Resisting the FETISH because of a SECRET

[sdweasel]

I am, perhaps, relating a bit to well to some of this. Honestly I've been reluctant to share it and talk about it because I feel that it's not your problem or anyone else's. Rather hypocritical of me, really.

I should probably start my own blog thread, but I'm not in the mood right now.

I had a bit of a break myself a few weeks ago. I quite accidentally reconnected with my Little side and was completely unprepared to deal with it. How I managed to suppress her so well that I completely forgot, I don't know. Feel more than a little guilty about it too, like I've committed a crime against myself somehow.

I was fortunate enough to be home alone when it happened. It wasn't exactly a pleasant experience, emotionally, and I'm afraid of how I've been acting since. My pacifier went from an amusing prop to something I feel like I need. It requires an exhausting amount of effort to not wear a diaper around the house. Only possible because I don't want things with my wife to get off on the wrong foot.

Since then, I've been a bit... manic. I'm making progress, but the thoughts and desires can be quite intrusive. My inability to stop completely is one of the many reasons I committed to coming clean with my wife.

 

[LainIsLain]

It's been an emotionally charged day. Specifically the last few hours after work. I'm now home, padded, and onesied!

After the emotional outburst at my friends house I decided an urgent therapy session was needed. Since then I've been back three times and today we did another EMDR session. This time using a different method. Instead of visual, we tried a tactile device. It was explained to me that while he was guiding me the tactile device offers stimulus to help keep me grounded. A helper to keep me from dissociating during the peak of the emotional waves during the session.

This time it was focused on my mother. I've been given home work that.... goes along with the other EMDR sessions we've had. To summarize the EMDR for me has been a way to desensitize me to the traumas and be able to integrate them while being guided during a session. I've been given tasks like focus on and imagine the specific trauma then imagine an alternative self image that is more positive. If I felt rejected or shameful then I can imagine that someone is there to help me or try thinking of what ever is making me shameful in a more positive light.

It seems that I still carry a great amount shame surrounding my mother and how she would interpret my diaper wearing. If she was alive and she found out I can imagine that see would have a face of "knowing failure". Something to be hidden and never talked about. As I imagine this I feel a great sense of disapproval from her. Like my failure is her failure! And because it's her failure it needs to be hidden! Don't look at it, don't talk about it, don't don't don't!!!

She's here with me still! And so while I was in the shower(because why not) the train ride comes back to my mind.

I'm riding on the train with my younger self. We are quietly watching the hills in the distance slowly travel across the window. My father has been gone from the train for some time now. When he left I agreed that it was now my job to take care of this child. But someone has been watching us.

My mother enters the room and sits across from us. Her face is not in shadow like my father's was. She is looking at me intently with her soft blue eye's with little brown flecks in them. She doesn't move. She's just watching us.

About 2 weeks before she died I made a half hearted effort to talk with her in private. A bit cliché, I wanted to talk with her one last time before she was unable to. At the point she was weak but mostly lucid. I begin by saying something like "hey mom, I want to tell you something". Her reaction to this was so confusing. She lifted up from her raised backed adjustable bed with an expression of something like someone was about to tell her that her house was on fire or someone was about to tell her something overly important. It was a look I'd never seen her make before. The raw anticipation of some information that would make or change somebodies mind about.... something....

I was speechless for a few seconds and then slowly and with a cracking voice I told her I liked who I was. That I would continue to work on my hobbies and "live my life". Immediately after I was done she had a look of disappointment. The information I gave wasn't what she wanted to hear. I left her alone and went to bed.

What did she want to hear?

We shared a trauma when I was 5 years old. That trauma resulted in some unusual behavior that she must have known about. She was there as I grew up. She had to have made the connection that something changed in me. She had to have known every time she would give me a hug or put me to bed that something was wrong. She had to know! So why didn't she say anything! I clearly remember having tactile defensiveness as a kid. I really didn't like people hugging me or touching me. She had to know this when she would try to give me a hug as a little kid. She had to know! But nothing was done or said about it. Because my problems were her failures as a mother. A mother that screwed something up and others would judge her for it.

