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Hey, I'm putting this on hiatus. I've really enjoyed writing this, and want to continue it at some point. However, it is been really hard to put so much creative energy and passion into a project I have to hide from everyone in my life. I'll be taking a break to work on something I can actually talk to them about. Thanks for everyone who has read this, when I do come back to this I'll post another update. Although it may be awhile.

This chapter was a fun read. However, I'm a bit confused on why she changed her opinion for hating her step sister to being okay being punished by her in very short period of time.

Thanks for the update. I really enjoyed the slice of life aspect of this chapter.

Hi, I've been writing and have been having a great time and (hopefully) improving. My concern is that by mostly writing in a vacuum, that there are bad habits and patterns that I am reinforcing without noticing. Due to the subject matter of this forum, I (and most everyone here) have a limited means of gathering outside feedback. I also realize that on the main forum it can be difficult to leave feedback as it is hard to know if it is desired, and if so what is appropriate. I'm guilt of writing many comments and deleting them before posting due to this reason. Therefore, if anyone has any feedback that they would be willing to share, I would be happy to hear it. I won't promise I'll implement a suggestion, or even agree with it, but I promise I will read it and try to engage with it. Thank You. - To anyone who has already left feedback I sincerely appreciate it.

- Sorry for taking so long. I keep getting chapters to about 70% complete and then sitting on them weeks. Chapter 11 (Amy) - Thursday Afternoon “Who the fuck are you!”. Burglars don’t typically bring paperwork. “Amy!”. Alex’s reaction means she either knows this woman, or is just being really polite. Pretty sure she draws the line before home invaders. “It’s alright, surprise in a situation like this is perfectly understandable. As I said, I'm Tara Black. I work with the Department of Health and Amazon Services. I was hoping to go over a few things with you before you settle in”. Department of what? Did Alex sign me up for welfare or something? “Sorry, what exactly do you do?”. And can this wait until tomorrow? “I’m part of an agency that focuses on helping a type of Amazon with their interests as well as providing support. Specifically Amazons who have an interest in diapers as an adult”. The word ‘diapers’ echoes in my mind. It’s weird to have the moments you think about in the shower really happen. The recurring fear that I was going to be taken away by government agents in black suits, only to escape due to a level of athletic ability I never had a realistic chance of obtaining. Too bad it’s only the first part, it would have been cool to say I did a back-flip. So doing a back-flip and martial arts is out, but I can run. Or even just yell. Give some speech that would inspire generations to come as I’m taken down by the man, heroically shouting out my last words before being silenced forever. But I can’t. I can’t move, let alone run or shout. I can’t think. I can’t even breathe. “I’ve got her”. Alex’s voice feels distant even though I can feel her grabbing my waist. My own thoughts feel distant as I struggle to remain in my own body. My back is laid on the ground as I manage to blink for what feels like the first time in years. “Should I make the call?”. A question asked by the home invader turned government agent. “Amy, can you hear me?”. Alex looks to be almost as scared as I am. “You told her”. How could she? I trusted her. “Nice and deep breaths okay?”. Her fingers go to my neck as she checks my pulse. “You told her!”. It’s hard to maintain a stern expression when gasping for breath. “Yes. I’m sorry, but I had to. Please, just let her speak and we can go over everything. She’s not here to take you away or anything else you're scared of”. A sincere plea was not what I was expecting. “You believe her”. My disbelief drips off of each syllable. “You really believe her. Some government agent working on a project that I’ve never heard of, shows up in a black suit and wants to help with a problem that you didn’t even know existed a week ago!”. The blood in my face is pounding, each throb threatens to burst my skin. “Do you trust me?”. Her hand moves from my neck to my forehead. I have never been more thankful for her icy hands. “Yes but,” I’m scarcely able to get out the ‘yes’ before she interrupts me. “Do you trust me?” The authority in her voice and stare makes it impossible to maintain eye contact. “Yes”. My fate is in her hands. “Okay. I’m going to help you to the couch and then you are going to let Tara finish without interrupting. Is that clear?”. The implied threat helps cement the situation. I’m a hair away from doing something I can’t take back. Breaking Alex’s trust. Grabbing her hand, we hobble over to the couch. We got it for free our freshmen year of college. Lots of free furniture at the end of a term if you don’t mind lugging it back home and dealing with the more questionable stains. “Try to remember to breathe. I’ve already gone over everything with her, there is nothing to worry about”. Lifting my feet up she plops down on the other end of the couch. “I apologize for the surprise, but we figured you would rather have this conversation in private than at the hospital”. Tara’s work must extend far beyond paperwork to have not even flinched since we came in the door. “As I said, I work for an agency that helps adult Amazon’s with an interest in diapers. In this case that takes the form of arranging alternative mental and physical health resources. Simply put, it is making sure you can get treatment at home with the help of Alex, instead of a more traditional path. Namely an inpatient stay in a behavioral health ward”. Not shouting can surprisingly sometimes take more energy than shouting. I feel like I should contact a physicist on account of breaking the laws of thermodynamics. “I can see your confusion, I think it would help if I told you a bit about the history of my agency. We were founded after an unfortunate series of instances involving adult Amazons with an interest in diapers. As the current treatment of Littles became more foundational to our society, those whose characteristics were perceived as belonging to a Little experienced increased friction. Friction escalated to violence, and in a handful of cases suicide due to hostility and being ostracized. In the interest of all parties involved, my agency was created to help those affected while maintaining the status quo for society. While diapers might be the most obvious signifier, anyone who is seen violating social norms can face retaliation. Including choice of entertainment such as cartoons or having a medical condition like Dwarfism. Amazon society as a whole is intolerant of what it identifies as divergent behavior and reacts harshly. Thus our mission is both to our clients as well as society at large. We help protect all parties through facilitating discretion and secrecy. While each case is unique the goal is the same, to hide the non-confirming aspects of them from society while enabling them to live a rich and fulfilling life with those same aspects. In your case the level of intervention is due to two primary factors. The need for assistance and supervision due to an ongoing mental health crisis, and the belief that your interest in diapers has caused you trauma, no doubt in part due to the previously mentioned social pressure. Shame is an unfortunate commonality among all our clients. Adhering to our mission, it is my role to make sure that the veil surrounding your interests is maintained, while providing assistance related to your interests. For instance, arranging home-care overseen by Alex, as well as any supplies or equipment as needed to facilitate your care and continued well being. Do you have any questions?”