What am I? I imagine so many people who identify like me, or with any other kind of aberrant urge or desire like this have asked that question. What am I, and what is wrong with me? Something has to be wrong with me, and why do I think and feel these things? For so long, I felt alone. There would be no one that could possibly understand me and what I was going through. This one thing alone is so “out there” that how could anyone possibly relate. Stack on a number of other things, and that thought process turns monstrous. What kind of horrible person or monster am I? The pain that comes while I type this in my chest, is the same pain that I’ve felt throughout my life as I have struggled to not even understand, but grasp, what I am. Can I possibly be human, a Son of my Heavenly Father. How can I possibly be made after an image of incomprehensible perfection, and function like this? Many times, it didn’t feel like function, but disfunction. What I am makes less that sound sense. Not chaotic, but sanity wouldn’t be the first word I would pick.
The structure of this typing is now going all over the place as I continue to add to this first pass as this document (what it will become I do not know, but I feel compelled to write. For myself, for my spouse, for others? Could I possibly help someone else feeling/experiencing that I am?Here creeps self-doubt and worry as I look over my words. My primary goal is to help myself and my family, but there are so many others like me out there. I hope I can bring some comfort and assistance to them.
That being said, I feel that on the whole I am a very sound and centered person. On a scale of going off the rails on a crazy train, and having everything together I feel I am much more in control. I have an amazing wife, beautiful family, and I have been blessed beyond measure. Daily am I shown the blessing of trying to continually do what is right. (My own thoughts after writing. Perception may cloud my understanding as I talk about being centered. I leverage the social norms in which to draw my conclusion. To the “normal” family, I believe that I fill the role or husband, father, neighbor, and professional in a manner that benefits my family and community.)
From the perspective I have been writing this, I have focused on historical storytelling, and the uncertainty of my early life. I hope that I can weave in positivity and understanding as I progress. I hope to begin to find moments where I have learned who I am, and how this all fits. Typing that I realize that I do not know, maybe that is the purpose of this writing. To help me understand. To find the way. Or perhaps it is to help me accept. I’ve found more in the last four years of my life that without self-acceptance you cannot find peace and love with yourself. I am a different person for learning to grasp and understand two other facets of my life. I began to write understand, but I do not know if I will ever understand. Perhaps accept and incorporate into a healthy life is the most plausible answer. A life that I can productively function in for myself, and my family. More on my amazing wife later.A personal note I added after the very first pass at writing my story. I feel I am drawn to share my store in an effort to help other people who may have found themselves in similar circumstances as they grew up, or even where they find themselves now.
Where was I?! Right… What am I? I am so many things. Things that Im affair of mentioning that might remove the veil of anonymity from my words and my life. I am a professional, I am a father, I am a volunteer, I am a Latter-day Saint, and I am many, many other things. Among those things, I am what the community has classified as a Diaper Lover, and I may even be an Adult Baby. I don’t know fully what I am because until very recently I have never shared it with anyone that wasn’t represented by ones and zeroes. The mask of the Internet has allowed me, like so many others to learn about themselves. Learn about desires and urges that don’t fit the social norm of what a person “should” or typically does. It is not typical or normal to want to wear diapers past the age of infancy and toddler. Normal being defined by what the natural flow of society dictates. Adult Babies and Diaper Lovers find themselves in the minority and surrounded by those so far on the other end of the spectrum that exposure to such a notion is dangerous. (I wrote this previous sentence a different way the first time, using the words they and themselves but changed it to we and ourselves. I am one of them, and I am learning to accept that.)
This is not something that I could ever share with my parents, as our relation would not accommodate for such a conversation without a myriad of emotion of passion, rage, rejection on their end that I do not think they, nor I, would be able to handle. Aside from this being a very volatile topic, my parents are not able to handle, share, and discuss emotion without that very emotion clouding judgement. Judgement turns to resentment or the scrunched up look of disgust that I can picture on my mom’s face right now. The same person that would tell you that you can share anything with her, would be the same person that wouldn’t be able to handle the complexity and depth of the conversation.
Some of my earliest memories in life are related to diapers. I cannot point a traumatic experience that has pushed me to this choice, this lifestyle. I only say that because as I have struggled, wrestled, and coped with this inside of me for 30+ years, I have looked for a reason. Why do I have this? What is the reason for the feelings I have? I can associate these same feelings with two other parts of my life, but that is for another chapter or even another story to be told. All I can say is that there are three big things that have plagued me, or been part of my existence for as long as I can remember, for my entire span of memory. They didn’t all hit or enter at once, but they all have been persistent in their nature, associated feelings, and affect on my life. Any of these things would have been, and still even now, impossible to share with someone.
The photo for this post shows a group of runners beginning a race. I was thinking about it being something like this or a trail leading somewhere unknown. The mental image I had as I was envisioning this first post, the first real post of MY story is the beginning of a race. I promise this race is not a sprint. I have been working at this for the last three decades, and it definitely feels more like a marathon. A marathon that one cannot run without support. Who has helped you in your race? Who is your biggest supporter? Let me know in the comments!