Her reaction was deep wanting. A deep wanting for me to tell HER it was okay now. That enough time had passed that what happened didn't matter anymore and I was okay.

She sits on the train now staring at me. Expecting some kind of reprieve. Anything that would allow her to be let off the hook and not be judged by me because we're the only ones that know about it......

My homework from the therapist is to in his words "Imagine someone that could fill your mothers roll. Imagine this person could do all the things you wish your mother had done. This person can be real or imaginary." This is what the subject of our next EMDR session will be next week.

If left untethered my imagination can get the best of me. In the past it has been an asset for me but has also brought some pretty awful things. A common thing our brains have the ability to create are "dark thoughts". This dark imagery can come with stress and heightened emotional states. At my lowest moments when I was self harming I had my share of these dark thoughts. So much so that they persist to this day all be it with fleeting frequency. They are under control and mostly gone. To my surprise these dark thoughts intruded the first train ride fantasy a year ago. Kind of like my brain could see an extreme emotional reaction coming and decided to "pump the brakes" side tracking my thoughts. One worry I have is that my brain will try that again but I don't think so.

One way I fought back was to imagine that my younger self was immune to this "dark imagery" and would just give me a hug whenever they would intrude. To my surprise this absolutely worked. I'm grateful for this and so far it hasn't been needed for tonight's episode.

Next session I get to decide how the version of my mother in my head is treated. Do I replace her? Do I ask her to leave?.... Do I leave?

 

[needchanging49]

hi: I'm in SW Washington been reading your story. Sorry your life has been like it has been. If you need a place to be little and have a grandpa care for you let me know. a few day or a few weeks. Just escape be little.

 

[LainIsLain]

Thank you @needchanging49 that's very kind of you.

 

[LainIsLain]

Update 7/24/21

At my best I've been able to offer advice that I would consider respectful and appropriate. I just wish I was strong enough to take my own advice sometimes!

Following the outburst at my friends house I decided to return to therapy. Since that incident I've had 4 therapy sessions and 2 EMDR. This last Thursday we did the EMDR. The subject matter involved my mother. Or to be specific the version of my mother that still lives in my head. A version that I think will be harmed in some way if she knew I was wearing diapers in order to deal with my anxiety and stress.

When our mothers pass.

My mothers passing was awful to say the least, but how I dealt with it hasn't entirely been healthy. I've never had a "close" family member die so how I deal with death was going to be a surprise regardless. This last therapy session we nailed down some important subjects. One question my therapist asked was "Who are you hurting? She's not here any more.". "Yes but the version of her that's inside my head can still be hurt!"...........

Like some, I find it difficult to complete tasks especially when it's a project or hobby. I will put all my efforts into something to a degree that I'm still impressed at from time to time. But what I'm never impressed by are the results. No matter how hard I try I always see the flaws in everything I do. 90% completed projects that I would gladly burn because I can't see how anyone would be impressed by what I've done. I can't derive any kind of lasting satisfaction from my labor because.... I don't think my mother would be impressed.

All my skills and time devoted to projects that in all honesty were taken on to impress other people or specifically my mother through a deranged feedback loop I was exposed to as a child. My mother would parade me around to others saying "Just look what my son did! Isn't that amazing!". I perpetual nightmare that I internalized very early on as something I could do in order to gain favor from her. All the way through grade school and into adulthood. Constantly having to endure her treating me like an eternal toddler.......

I realize now that we were both stuck after the trauma. A trauma that could carelessly be dismissed as an overreaction. A subtle traumatic event that changed both our lives. My life changed forever in that I could no longer count on her help with my bowel problems. And her life changed because a positive outward appearance was more important than her child in pain. As the days went by more time stood between the trauma and her ability to reconcile with me. To resolve the break and restore my trust.