. I lost the ability to process information sometime after she took her first breath. At least I think she took a breath. Do government agents need to breathe? Or is that only for everyone else? “I’m leaving you some supporting documents if you require further explanation, additionally Alex has my contact information and further resources if required. It was a pleasure meeting you Amy. I hope both of you have a pleasant rest of your day”. Without waiting for a reply she grabs her briefcase and heads to the door. “Oh. One more thing. The reason you had never heard of us is that you never looked. We automatically flag certain words and phrases commonly searched by individuals sharing your interests. It’s very rare for someone to be in your position without triggering something. We do try to keep on top of all prospective clients. Thank you again, and I hope you feel better soon”. The thump of the door closing hangs in the air. After a few minutes of staring at the blank TV, trying to make sense of my life, Alex decides to break the silence. “She really has been looking out for you. I can’t imagine the amount of work she put in to make sure you could come home safely”. It’s hard to be grateful to someone who upends your life, no matter what their intentions may be. “So how exactly does this work? She said you were overseeing my care. So are you supposed to be a nurse or something?”. I feel like I already know the answer, but might as well be sure. Got to crush whatever glimmer of hope is left. “I’m your guardian. I’ll be taking you to appointments like a therapist or nutritionist, making sure you eat well, and generally supervising you”. That covers pretty much what I would expect. Hopefully it doesn’t extend to my ‘interests’. “So you’re my parent”. Can’t be any worse than my current one. “Yes. However you are more comfortable thinking about this”. Comfortable is a bit of a stretch given the circumstance. “Good. Anyone is an upgrade from my old mom. I didn’t know I had the option of switching her out”. I would have asked every stranger I came across. “Seems like your sense of humor survived the shock”. If I play my cards right, it might even survive after I do. I plan on writing one hell of a will. “Who’s joking”. Would I have to have been emancipated first? Or could someone have adopted me as is? Not like she wanted me. “I would say be nice, but I’ve met your mother”. We had one sleepover at my house. The rest were at Alex’s. “You mean ex-mother”. This almost makes me want to call her just to tell her she’s been replaced. “If you want to call me mom, I’m not going to stop you”. Well played Alex. Well played. “Can I still call you Alex?”. Ms Miller just doesn’t sound right for Alex. “Of course. I know a lot has changed, but that doesn’t mean everything has to”. I guess the sky isn’t falling after all. Still, I can’t be the only one suffering. “So. You’re really okay with this? I mean I get why my life had to go to hell, but I don’t see why I had to drag you with me”. I can’t imagine wanting to volunteer for something like this. “Yes. Call me crazy, but I think in a few years we are both going to be thankful that this happened. Plus, I couldn’t even entertain the alternatives”. She’s right, I am going to call her crazy. “What about work?”. There isn’t a world where this doesn’t limit her career potential. For someone who is much of a workaholic as her, that might as well be the same as death. “I’m on indefinite paid leave. Tara set up everything. There’s an advantage to having the government advocate for you”. She doesn’t sound bitter. I wonder what sort of deal she got worked out. “How about your social life, your friends. I mean we could probably hide this, but it’s still going to impact it”. Am I going to have to hide in my room constantly? Not like I didn’t anyways. “I told them that you had been in the hospital and that I would be taking some time to help out. It’s not like I won’t be able to see them, just a bit less often”. I doubt she is going to leave me at home. I can play nice if I have to. Sometimes. “How about your mom?”. I don’t think Alex can hide anything from her Mom. At least not for long. “I already talked with her. I’m sorry for violating your privacy so much recently, but I needed to know if I could count on her. She’s a tad confused but supportive. She already knew when she visited you in the hospital, so don’t think she suddenly hates you or anything”. How pathetic must she think I am. I am that pathetic. “You told her everything?”. I don’t think I can look her in the eyes again. “Yes. You should have a bit more trust in the people around you. I can’t promise everyone will react well, but did you really think that this would make her love you any less?”. I’m more worried about how that love would take shape. Alex is already my new parent. I don’t need to hurt my not so secret other parent. I haven’t even been home for 15 minutes and it feels unrecognizable. “Why don’t you watch TV while I make us a snack”. As she moves to the kitchen, I grab the remote and begin to surf channels. I know it’s pointless, there is nothing I would watch that would make sense. I had it all planned out. We were going to order in from the crappy dive bar I like, drink until I can’t remember the last week, and then pass out on my bed and then sleep until I missed enough work to truly be fired. At least my bed still makes sense. “Alex. I’m going to take a nap in my room. Can I eat later? It’s been a long day”. Not like I was going to eat much anyways. Just have a staring contest with it while being ‘helpfully’ reminded that in general all life forms need to intake some form of energy. Mine comes in the form of a caffeinated beverage. “Actually, why don’t you stay on the couch”. I don’t like where this is going. “Why? Is there something wrong with my room? I figured it would be up to health and safety standards after all the cleaning you did”. Her cleaning is what started this whole mess. “There’s nothing wrong with it per se. It’s just that I did some redecorating and I think you have had enough surprises for now”. Now I have to see. Getting up from the couch with the precision of a patient that just had their wisdom teeth removed, I stagger over to my room. “Just remember to breathe. Okay?”