anxious boy, a boy full of private visions, terrified of the world. I do not remember much from that period; it seems that much has been erased, or lives in a kind of memory that requires intense emotion to uncover. It was 1962 and there were missiles in Cuba and we would look up at the Florida sky and wonder if death and fire were going to rain down upon us. I do know that. And I know that in my house there were money fears and fights. We were not at war. Still, the skies threatened. There were missiles in Cuba. Perhaps that was why I was so anxious.

I remember squirming in my little desk one time during that period, raising my hand, needing to run to the back of the class but afraid to do so without permission, feeling the heat well up, feeling the cold sweat on my face, feeling utterly alone and abandoned and scorned, no one to help me, no one to run to, afraid to run to the teacher because the look on her face would say that I was not to get the help and warmth that I needed, that I would face only scorn and ridicule.

So I stayed in my desk as long as I could, and then when I was starting to heave, I left my desk and started to run to the back, but of course I didn't make it, and I ended up on my hands and knees in the aisle, vomiting on the linoleum. I remember that linoleum. It was cool to the touch. I remember the stink of the vomit, so near to my face, my hot, shamed, teary face.

The question of course was, Why didn't you raise your hand?

Ha ha. Why didn't you raise your hand? But I did! I was waving my hand! You weren't looking.

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