She would always be so happy with me when I would do her proud. Even the smallest things like childish drawings would be praise worthy. Up to and including a brief involvement in a child's fashion show. I remember being paraded at the local mall to show off some designer clothing around age 6-7. I remember her gushing over photos of me saying "Your the cutest thing up there!".

The eternal child.

I can recollect now some disturbing behaviors I had in my early 20's after my dad left. Strange hoarder type behaviors in how I would treat my room and personal hygiene. I'll spare the details here. I remember in a panic one day while I was sleeping an appraiser came to the house and needed to view all the rooms. "OH GOD!" I thought, please not my room. I was thoroughly embarrassed by any one seeing my room in that state. Those were some of the worst days. Completely depressed and self harming. Those were dark times.

My mother treated me like a toddler for my entire life and I was constantly seeking this attention and snapping at her when ever she would give it. A cycle that would never be broken until she passed.

The moment when I told her that I needed to tell her something near the end of her life, presented it self in my head during our therapy. A strange desperate piercing gaze from her. Hope that I would take away her guilt and shame over what happened all those years ago.

"How can you be hurting her if she's not here anymore!" During my initial EMDR we were searching for a way out of my room. Having been yeld at and forcibly diapered by my scared and angry mother, I was stuck in a dark room with nothing. I settled with my father this first time. I needed someone to come up and tell me that I don't have to be in pain anymore. That person is and should have been my father. This helped me immensely in the beginning. A little compassion from my father could have made the difference and it was enough to get me out. This time around we needed an advocate. Someone that could intervene because of my fathers ineptitude! Even after I told him what happened all those years ago I got this "I don't remember that ever happening..." like I was accusing him of something and not even close to taking responsibility.

This advocate could be anyone that fulfilled my needs that my mother couldn't. This person could be real or imaginary. When the time I settled for my Aunt.

My Aunt I remember fondly. She was the eldest sister of a family of 9 children between 2 fathers. Being the oldest I've heard story's of how protective she was with everyone. She had to look out for the others where most likely my mother experienced her own life changing traumas. My mother hating her father to the day she died after passing while she was 16.

If my Aunt was there she would have intervened. I can imagine her telling my mother "Don't you do that to him it's not his fault! He's in pain and he needs professional help!" This hurts me because it hurts the version of her that's alive in my head.

I'm still carrying a burden. The burden of success or failure for both of us. Not being strong enough to stand on her own accomplishments when I was a child. Always parading me around as if to say with hindsight "Look! See! I didn't mess him up! He forgot it and so will I. Everything is just perfect now!.

I now have to find a way to be satisfied with what I do. And I need to be satisfied with them because they are my accomplishments and not for her. Their mine and not hers! Not hers!

The EMDR always takes me down and usually for a few days. I tried to return to work but I felt like I was on the edge of a panic attack the whole time. I stayed long enough to clean up and left promptly. I arranged to stay at the beach and I'm still here typing this.



Today I went to Pacific City and climbed the enormous sand hill to watch the sunset. I always forget how cold the Oregon Coast can be after the sun goes down but this time I stayed as long as I could.

The train.

The train ride has been a constant for these therapy sessions. As we returned to my room from the trauma I started fantasizing about riding in a train that carried the parts of my psyche. After the incident at my friends house but before I returned to therapy, the small room inside the train now carry's my mother.

She is sitting across from us. She has the same desperate look on her face. She is waiting for me to speak and take away her guilt.



Nothing I say will do this for her. Her guilt about what happened runs as deep as my shame. But she was a child once! How did she let her fear from others judgment override her ability to get help when I needed it? She knew we both suffered a break and she was the only one that could fix it. She let time pass without helping me. She became stuck the same way I was stuck.



As we stair at each other my Aunt opens the door. No words are spoken as she moves quietly over to my mother and gently places her hand on her arm. My mother is confused and doesn't know what to do. My Aunt gently guides her to stand and so she does. She understands now what's happening. She looks at me with a softer expression and slowly makes her way to me. I do not rise to meet her as she gently bends down and kisses my forehead. I imagine it being so soft that I can't even feel her lips.