. The preemptive grab does not bode well. It’s clean. Well it was clean the last time I saw it, but it’s still a shock. The posters and various artworks mostly remain, notably missing anything that was made of glass. The closet is now sporting a lock. The bookshelf remains, albeit sans miscellaneous knives and blades. No surprises there. The high chair is new, and given its awkward position in the corner is probably just temporary, although it leaves little to the imagination for how meals are going to be handled in the future. No more bedside tables. No more bed. I was expecting it, but it is still a shock to see. An Amazon sized crib, shelves filled with supplies underneath, removing any doubt of its purpose. “I didn’t throw anything out, Mom has it all in storage. Plus, we can swap stuff out if you don’t like something. I know it’s hard to look past the changes, but I really want this to feel like your room”. I grip the door frame for dear life. “You can lay down if you want. I tried to get something as close to your old mattress as possible”. Come on Amy. You at least owe it to her to try it before complaining. Grabbing Alex’s shoulder, we stumble over to the crib. Sitting down it’s hard to miss the squeak of the plastic sheet. Something I sincerely hope is never needed. “Go ahead and take a nap. It’s okay to skip snack, but just this once”. Alex acting as a parent feels more natural than it should. Then again, she was always the mom of the group (even in her ‘rebellious’ phase she still looked after everyone). It’s not fair that she had to be the responsible one. Closing my eyes I try to shut out all the thoughts swirling around in my head. I’ve never been good at meditation, I don’t always make the best company, even for myself. I should be happy, right? This is everything I’ve always dreamed of and more. Why do I feel so empty? I told myself that when I got out I was finally going to open up, but I think that I knew that was a lie even when I said it. Maybe this is what I need? I clearly can’t run my own life, better to have someone else do it for me. I just wish there wasn’t so much collateral damage. I’m the only one who deserves to be hurt. It took more than one poke to wake me up. “Sorry to wake you, but dinner is here. I got delivery from that creepy bar you like”. It’s not creepy, it’s an aesthetic. The aesthetic of a cave that has never seen sunlight. In many ways it reminds me of my old bedroom. Maybe someday I’ll go there to reminisce. “Enjoy. I’m going back to sleep”. The hair in my mouth will have to count for dinner. “Sorry, but no can do. Although if you really don’t want to get up I’ve got some meal replacement shakes and a bottle. Your choice”. I don’t know how it is possible to make something that tastes more like chalk than chalk. “Fine. You win. The food at the hospital sucked enough. No need to recreate it at home”. Plus they make really good sweet potato fries. “Here. You left her in the car. That’s not a very nice way to treat a friend”. She’s right. Someone in my top three, Pokey deserves better. “I can’t tell if you are teasing or serious”. Her enthusiasm is hard to discern. “Can’t it be both”. Sticking her tongue out as emphasis. “She fits my new room a lot better than my old”. I don’t think Alex knew where this was heading when she bought her, but it certainly feels like it. “Is that a bad thing?”. She would have been part of my old room if I had the courage to actually go out and buy what I wanted. “No, just different”. Nothing lasts forever. Even rock stars get old. “Come on. Let’s eat”. Placing Pokey at the head of my bed, I saunter to the kitchen table. Alex out did herself. There is a pile of boxes on our table. I don’t know how she expects us to even make a dent. “I know it’s a lot of food, but I wanted you to be able to have a variety. Plus, it will make good leftovers”. We will be eating this for the rest of the week. “Wow. Thank you. Really”. She’s been trying a lot to make this work, and all I’ve been is a grouch. “You’re welcome. Now I already talked to the nutritionist and they recommend I make a plate for you. So point out what you want and I’ll portion it”. I don’t think ‘none’ is an acceptable answer in this circumstance. Plus it smells pretty good. “Um. Sorry, it’s pretty overwhelming. I pretty much like everything they make. Can you just pick for me? With some sweet potato fries please”. I don’t want to spend all my energy picking out the food when I still have to eat it. “Here. You are welcome to have more if you want, but try to just focus on this”. She hands me what is objectively a small plate of food, but it still feels too much. I’m not sure if being self aware of my distortions is helpful or not. “Welcome home Amy”. It’s a different home, but it is still a home. “Thanks. Not exactly what I was expecting home to be, but it is starting to feel like it”. Except for everything in my bedroom, it really isn’t that different. Even if my best friend is legally in charge. “Try to eat what you can, okay? I’ve got a treat for you, but only if you make a serious effort”. I really don’t want any more surprises, but I’m sure this is a good one. The only issue is the plate of food in the way. The conversation dies down as I try to focus. It helps to get into a mechanical rhythm. No thinking or even awareness. Just fork to face and chew. Even machines have limits. A bit over half the plate left and I’m all out of steam. “Two more bites. Two more bites and you get your treat. Hint it’s beer”. That is a strong motivator. “I kind of assumed that I would have to say goodbye to alcohol in all its many forms”. I’m pretty much being treated as a kid. Even the ‘cool’ moms have limits. “You’re still an adult. Just one with some unusual circumstances. You can have beer as long as it is in moderation and I’m supervising”. Ah, so the cool parents to a teen approach. Works for me. “Speaking of unusual circumstances. How exactly is all the stuff in my bedroom coming into play?”. I’m sure it is in the paperwork we didn’t get to. “I’ll tell you, but first uphold your end of the bargain. Two bites”. Dipping my head back down I try to work through it. My mouth feels like it is glue. Why does my brain make it so hard to keep it alive? It knows it needs my body, right? “Thank you. I’ll go get your prize”. Alex pops up and returns with a bottle from my favorite brewery. “Here. And to answer your question the short answer is you will be wearing it. It doesn’t have to be all the time, and it doesn’t have to be outside if you don’t want to, but I do expect you to wear them at home unless there is a good reason why you shouldn’t”. I drink my beer to avoid saying something stupid. It wasn’t like I didn’t already know the direction this was going. At least there is some saving grace. I would probably have a heart attack before stepping one foot outside wearing that. “So. Um. What about you know. Do I have to, Um”. The cringe is overwhelming. “Use them? Part of that depends on your therapist. At a bare minimum, it is expected that you try it at least once. You talk with them tomorrow so they will be able to go into more detail”. I need a lot more than one beer for this conversation. “So, what about the rest of the stuff?”