The Secret Life of a Toilet Dweller

The Secret Life of a Toilet Dweller

I'm such a d*ckhead, I forever start stories that I know I damn well won't finish.
But oh well.
This is my newest project !

Toilet Dweller.

Noun.

An individual that inhibits a toilet cubicle due to choice but most cases because of social inhibitions.

Being a toilet dweller gave me a different outlook on life. I saw people from their feet up rather than the conventional way of face down.
Imagine this, you never saw people, you just saw feet, or shoes and voices
My mind quickly made links between girls that wore.. And whores.
Of course this had its limitations, the main one being that I was only ever in a girls toilet because I was girl. Whilst I could read girls just by the shoes they wore or the way they walked, I was blind when it came to the opposite sex.
How I became a toilet dweller is another story in itself, a story that I don't have time for today. The short version was that it started as escape, a getaway maybe but it quickly became home.
Primary school for me was hell, I can barely remember it, but what I do remember is a blur of Chinese burns, pinches, slaps and kicks and face-pulling, hair-pulling, pinching, scratching and more things along those lines. As bad as that sounds it didn’t last long you see. I found a sanctuary. The toilets.

Initially it started only happening at break, I would go to the toilet, put the seat down, fold my legs in case a nosey somebody decided to look under the stalls. I only did this once a week and even then I felt so ashamed, so I never told anyone.

The toilets were safe because we were still innocent kids back then, we didn’t need to fix our hair every time the wind blew, we only went into the toilet when we really needed to actually urinate. This is what made it so perfect, I would enter at the beginning of break and re-emerge at the end.

No one noticed, my bullies had luckily found a new victim and the teachers were probably happy that they near had to deal with my constant crying.

After that primary school became bearable, I started spending more time in the toilets scared that my tormenters would see me at break one day and suddenly remember to pick on me again. I did a range of things in that small cubicle, it was like the library to me. Sometimes I would just sit and day dream about anything really, sometimes I would catch up on work that I didn’t do the night before. Others times I would cry.

As I grew my toilet dwelling ways grew with me, it became somewhat of an addiction. When the day was too hard, or the stare were too bright I would hide away in the toilets. I didn't go to one of those secondary schools where you could leave at lunch, I was stuck in the perceptual burning of secondary school, with that last stall on the right hand side of the first floor toilets being my only sanctuary.

This fear always stuck with I guess, the fear that I would be picked on or bullied because when I started secondary school it stuck to me. Instead of meeting new friends and exploring the school, I spent my first day in the school toilets in a cubicle more interested in how much more comfortable this toilet seat was compared to my primary schools.

I missed out on all the interstation thus the friendship groups, I knew that if I were to ever emerge from the cubicle I wouldn’t fit in. I wouldn’t know what the latest trend was that week, which colour ribbons all the girls were going to wear. So I stayed in that cubicle.

And so I sat, on my first day of college, almost like déjàvu, legs crossed on the pristine fleshly cleaned toilet seat on the second floor of the east building. This was important because I was still trying to find the right toilet, the one that people rarely went into, but wasn’t in a quiet area so people wouldn’t notice that I had been in there for nearly an hour in complete silence. This was the second toilet that I tested, and so far it was going well.

Then there was Natasha. She was now stuck day dreaming of her former glory days when she primary school queen and secondary dream.
We both went to the same college, and whilst she got tails wagging in our small year of 200 people, she found it hard to get attention in the 1,700 adolescent populated  college. She did get attention but it wasn't the attention that she particularly desired. The people she got attention from she called the "little people", she was aiming for much higher she said. She was aiming for the second year ‘’big people’’
I was convinced at the start that she was better at inhibiting her body better than I did but as our distorted friendship grew I think she was just better at pretending.