They both quietly leave the room and my Aunt shuts the door behind her. I can see them now outside the train fading into the distance just like my father did before.

I'm still on the train and it's moving again but the destination is unknown. The younger version of me speaks for the first time. "I'm hungry!"



Life is cruel and short! I've let so much of my life pass by it sickens me to think of the opportunities I've passed on because I could never feel good about anything I did. Nothing was good enough for me and thus was never good enough for her. A constant battle fought behind closed doors that would never end. A victor would never be crowned. I could never see the accomplishments and feel satisfied. An impossible task to meet someone else's expectations made even worse with never knowing what those expectations were.

After this last session we talked about what to do going forward. He concurred that most likely this childish situation will probably never be resolved. In that I will always be "wanting" to impress my mother or at least a simulacrum of my mother to gain the attention. The obvious thing to do would be to find an intimate relationship where I can receive the attention my younger self is seeking. Even hinting the ABDL community at large or even a "mommy" service. These suggestions I internalize that the help I need going forward will most likely not be found in our therapy sessions. My mother treated me like a little kid my whole life and now all I want is for someone to treat me like a little kid. Just not my mother!

My mother is gone and I no longer need to impress her. I must find a way to be satisfied with my own accomplishments and that won't be easy for me. After a life time of behaviors guided by this strange situation, I must develop my own motivations and goals.

It appears that dating is in my future. I'm scared as hell to even think about that right now. The rejection I've experienced in little mode is debilitating in a way that I wasn't expecting but shouldn't have been surprising from a life time of suppressed emotions and trying to live up to someone else's standards for survival.

I'm a little late to the party but.... life is fucking short.

 

[sdweasel]

I must find a way to be satisfied with my own accomplishments and that won't be easy for me.

It's interesting sometimes, how experiences can be so different and similar at the same time. My own mother was more the "creative criticism" type, always telling me what I should have done differently and how I could have done better. This left me extremely judgemental of my own work. I personally came to combat this by focusing on whether or not I finished rather than how I felt about the result. You have finished a bedwetter prototype, for example. It may not be where you want it functionally, but you did complete one.

The trick has been to accept these smaller victories and completions as accomplishments. I'm really not very good at that. Every time I paint a miniature I see all the ways it doesn't match the mental picture of what I wanted. It isn't so much a failure as a lack of knowledge, skill, and ability. Every one I complete brings me one little baby step closer to what I want though. I just have to keep doing it.

It sounds to me like you're moving forward, at least. For all the discomfort, it was an important step for you.

Great pictures, by the way!

 

[needchanging49]

Update 7/24/21

At my best I've been able to offer advice that I would consider respectful and appropriate. I just wish I was strong enough to take my own advice sometimes!

Following the outburst at my friends house I decided to return to therapy. Since that incident I've had 4 therapy sessions and 2 EMDR. This last Thursday we did the EMDR. The subject matter involved my mother. Or to be specific the version of my mother that still lives in my head. A version that I think will be harmed in some way if she knew I was wearing diapers in order to deal with my anxiety and stress.

When our mothers pass.

My mothers passing was awful to say the least, but how I dealt with it hasn't entirely been healthy. I've never had a "close" family member die so how I deal with death was going to be a surprise regardless. This last therapy session we nailed down some important subjects. One question my therapist asked was "Who are you hurting? She's not here any more.". "Yes but the version of her that's inside my head can still be hurt!"...........

Like some, I find it difficult to complete tasks especially when it's a project or hobby. I will put all my efforts into something to a degree that I'm still impressed at from time to time. But what I'm never impressed by are the results. No matter how hard I try I always see the flaws in everything I do. 90% completed projects that I would gladly burn because I can't see how anyone would be impressed by what I've done. I can't derive any kind of lasting satisfaction from my labor because.... I don't think my mother would be impressed.