. I think eating the rest of the plate would be preferable to this. “The highchair will be used for meals starting tomorrow. It’s not only to help you fight any internalized shame, but is practical too. Can’t run away from a meal when you can’t leave your chair”. This is worse than having to look at baby photos of yourself with your extended family. “As for the crib, well I’m sure you figured out that’s where you’re sleeping. Same benefits as the highchair. Another tool to help out emotionally and practically". I’m sure if she had her laptop out I would be getting a presentation on all the ‘benefits’. “Are you actually going to put the side up? Not that I’m going to, but you know I can climb right?”. Getting down on the other side might not be that graceful, but it would still work. “I will be putting up the side at night. Also there’s a top that slides over. I’m surprised you didn’t notice, it’s on the back”. So a cage and a crib. “Seriously? Isn’t that several steps too far?”. Pretty sure even psych wards don’t put you in a cage at night. “Amy, I need to keep you safe, and I can’t look after you when I’m asleep. You’re not going to be left home alone or anything, and we share a wall. You can knock if you need me”. This is really my fate. How am I the only one who thinks this is crazy? “What if I have to go to the bathroom?”. Why did I have to ask? “You’re a smart girl. I’m sure you’ll figure it out”. I’m just going to have to learn to hold it for a really long period of time. “Come on. I got some trashy movies to watch until bedtime. If you are really good you can have a second beer”. Always a strong motivator. Alex puts on some forgettable rom-com as I nurse my allotment of alcohol for the night. This is what Friday night would have been like if I had been less of an idiot. Only took a week to get some sense drilled into my head. Well six days. I am 14.2857% less stubborn than implied. I managed to make it through the first part of the movie. It’s hard to be invested when the script reads like it was generated by an AI. My increasing yawning signals to both of us that my time left awake is measured in minutes. “Bedtime. I’ll unlock your bathroom so you can brush your teeth”. I don’t even question why my bathroom would be locked. My time in the hospital has made me oddly comfortable being watched doing mundane if still private tasks. Still, it’s hard to focus on brushing when I’m pretty sure I know what comes next. “Okay. Just your meds and then you will be almost all set”. I can swallow a handful of pills sans water. It’s a weird thing to brag about, but it makes me feel cool. Too bad it doesn’t matter as Alex makes me take them with water. Stupid responsible supervision. “I’ll get the supplies out for you. I can help if you want, or I can stand outside the door”. That’s an easy choice. “Outside please”. Why is she so comfortable with this? Sure we have seen each other naked a handful of times, but that doesn’t mean it feels comfortable. “I promise there is nothing to worry about. I don’t think any less of you for any of this”. I think less of me for it. Alex finishes setting out a changing pad, box of wipes, a thing of powder, and the thickest diaper I have ever seen or imagined. Whatever shred of subtle the incontinent aids from the grocery store had is gone. In its place is a man shouting through a megaphone with fireworks going off around him. I don’t think I can even wear pants over this. Still, this is what I wanted. This is what has caused me so much pain and anguish. Alex casually did what I could never do. Taking off my pants and panties, I lay down on the crib and place the pad under me. My hands are shaking as I gather up the rest of the supplies around me. It’s not like this is a complicated process. It’s designed so even the most sleep deprived of parents can still make it work. My body is too stunned to function properly. Next I unfold the diaper and lay it out. This is ridiculous. I can feel my hips raised up. It’s comfy, I’ll give it that. Skipping the wipes I move onto the powder. It’s not like anything down there needs cleaning. It takes an embarrassing 30 seconds of struggling to open the powder before I realize that it has a child-proof top. Make that a child-proof and Amy proof top. I’ve been less nervous for college exams. Sprinkling some over myself I realize that I have no idea how much to use. It probably doesn’t matter for now. Not like I’m going to use this. I’m just going to set all those conflicting thoughts off to the side. Future Amy can sort out that mess. She has proven herself to be oh so competent in the past. Finally I fold the ‘sides?’ and secure them in place. How is it that I don’t even know the basic terminology for something that is obsessively in my thoughts? Right, fear. Duh. I am Amy Silvers and I am wearing a real diaper for the first time since being a literal baby. Even my cynicism can’t dampen my enthusiasm. Giving it a few pokes to make sure it’s real, I still am struggling to believe this. A knock on the door breaks my trance. “Everything okay in there?”. Diving under the covers I knock the wipes and power off the crib. Thankfully I had put the cap back on the powder. Otherwise I would probably never be allowed to be left alone again. “It’s fine. Sorry, just finished”. I was more composed when she walked in on me masturbating in college. At least that is something pretty much everyone does. I’m pretty sure the average person has a higher view of murderers than this. “I’m coming in”. I had the covers up to my chin as my hands held them firmly in place. “I’m good. Just really tired. It’s been a long day”. I can barely hold back nervous laughter. “Amy, lower the covers”. Over my dead body. I can barely handle seeing myself like this. No way am I letting anyone else ever see me. “Everything is fine. Really. I’m just going to go right to sleep. It’s been a long day”. I really did want to go to sleep. Nervous energy aside, I’m exhausted. “Let’s see. Someone who pretends to do something they are embarrassed about and then hides it. Sounds like anyone we know? I’m giving you to the count of three”. Come on Amy. Just do it. You lose either way, might as well get it over with. “Fine”. Throwing the covers back I preemptively wince. “Thank you. I’m sorry if you are embarrassed, but that is part of what we are working on”. Scrambling to grab the covers, I pull them back to my chin. I really hope the sleep meds kick in soon. I don’t want to be conscious right now. Alex reaches past me and slides the top up and then raises the side. I am truly trapped. Still, not as scary as the hospital. “I’ll be back with a bottle of water. Don’t worry about the morning. I’ll take care of it. Good night Amy”. She pats my head before turning off the lights and heading to the kitchen. “Good night”. Grabbing Pokey I try to settle in. The exhaustion and meds hit me like a wave. I’m fast asleep before Alex comes back.

