To post this, but, here goes. I'm not "incontinent," I don't think, per the usual definition(s). But.
I feel like I should probably be diapered most, if not all, of the time. (But for the cost, hassle, and fear of discovery, who knows, maybe I would be.) I've been a DL for as long as I can remember. Lately I've been indulging a bit of the 'AB' side, as well (baby powder, ABU diapers, etc).
My bladder isn't the problem. Messing is.
It's weird. Very, very weird. To me, at least. I'm a fairly successful man in my 30s. I have a small collection of late-model European exotic vehicles. My pens are all German, my watches all Swiss. I have made-to-measure shirts on under my Italian suits, on those days when I have to wear a suit (pretty much just court hearings and, since I'm in Federal court almost exclusively, and since FRCP 78 and L.R. 7-15 are liberally applied by the judges in our (busiest in the country) local district, that's rare). My office is two floors down from the top of the building in the tallest building in a city you've heard of. (The TV show bearing its name ran for 9 seasons; a new show with just the zip code is on TV now...)
But I still mess my pants. (And have, since at least well into grade school -- 3rd grade maybe?)
Not every day. But often enough I don't think I have a single pair of boxers without skid marks. Seriously. It's happened at the office. It's happened at home. I've been embarrassed out at lunch with colleagues. Etc. (And maybe it's not every day because I'm a "not exactly recovered" anorexic, and, frankly, don't have to go #2 all that often...)
And it's not like I just let loose. More like I try (and partially, but messily manage) to 'hold it.'
I can't figure it out... My only clue (and this could just be distraction / excuse?):
For a while I was seeing various trauma therapists (at Castlewood, outpatient locally, and at River Oaks' New Orleans Institute). Whether or not you buy into the "IFS" (Internal Family System) model -- and I'm not sure I do ... A consensus seems to be that I have several 'parts.'
There's some sort of unregulated ultra-emotional toddler. A ~9ish kid, adrift, who'd rather be playing with G.I. Joe action figures than doing his 'homework.' A pissed off at the world "F you I won't do what you tell me!" adolescent (who's thrilled he can bring the power of an S65B40 to his teenage speed racer fantasies). A hyper logical dual-doctorate (comp. sci. and juris) "Mr. Spock" litigator.
As best as I can grok, the ~9 year old doesn't want to be interrupted from his focus (when I was actually around that age -- maybe 12 or 13? though I remember reading a magazine article about a kid who sold his first commercial program at age 11, and consoling myself with the fact that "I still had time," so... -- I worked day and night for a summer, writing my own operating system in 6502 assembly. It almost worked!) to go to the bathroom.
Meh. I don't even know. How nuts am I?