my life as I see it

my life as I see it

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WpMetadataReadMatureOngoing11m
WpMetadataNoticeLast published Sun, May 25, 2025
journey into the lifestyle of abdl tbdl okay my earliest memory was when I was 3 years old I was forced potty trained by my adopted parents but I do remember that maybe I wasn't ready so I always had my grandmother always retape it up an unused diaper just don't have the sticky tape anymore cuz I've already done put it on and took it off to many times I didn't stick any more and I was already potty trained I just wanted to wear them because maybe I don't know but maybe it was what felt normal to me 5 years after that's it all began me remembering that tender time in my early years when I turned eight I had my own computer my own internet and my own phone line I got bored I got curious I started typing random stuff in and for some reason diapers popped up into the description what's this so that's how it all started I was reading this here website right now that you're reading as we speak I was once you young not knowing why you had these strange feelings this urge just want to be back in diapers maybe it's comfort maybe it's security maybe it's comfortable maybe it's a better idea than getting stains on your underwear for me I think it has a lot to do with me being taken away from my biological mother I never got to spend no time with her and never got to have my childhood with her all I had with her was visitations every Saturday Sunday birthdays holidays and summer vacations I still had to visit so I didn't stay that long with my mom so I really didn't know my mom a lot I was still young I just remember certain things but I don't remember everything it's all the fog in my mind anyway I didn't get to spend much time with my mother just a little bit of here a little bit there that wasn't enough I was always constantly raised by my adopted family which I was not their blood little did I know when I was younger they adopted me but I do remember this one I was in the courtroom with my grandmother I saw my mother and I believe he was to be my biological a fake father..
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FINISHED AND COMPLEATED. Just poems, I suppose. Or maybe a scrapbook of scars. A chaotic collage of half-born stories, abandoned plots, and feelings too loud to ignore. This isn't a novel. It's a graveyard of unwritten books- stitched together with ink and impulse. A little trauma here, a little heartbreak there. Addiction. Bad parents. Dangerous love. The usual mess. I never claimed to be a poet, but pain has a way of teaching rhythm. And when the stories in my head refused to become chapters, they became verses instead. My father? A ghost in flesh. A man who cradled needles more tenderly than he ever held me. He is an addict. A lover of oblivion. And I, the daughter left behind in the smoke of his escape. Does that make me a girl with "daddy issues"? Or just a girl still learning how not to bleed from wounds she didn't choose? This book is for the overthinkers, the almost-authors, the ones who feel too much and write too little- until the words finally spill out like blood on the page. Welcome to the ride. There's no exit. But there's poetry in the wreckage. Author's Note I didn't set out to write a book. I set out to survive my own mind. This is what happens when you have too many stories, too many ghosts, and not enough discipline to finish a single novel. So instead, I wrote poems- or something like them. Fragments. Feelings. Flashbacks. A scrapbook of the soul. Some of these pieces are fiction. Some are memory. Some are just what happens when you stare at the ceiling too long and let your thoughts rot into poetry. If you've ever had a thousand ideas and no idea where to start- if you've ever felt too broken to write but too full not to- this is for you. Thanks for riding with me. There's no map. No neat ending. Just the wreckage, and the words we make from it.

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