Thanks for the chapter.

*Sorry for the delay. I fell into a black hole named Elden Ring* Chapter 10 (Amy) - Sunday Pretending to be asleep is a great defense against conversations you don’t want to have. I don’t think any of the nurses bought it, but at least they were nice enough to go along with it. It does have one fatal flaw. Footsteps are extremely difficult to discern. A flick to the nose was a strong indicator that someone other than a nurse had entered my room. “Fuck!”. Opening my eyes, I see Alex and Mrs Miller standing over me. “Three out of ten on the execution. Seven out of ten on dedication”. Alex taunts as she takes a seat next to me. “Hello dear. Alex told me what happened. Hopefully you’re feeling better”. Mrs Miller always sounds like a pleasant guest on a kids’ show. I missed her. Wait. Exactly how much did Alex tell her? She isn’t looking at me with utter disdain, so it couldn’t be ‘everything’. I don’t regret telling Alex, but the knowledge that someone else has my secrets chills the bone. “Hello Mrs Miller”. If the dread of hiding under the covers was a sinking feeling before, now I was drowning, holding in my agonizing last breath. “It’s Carol dear. How are you feeling?”. When did asking how someone ‘is’ become small talk? How am I supposed to answer other than a polite lie? “Sorry. Carol. I’m fine. Really, it was nothing. They just wanted to be safe”. I don’t think this can count as a lie, given that I know she already knows the truth. “It was not nothing, and you don’t need to pretend that it was”. Thanks Alex. Yes, the elephant is still in the room, but it is generally advisable to not make eye contact. Without a rebuttal, I’m forced to sit in silence. Agonizing silence. The kind of silence where seconds feel like hours. However long silence needs to last to become awkward happened an eternity ago. If I speak now does it bring even more focus to the silence I’m breaking? My arms itch. What is the chance I can get through this visit without everything crashing down on me? Better to not think about it. How has no one broken this silence? I would say it’s a deliberate mind game, but even I’m not that paranoid. Fine. I’ll be the scapegoat (The book of Little literature ended up being even better than expected. Such colorful and fun language. The swear words alone could fill a small dictionary). “I thought you were at the balloon festival for the weekend”. There. Easy normal conversation. No need to notice that I apparently am suffering rigor mortis from the neck down. “I was, but when I heard what happened I decided to come home early”. Of course it’s my fault. Everything nowadays seems to be. “Sorry”. I almost went this year, but couldn’t find anyone to swap shifts. Probably because I don’t have any friends at work. Or anywhere else for that matter. Present company excluded. “Nothing to be sorry about dear”. Why does she always have to be so nice? “Is there a reason you're stiff as a board and hiding under the covers?”. My face spoke before my voice could. I didn’t even get time to open my mouth before Alex had thrown the covers back. “I can explain!”. In my defense it looks a lot worse than it is. I wasn’t currently bleeding, but my arms, torso, and sheets were caked in dried blood. Blood loss always needs to factor in time to really consider how dangerous it is. “Mom can you watch her? I’m going to go grab a nurse”. Alex is out of the room before evening getting a response. “Sure sweetie”. The same sweet and patient voice as always. How is she the most calm? “Sorry”. Pulling the covers back up at this point would be pointless. “Shh. It’s okay”. Why am I such a fucking idiot? “Do you want to look at some pictures of the festival before Alex comes back? I got some good ones of the pirate”. A man came every year dressed as a pirate and had a black balloon with a skull on it (Littles call it the Jolly Rogers, which is a much better name). Scared the crap out of Alex and I when he showed that the hook hand was for real. Farming accident, but that still makes him a real pirate in my eyes. “Thanks”. I reply meekly. Staring at the foot of the bed. Taking a seat, she starts to scroll through pictures on her phone. “Did you go up this year?”. After going year after year, we built a rapport with some of the owners. It felt like a secret club as a kid. “It was a tad windy so I didn’t ask this time. I know it’s safe, but I can’t get over the image of a balloon in the wind”. There has never been any accident more serious than a bruise, but it sure doesn’t feel that way when you get a strong gust. Yet another thing that is my fault. She would have been able to go today if not for me. “The wind kept up today, so no need to look so glum”. When Alex and I were kids we thought she could literally read minds. Turns out our thoughts weren’t that complex. Then again, I’ve been caught in every lie for two days, so it’s probably on me. Alex returns with a nurse and a cart. At least the lack of panic on either of them bodes well for me. “Don’t worry. I’ll have you cleaned up as good as new”. Taking a seat opposite of Mrs Miller, the smell of antiseptic stings my nose as he gets to work. “Amy, we’ll be right outside. Okay?”. It’s a nice gesture to respect my privacy, although at this point purely symbolic. “This might sting”. The hint of sympathy in his voice was enough to know there was no ‘might’ about it. The mechanical rhythm sets in for both of us. A light tug here, a gentle push there. This whole stay has given me a greater appreciation for everyone who works in the medical system. To be able to handle this with clinical detachment is harder than it looks. I should know given that I’m currently failing at just that task. In my defense, the pain does make it more difficult. The continued irony is not lost on me as tears form in my eyes. If there is one upside, it is that I deserve this. Breathing sharply through my nose, I feel the familiar comfort of a gauze being wrapped around my arms. In a way it makes me homesick. “I just need to do a skin check, and then I got some new scrubs for you. Don’t worry about the sheets, someone will be in to change your bedding shortly”. At least this step I am utterly desensitized to. I struggle to think of a scenario that tops having someone watch you struggle to go to the bathroom. Changing into an identical copy of paper scrubs I lay back down onto a now sheet free hospital bed. Revealing a plastic coated mattress with faint stains. This feels more appropriate anyhow. “Let us know if you need anything alright?”. A nod and a smile and his departure is paired with Alex’s and Mrs Miller’s return. Concern evident, but unsaid. Grabbing Pokey and pulling her to my chest, I await the awkward silence doomed to follow. “Hands”. Despite being an objectively simple word, I’m a bit perplexed. “What?”. My shock does little to slow Alex’s agenda as she pulls my hands into her lab. “I’m going to trim your nails. This whole thing has been stressful. It’s perfectly natural to cope however you can. So instead of trying to tax your willpower to resist, I’m taking away the temptation. I know we are both tired of apologies, so let’s skip that step and go right into making this better”. I’m glad one of us can think rationally. Dr Martinez was right, freedom from choice is not always a contradiction. “Thanks”. I hate manicures, but I think I can make this an exception. “Did you still want to hear about the rest of the trip?”