All my skills and time devoted to projects that in all honesty were taken on to impress other people or specifically my mother through a deranged feedback loop I was exposed to as a child. My mother would parade me around to others saying "Just look what my son did! Isn't that amazing!". I perpetual nightmare that I internalized very early on as something I could do in order to gain favor from her. All the way through grade school and into adulthood. Constantly having to endure her treating me like an eternal toddler.......

I realize now that we were both stuck after the trauma. A trauma that could carelessly be dismissed as an overreaction. A subtle traumatic event that changed both our lives. My life changed forever in that I could no longer count on her help with my bowel problems. And her life changed because a positive outward appearance was more important than her child in pain. As the days went by more time stood between the trauma and her ability to reconcile with me. To resolve the break and restore my trust.

She would always be so happy with me when I would do her proud. Even the smallest things like childish drawings would be praise worthy. Up to and including a brief involvement in a child's fashion show. I remember being paraded at the local mall to show off some designer clothing around age 6-7. I remember her gushing over photos of me saying "Your the cutest thing up there!".

The eternal child.

I can recollect now some disturbing behaviors I had in my early 20's after my dad left. Strange hoarder type behaviors in how I would treat my room and personal hygiene. I'll spare the details here. I remember in a panic one day while I was sleeping an appraiser came to the house and needed to view all the rooms. "OH GOD!" I thought, please not my room. I was thoroughly embarrassed by any one seeing my room in that state. Those were some of the worst days. Completely depressed and self harming. Those were dark times.

My mother treated me like a toddler for my entire life and I was constantly seeking this attention and snapping at her when ever she would give it. A cycle that would never be broken until she passed.

The moment when I told her that I needed to tell her something near the end of her life, presented it self in my head during our therapy. A strange desperate piercing gaze from her. Hope that I would take away her guilt and shame over what happened all those years ago.

"How can you be hurting her if she's not here anymore!" During my initial EMDR we were searching for a way out of my room. Having been yeld at and forcibly diapered by my scared and angry mother, I was stuck in a dark room with nothing. I settled with my father this first time. I needed someone to come up and tell me that I don't have to be in pain anymore. That person is and should have been my father. This helped me immensely in the beginning. A little compassion from my father could have made the difference and it was enough to get me out. This time around we needed an advocate. Someone that could intervene because of my fathers ineptitude! Even after I told him what happened all those years ago I got this "I don't remember that ever happening..." like I was accusing him of something and not even close to taking responsibility.

This advocate could be anyone that fulfilled my needs that my mother couldn't. This person could be real or imaginary. When the time I settled for my Aunt.

My Aunt I remember fondly. She was the eldest sister of a family of 9 children between 2 fathers. Being the oldest I've heard story's of how protective she was with everyone. She had to look out for the others where most likely my mother experienced her own life changing traumas. My mother hating her father to the day she died after passing while she was 16.

If my Aunt was there she would have intervened. I can imagine her telling my mother "Don't you do that to him it's not his fault! He's in pain and he needs professional help!" This hurts me because it hurts the version of her that's alive in my head.

I'm still carrying a burden. The burden of success or failure for both of us. Not being strong enough to stand on her own accomplishments when I was a child. Always parading me around as if to say with hindsight "Look! See! I didn't mess him up! He forgot it and so will I. Everything is just perfect now!.

I now have to find a way to be satisfied with what I do. And I need to be satisfied with them because they are my accomplishments and not for her. Their mine and not hers! Not hers!

The EMDR always takes me down and usually for a few days. I tried to return to work but I felt like I was on the edge of a panic attack the whole time. I stayed long enough to clean up and left promptly. I arranged to stay at the beach and I'm still here typing this.

View attachment 59729

Today I went to Pacific City and climbed the enormous sand hill to watch the sunset. I always forget how cold the Oregon Coast can be after the sun goes down but this time I stayed as long as I could.

The train.

The train ride has been a constant for these therapy sessions. As we returned to my room from the trauma I started fantasizing about riding in a train that carried the parts of my psyche. After the incident at my friends house but before I returned to therapy, the small room inside the train now carry's my mother.

