Fantasy v. Reality
by, 25-Sep-2013 at 00:17 (979 Views)
I posted this in a very belated response to a thread that asked whether people would or would not actually want to live out the "24/7/365 as a baby" fantasy if it were a possibility for them. By the time I got to the thread, it had all but petered out; still, the surprising number of people who indicated that they would want to do this made me write this, and the fact that very few people ever saw or will see an ultra-late post in a played-out thread makes me wish to post it here as well.
There is an ABDL short story called "Committed" in which a TB named Lindsay, having been in an accident, awakens in a hospital and decides to test the waters of her fantasy by pretending that she has no control and no ability to communicate, or at least no more than would a baby. The doctors, finding nothing physically wrong with her brain, assume a deep psychological trauma, and attempt an experimental hypnotic therapy to repress the unwanted personality and allow the underlying one to take over. However, since she is only pretending, the result of the therapy is the reverse of what they desire: it cements the "baby" personality in the foreground, burying Lindsay's real teen personality deep inside, even though by then she has realized that this game has gone way, way too far.
It's a good story. It plays fast and loose with the rules of reality, but, hey, it's fiction. But what it shows--and why I bring it up here--is the significant difference between fantasy and reality.
Lindsay only wished to experience her fantasy for a little while. When she found herself stuck in it forever, the dream became a nightmare. On the outside, Baby Lindsay was happy: burbling, playing, enjoying her Little life. But somewhere inside she knew that all of this was very, very wrong. There are a thousand stories like this, and the reason is that there is a T or an A in front of the B in the acronym for what we are. Oh, yes: I too would love to abdicate my life's responsibilities, to give all control to someone else, to be his little one, to let him make all decisions and just give in to the omnipresent temptation to step out of my adult life. Heck, I just had this very conversation with my husband (who has not yet found the pathway to daddyhood but he is trying) yesterday.
I've always been the responsible one my entire life, I told him. As the oldest child of six, I was encouraged to be independent. In my first marriage, we equally shared all burdens. After that, I lived alone for years. In this marriage, I am the one with the income, the one with the responsibility to keep us alive. I am sick of it. I am tired. I really, really need him to assert himself, to take the responsibilities away from me, to be the one making the decisions, to let me just be, well, Little. But not...always.
Fantasy is fantasy. I know that, stuck in the world of Little, a world of G-rated TV and children's toys and Dr. Seuss books with only fifty words in them and Care Bears and all, I'd be bored out of my mind. I watched that guy on Dr. Phil say that he actually wanted to be a two year old 100% of the time if his fiancée would do it and I found myself completely agreeing with Phil: the girl should run for the hills. Not because, as Phil said, of the selfishness of the wish--though that was certainly part of it--but because you need to be able to understand the difference between a fun game and real life.
Here is real life:
My cousin, a vibrant, wonderful, mischievous, clever girl, contracted equine encephalitis at the age of ten. She was in a coma for weeks. When she emerged, she was brain damaged. For the forty years since then, she's been the equivalent of a two-to-three-year-old, both in intellect and in ability to control her bodily functions. Now I don't know my cousin; she is from a part of the family that is not close by. But from all accounts she is a sweet and loving person. But she is a real adult baby.
That's real life.
Here's real life also:
My son-in-law has a huge brain tumor. Doctors cannot remove it, but they are hopeful that a new type of surgery can at least reduce it in size, giving him maybe four more years or so of life. His husband, my son, is of course very happy for this. But what has been seriously frustrating for them both while awaiting the insurance go-ahead for this surgery is this: the current size and position of the tumor presses on memory centers in the brain, and he is unable to process words most of the time. He simply cannot find the right words for the meanings he has, and therefore even writing them does not help. They have not been able to talk with each other in months. We take this simple element of life for granted...but what if it were not there?
That's real life too.
This stuff? It's a game. I'm not sure what the purpose of this thread really was. To see what percentage of us don't actually understand that? I suspect that those who have said they would gladly give in to 24/7 fantasies are posting in fantasies. Because, if you really consider everything in your world, truly, as several other posters have noted, there are far too many aspects of the grown-up world you would not really want to relinquish: watching TV or movies, reading books, talking, driving, shopping, eating "grownup" food, walking outdoors on your own, walking outdoors period (in clothing that will not make you the butt of everyone's jokes), being with friends and family, being online, using the telephone, drinking beer or wine, wearing makeup or jewelry, having grownup conversation, walking in the rain, going to parties, sports, or plays, listening to iPods, going to concerts, eating out (gonna do that in your baby clothes, a high chair, and a bib?), painting your nails, going shoe shopping, drinking coffee, lying out on the deck on your own, being on your own period, and those are just the ones I could come up with in a few moments sitting here in my living room.
T. A. There is a reason that those letters precede the B in our acronyms. We yearn for the innocence of babyhood or toddlerhood, and we love to play the game of being back there. But we are teens or we are adults. We have--perhaps sadly--grown up. And we now have in our lives all of the accoutrements of those lives we have grown into. The joy that we find in allowing ourselves to slip back into our pasts is pure and perfect, but it does not and cannot ever take those things and all of that time away. One look in the mirror tells us that. One moment of self-reflection tells us that. There are grown-up thoughts coursing through our brains as we suck on our pacis and lie on our blankies watching Sponge Bob. And those thoughts are formulated with grown-up words. We cannot stop them. Or: if we manage to shove them aside for a short while, we know they will return. They are who we are. That does not change.
It's easy to say "I'd love to be a baby 24/7/365." But unless you have access to something that can transport you back in time into your infant body--and your infant mind--I'm fairly certain that at the end of the day you really wouldn't like it much.