. Asked in the same way as if the interruption was a phone call. “Please”. I love listening to vacation stories, assuming I like the person. Someone I like telling me about the fun they had. I feel good for them. Getting lost in Mrs Miller’s narration is easy, each picture its own story. As a librarian she had time set aside to read to kids. I would hang out in an aisle off the side pretending to not listen even as a teen. After enough feigned disinterest I was ‘promoted’ to her helper on the weekends. I didn’t get paid or anything, but I had fun. “Feet”. My trance was broken with yet another proclamation. “Wait. I don’t do that with my feet”. I’m not sure how I would even go about that. I’m not that flexible. “And now you never will”. The smugness was not strictly necessary. “Really, I’ve only used my fingers”. Is there a verbal way of indicating an asterisk? Because that statement comes with many a caveat. “Amy. I can leave it like this if you really want, but can you honestly say it wouldn’t tempt you?”. I guess I could scratch my legs. “Okay. Do it”. The first smart choice I’ve made all day. “Ever bite?”. A question better suited to a dog, but I guess that’s where we’re at. “Sometimes. But I never break the skin”. How would she even fix this? Mouth guard? She couldn’t have brought a pacifier with her. Could She? “Relax. I was just going to see if you were allowed gum”. Mind reading seems to be hereditary. “I promise I won’t. Please, I don’t want the nurses to think I’m any more crazy than they already do”. Pointless I know, but I’ve been embarrassed enough for one day. “Okay, but I will be checking for bite marks. Do we have a deal?”. Having the implied threat of what happens if she finds one is certainly a strong motivator. “Deal”. The sudden urge to bite my arm will just have to wait. “And what will you do if you need help?”. I feel like the kid being called on after not doing their homework. “Call a nurse or ask to talk to you”. It’s not like I didn’t know that before. Can’t plead ignorance now. “Good. With that business finished, do you still want us here?”. Did she really need to ask? “Yes please”. Minus the scenery, we could have been on Mrs Miller’s back porch. I got to hear about the rest of the trip, and even played a few hands of cards that Alex brought. I hope I get to go home soon. As the mid morning gave way to the mid afternoon Mrs Miller had to head home. It was good to see her, although with her gone there were some questions that had been lingering. “So… On a scale of one to completely fucked, how fired am I? Because I was supposed to start my shift over an hour ago”. Maybe it would be better to use a logarithmic scale, because I have a pretty good idea of just how fucked I am. “You’re not fired”. Alex didn’t even blink. “Are you sure? Because getting fired sounds like exactly what happens for a no show”. Or more accurately, that is exactly what happens. “I texted your manager yesterday to say that you would be unavailable until further notice owing to a medical issue”. I’ve seen him chew out a girl for being late coming from a funeral. I don’t think he cares. “And what did he say?”. And sorry you had to read it. “Things that are better left un-repeated, but it doesn’t matter. You’re not fired for having a medical emergency, and you shouldn’t be thinking about work anyways”. Why do I get the feeling that’s a partial truth? “Even if I’m not fired right now, there is no chance it stays that way when I’m going to be gone for who knows how many days”. I don’t want to be in the same zip code as him when it comes to that conversation. “Do you trust me?”. This isn’t about the job anymore, is it? “Yes”. How could I not trust her after everything that has happened. “Then don’t worry about it. I took care of it, and there is nothing you need to do. Okay?”. The pleading at the end feels like a gut punch. “Okay”. I go back to hugging Pokey, trying not to think about the implications of this conversation. “Speaking of heading home, do you have any ideas of when?”. I know I pretty much asked to not have to make decisions, but the amount of information I get wouldn’t fill up one side of a note card. “A few days”. Her smile does little to reassure me. “Do you know why they are holding me? I would have expected to either be discharged or sent to a padded room by now”. And one of those sounds much more likely. “They want to make sure you’re safe, plus it is time to be able to line up a therapist and a nutritionist for when you are home”. That’s… plausible. “So I’m really coming home? That wasn’t a white lie?”. I don’t know what kind of bureaucratic magic Alex worked to keep me out of that, but I will forever be grateful. “Yes Amy. You are really coming home. Just try to relax in the meantime. Okay?”. Said in the same tone as a parent pleading with their kid to calm down about Christmas being tomorrow. “Thanks”. I could do this. Only a few more days. Just don’t fuck this up. “There is one thing I want you to work on until then. You need to eat more”. A stone drops in my stomach. So much for doing this. “I have been eating . Really!”. At least more than I had been. “I know, but to be healthy it needs to be more”. I don’t think I doctor was needed for that to be clear. I’m well aware of how stupid I’m being. “How much more?”. I mentally brace myself for the answer. “I spoke to the nurses, and they said 50%”. I have generously been eating 33% (realistically 20%). 50% feels like a mountain from that. “50% of every meal? Or like 50% of a meal each day”. I could manage half a meal a day. As long as they let me take most of the day. “50% of every meal. I know it’s a lot, but I know you can do it”. It’s not even good food. “I’ll try”. Really. If this is the thing she wants of me, then I’ll give it my all. Still, it's better to keep expectations low. “Thank you”. The head pat was appreciated if slightly patronizing. The rest of the week was a blur. Alex came by a few times and so did Mrs Miller. Exchanging books and chatting until it was time for me to be nagged about eating a neglected meal. I did try, and I know I ate more than before, but 50% was too high a goal. I think everyone on some level knew that. On Wednesday I learned that I would be going home Thursday, and that’s when the paperwork started. Most of it I just asked for them to set aside and let Alex handle, but some I had to do myself. ‘Contract for safety’. I have now filled out five of these and still don’t understand them. It’s a non-binding contract and is effectively made under duress. Even if I wasn’t trying to get better, I still would have signed it to leave. I doubt they had any misconceptions about it either, but liability is liability. Add risk assessments and self evaluations and I had had enough. They eventually stopped bringing them after I started making paper airplanes out of them and throwing them into the hall. Yes I am aware how mature that makes me. Bite me. Then comes the waiting. There’s a lot of it, and it goes by slowly. There isn’t a clock in my room so I can only guess at the time. Alex should be here any minute, but I thought that at least fifteen minutes ago. Or what I think was fifteen minutes ago. My head hurts. Reading the same paragraph for the seventh time in a row, I try and fail to retain any of the words. Alex had told me it was a fun and forgettable mystery novel. Although I can’t really blame the book for the latter. “Get changed”. My cyclical thoughts break as a bag lands on my feet. Non-monochromatic clothes made out of something other than waxy paper. How I missed you. “So this is it. I’m really going home”. Half muffled in my race to embrace the loving comfort of a cotton t-shirt. “Was it really all that bad?”