She is sitting across from us. She has the same desperate look on her face. She is waiting for me to speak and take away her guilt.

View attachment 59730

Nothing I say will do this for her. Her guilt about what happened runs as deep as my shame. But she was a child once! How did she let her fear from others judgment override her ability to get help when I needed it? She knew we both suffered a break and she was the only one that could fix it. She let time pass without helping me. She became stuck the same way I was stuck.

View attachment 59731

As we stair at each other my Aunt opens the door. No words are spoken as she moves quietly over to my mother and gently places her hand on her arm. My mother is confused and doesn't know what to do. My Aunt gently guides her to stand and so she does. She understands now what's happening. She looks at me with a softer expression and slowly makes her way to me. I do not rise to meet her as she gently bends down and kisses my forehead. I imagine it being so soft that I can't even feel her lips.

View attachment 59732

They both quietly leave the room and my Aunt shuts the door behind her. I can see them now outside the train fading into the distance just like my father did before.

I'm still on the train and it's moving again but the destination is unknown. The younger version of me speaks for the first time. "I'm hungry!"



Life is cruel and short! I've let so much of my life pass by it sickens me to think of the opportunities I've passed on because I could never feel good about anything I did. Nothing was good enough for me and thus was never good enough for her. A constant battle fought behind closed doors that would never end. A victor would never be crowned. I could never see the accomplishments and feel satisfied. An impossible task to meet someone else's expectations made even worse with never knowing what those expectations were.

After this last session we talked about what to do going forward. He concurred that most likely this childish situation will probably never be resolved. In that I will always be "wanting" to impress my mother or at least a simulacrum of my mother to gain the attention. The obvious thing to do would be to find an intimate relationship where I can receive the attention my younger self is seeking. Even hinting the ABDL community at large or even a "mommy" service. These suggestions I internalize that the help I need going forward will most likely not be found in our therapy sessions. My mother treated me like a little kid my whole life and now all I want is for someone to treat me like a little kid. Just not my mother!

My mother is gone and I no longer need to impress her. I must find a way to be satisfied with my own accomplishments and that won't be easy for me. After a life time of behaviors guided by this strange situation, I must develop my own motivations and goals.

It appears that dating is in my future. I'm scared as hell to even think about that right now. The rejection I've experienced in little mode is debilitating in a way that I wasn't expecting but shouldn't have been surprising from a life time of suppressed emotions and trying to live up to someone else's standards for survival.

I'm a little late to the party but.... life is fucking short.
View attachment 59733

wow so much work. good luck on the rest of this journey. for me it was my farther and nothing was good enough.

 

[LainIsLain]

Update 6/12/22

It has now been two years since my mother has died and me beginning wearing diapers.

Human's are fascinating... One common human trait is that we always act in our own self interest, all the time. Even if and when these acts seem altruistic or generous, they are indeed, acts of self interest to be sure. This is nothing to be ashamed of, it's merely a survival trait that brought us from single celled organisms, to functional individuals of humanity. I am no different in this case.

And because of this, I must tread carefully with my emotional anger here.... As I've posted, my step father has decided to sell our family home. Having the attachment disorder and subsequent deep distrust of women thanks to my mother, I have an irrational attachment to our family home for some reason. The home my father built and later my mother promised would be mine after she passed. She mentioned this on more than one occasion before she had cancer. But as things progressed, her promise would become unfulfillable as her assets were signed over to my step father prier to her death. And after two years of quietly avoiding each other, he gave me 60 days to vacate.

I always found it difficult to connect with him. He, being a very religious man while I am not, I always found it difficult to relate on a personal level. We both quietly tolerated each others company for the 10 years my roommate and I lived there at the request of my mother and him. This was initially to make up for a shortfall in their budget if I remember correctly. Now after two years, he has met someone new. He might not realize I know this, because he's not mentioned this to me.

I remember clearly after my father divorced my mother. She was heart broken, and my sister started her downward spiral. She started dating almost immediately and I always found it untasteful when she'd bring someone home. Of course I had no opinion to give, being in my early 20's and finally leaving home for the first time at age 26.

Having a deep distrust in women has left me nearly incapable so entertaining an intimate relationship with the opposite sex. I'm making an effort to overcome this but I've made little progress.

I recognize the need for companionship in my step fathers case. He can barely take care of himself! My mother cooked all his meals as I assume his previous wife did. He "needs" companionship to survive (grand truth), while I've been running in independent survival mode almost my entire life. I can't pretend to understand the "why", all I know is the "what".

After 10 years of security and being asked to leave within 60 days, my anxiety pushed me into full panic mode in a second. I stayed like this for nearly 72 hours until, very quickly, I found another place to live. I'm actually quite impressed with myself just how fast things can move, when I'm motivated! And between work and moving, I've had little time to relax. My body aches and I'm exhausted, but at least the move is over. Between us both we've taken nearly 4000 lbs. to the dump in order to downsize enough to fit into this new home. After 10 years of accumulating stuff and starting random projects, it has resulted in a lot of wasted time and money! But as I reduce my load, I feel a bit lighter.

I'm split... I can feel the tears coming sometimes but remain distant for the moment. I catch myself running around inside my head. Loops of dialogue between my step father where I hurt him with words. I want to make him hurt as much as this hurts me. But should I be so angry? A promise from my dead mother being broken by extension through him selling our family home.... Unfortunately for him, that was always going to be the house my father built even after hating my father for as long as I did. It was always going to be our family home and that didn't include my step father.

After all this, I feel more at home here than I did there. I don't have to worry about running into him and trying to make polite small talk while we both pretend to tolerate each other. It was an obvious stress, but both my roommate and I agree was more stressful than we realized. I can imagine my step father felt this as well, but had no ability to vocalize it. I imagine him waking one day and finally deciding to sell the house to reduce the stress in his life. Or he could be be a greedy asshole, but one always acts in their own self interest regardless of the reasons.

It will take some time, but I think I'm going to enjoy this new place. We almost have all the amenities as our old house, just on a smaller scale. That and my roommate graciously gave me the master bedroom/bath for some privacy. And at the end of the year lease, we'll discus what happens after.



Having no attachment to my mothers old things, It's now up to me to decide what stays and what goes. My sister doesn't have room in her apartment and I have limited space for my mothers old things. It's time to decide.

The train is still rolling along..... It has not stopped, but the speed has increased a bit as we travel in near darkness outside.

I'm surprised to find my mother's things under the seat. All her beloved decorations and nick nacks. All her finished and unfinished projects. Christmas stocking's with all our names hand embroidered on them. All her pictures... They are difficult to look at. Some have no emotional weight while others snap me back into childhood. Some I have no memory of, but none the less are pictures of me playing happily in cute yellow colored onesies. I try with difficulty to remember a time when I was that happy just existing, but I just can't.

I open the side window of the moving train and begin discarding. Decorations, ornaments, clothes, half finished projects, papers. A life time of objects that seemed so important to her while she was alive. I begin discarding anything that doesn't immediately bring happy emotions. Armfuls of objects stream into the night air outside the train. Blasting into faint plumes of color into the darkness. As I pause, my younger self approaches the window... He presents a single cat's-eye marble in his hand. We both stair at it intently. A not too special yellow and green ribbon of color imbedded in a cheap glass sphere. I finally recognize as I use to play with it many years ago in the house. I would endlessly roll the marble down the wooden side rail of the stairs making a strange sound as it hit the floor. He slowly brings it to the windows edge and lets gravity remove the marble from his hand. We return to the seat in silence. All that remains is a small stack of photo albums carefully transported through time. They are time capsules now. Used as a conduit to the past. I imagine taking them out to refresh my memories of happier times. Innocent and carefree..... At least that's what they look like to me.....