. Embarrassing? Sure. Bad? Some, but that was mostly my fault. Necessary? Yes, but only begrudgingly so. “No, not all bad. Still, I’ll be happy to be home. I think I missed a few calls from my bed”. Can’t forget my shower. Even after all of this I’m still not a exhibitionist, and could do without an audience. “I already checked in at the nurse’s desk, so as soon as you’re ready we can get going”. “Assuming I still know how shoes function, we should be good to go”. Getting to my feet was more of an effort than expected, but a helping hand and I was ready to go. “I know you’re excited, but take it slow. The last thing either of us want is for you to fall and be stuck here for a few more days”. Sufficiently kowtowed, I held Alex’s hand as we slowly made it to the parking garage. Alex got her mom’s car when she turned sixteen and it shows. Faded band stickers, eight different parking passes, and a distinct smell that was surprisingly not from smoking. Neither of us were cool enough to get in with that crowd. Relaxing as she finishes helping me into the front seat, I pinch myself just to be sure this isn’t a dream. The ride home is quiet. It’s pretty clear that both of us are glad for this whole ordeal to be over. Sure there will be appointments and follow ups, but I’m free. We can hang out, watch movies, and be friends without an invisible wall between us, maybe for the first time in years. “It’s been almost a week. I never thought I would be this happy to see a parking lot in my life”. The stupid parking space that we had to extra for, and which charitably could be called ‘relatively close’ at best. “Come on. There’s a lot of stairs between us and home”. Is there a hint of somber in her voice? She’s probably just tired. I know I am. Many flights of stairs later (and a break), we are finally home. Alex grabs her keys as I lean against the wall. Following Alex in, I stop dead in my tracks. The lights are on and a tall woman in a black suit is sitting at the kitchen table. A stack of paper in front of her. “Hello Amy. My name’s Tara Black. Why don’t you take a seat”.

One thing to note is that you can write in first person, but switch who's perspective you are telling from. This works as long as it is very obvious when the switch happens and to who. Chapter breaks are a good baseline. As an example, some mystery novels will write the prolong from the perspective of the killer while leaving out details of their identity. This allows the reader to learn details and motives that are kept secret from the protagonist, while giving a feel for the killer. Honestly, write whatever feels best to you and whatever helps capture the feeling you are going for.

Feel free to skip if selfharm is not your taste. I'll post something longer soon(TM). Chapter 9 (Amy) - Sunday Morning When I woke up Alex wasn’t there. She didn’t say she would be this time, but I still felt lonely. How pathetic am I? Fixating on a few more hours alone. Alex has her own life, and has been more than generous with it. Still, I miss her. Last night sucked. Nothing happened, well nothing new happened. It’s just that being stuck here alone invites far too many thoughts that would be better kept in the dark. Thumbing through the stack of books to my side, I pull one out at random. I know I’m not going to read it, but it gives my hands something to do. Plus I look a little less crazy. Although that’s almost certainly a lost cause. Alex promised me I wouldn’t be locked up, but I don’t see how that isn’t a white lie. Whatever. False hope is still a type of hope. The anxiety is building up. The pressure in my chest. Strange how something mental manifests as something physical. My skin itches. You know the problem with maladaptive coping skills? They work. For however damaging they may be, they still are coping skills. The IV and finger thing (pulse oximeter. I learned a new word) were removed yesterday, which means I have full range for my hands. Sorry Alex, I just need a little bit. Turning Pokey so she can’t see, I pull my arms under the blanket and grab each forearm with the opposing hand. The relief is instant as my nails sink into my skin. Nothing breaking the skin, but enough to form welts. I already feel better, by any logic I should stop now. Too bad logic and I aren’t on speaking terms at the moment. Focusing on just my middle fingers, I keep digging in. Back and forth I scratch. Deeper and deeper. The world keeps shrinking and shrinking until all that is left is the tips of my fingers. Blood. First the left, and then the right. Slightly pooling around my fingers before dripping down the sides of my arms. I used to be squeamish around blood. Especially my own, and now it’s the only kind I can stand. Funny how time changes. Frequent and positive associations really can make one love just about anything. Race car fans like the smell of gasoline and nitrous, despite everyone else getting a headache from it. Hell, farmers can learn to love the smell of manure, and that is literal shit. Our brains are funny. Prone to finding patterns in chaos and inadvertently training itself without notice. I wish I could see it. Smell it. The slight copper taste in my mouth is purely from memory. I want more. Too bad. The moment I remove my arms or lower the blanket I’m fucked. Bodies heal themselves at a remarkable rate. Platelet cells start the clotting process as soon as the skin is breached. In most cases that would be a good thing, but when armed with only finger nails it means that I’m in a constant war to keep the trickle going. A few minutes go by as I enjoy the stream of endorphins. They really are an incredible thing. People can lift cars off of loved ones, run into burning buildings to save pets, and shrug out debilitating injuries as if paper cuts (until they can’t), all thanks to endorphins. In this moment I am tranquil. Master of my own universe. Every thought drifts to the back of my head as I float aimlessly in an ocean of serenity. Alas, all good things must come to an end. Endorphins run dry, and the pain and shame return. Taking my hands off my arms, I lay them at my sides. Careful to keep the sheet flat over them. Pain is funny. So many types. So many reactions. Even the people who love pain (such as myself), really only like some of it. I have yet to meet someone who enjoys the dull pain of a stomach ache. I guess the pain is only part of it. The body's response is the rest. I read a book excerpt years ago about a man who was mauled by a lion. He said it was remarkably painless. It is not a mercy of evolution (or the divine as he prescribed), but an improvement to the ruthless killing machines that we pretend we no longer are, making us fight just that bit longer. Yet, it can be used to fit my desire. Maybe if I can trick my body into thinking a stomach ache is a life or death fight with a lion then I would find enjoyment. At least while the endorphins last. I really am an idiot. I know there is no way of hiding this. I knew that before I started, but that fact which meant so little, now means so much. I’m sure Alex is going to give me an earful. I’ll deserve it. I’ll have to apologize. Worse yet, she’ll accept it. Closing my eyes, I let my thoughts wash over me as my arms begin to itch. I hate myself. I really do.

I'm okay. Writing has kind of been on the back burner lately. I've been trying to spend time with some friends (that I neglected for months), and that has taken up most of my energy. I would say the next chapter is 50% complete. Don't worry, it's not abandoned. Just slow.

Thanks for the feedback as well as help with proof reading. I find it very hard to catch those types of errors. Normally I read it out-loud a few times, but my brain skips over things like that. If anyone has suggestions on how to better proof read, I'm all ears. Amy is not a baby, although she clearly likes infantile things. Buying and being excited about a baby bottle is the prime example that Alex / others would know about. The goal of this intervention is provide a living situation that is both safe, and let's her confront her internalized shame/guilt. A crib is both practically in terms on keeping her safe when not monitored, and helps her confront her issues. I hope the balance I'm trying to strike between Amy as an adult, and Amy as a child becomes more clear with more chapters. Please let me know if anything sticks out as breaking the internal consistency. I really wanted to write a story that feels grounded, despite obvious fictional elements.

Chapter 8 (Alex) Driving home I was fully on auto pilot. The rest of the day was spent trying to keep Amy calm. Which ended up being easier than expected. She so desperately wanted everything to be okay that she was willing to believe anything. At least nothing I said was untrue, although the whole truth was omitted. I don’t know why a mental health facility strikes her with that much terror. Sure, it wouldn't be fun by any metric, but watching daytime tv and playing board games with missing pieces for a few days couldn’t be that bad. Yet another question for someone much more qualified than me. Pulling into my spot I keep going over the day's event in my head. My best friend has proven that she is incapable of looking after herself. Something I was oblivious to until a day ago. Meeting and agreeing with a government agent for something I had no idea existed until lunch. Now I’m meeting with her again to go over paperwork to become my best friend’s parent. Life can move unexpectedly fast. “Come on Alex. You herd cats for a living. One more meeting with someone you get along with is a piece of cake in comparison. Not like anything she can say will make this any weirder. You just have to talk to her, then you can take a shower until the hot water runs out”. At least no one heard me psyching myself up, that’s a hard one to play off. With one last deep breath I got out of the car and made my way up to the apartment. Five minutes to spare. Enough time to freshen up and get my anxiety under control. A knock interrupts my highlighting the packet from earlier. At this point I have the thing memorized, but it doesn’t hurt to look prepared. “Come in”. A level and calm voice hiding my inner turbulence. Agent Black took the seat across from me. Her suit is even more out of place in my beat up apartment than the hospital. “Thanks for fitting this in at the last minute. I’m sure you want nothing more than to relax”. Her voice is the same level headedness as before. “No worries. Besides, it’s better to get this finalized, rather than wait on it”. At least this way I can sleep tonight without fretting. “How’s Amy doing?”. Living in a state of panic and denial. “Good. Once she understood that she wasn’t going to be locked up in some cartoonish mental asylum she calmed down. She even drank half a smoothie for dinner”. Which she only drank because I bribed her with the use of my phone. “That’s great news”. Compared to before, it really is. “I know you’ve read through the packet, so tonight is going to be going over any questions you may have, and confirming that you still want to do this. After I’ll get you started on the next steps and homework. Sounds good?”. If we ignored the subject matter, this sounded like any business agreement. “Yep”. Anything presented reasonably ends up sounding reasonable. “Alright. Any questions about the packet. I know it’s a bit strange, so please don’t worry about asking something stupid or otherwise embarrassing”. Flipping to my bulleted list of topics I take a deep breath. “The individual items make sense, but I’m not quite sure the overall goal is. What should I be trying to accomplish from day to day? Also I didn’t see any milestones or dates for improvements”. Despite some superficial similarities with a regular parent, it’s not like I’m going to be teaching her how to tie her shoes. “At the start the goal should be getting her to follow a routine while keeping her behaviors in check. Once she is at a point where she can do that consistently we can talk about further goals. Even if it’s hard to see progress day to day, keeping the structure in her life going is really the focus and the best way to help her. There are no dates because this is a highly individualized process. Please don’t worry about meeting a deadline”. Routines I can do. “Thanks. For changing, feeding, bathing. I’m not sure how to accomplish them without her cooperation. Even if she is as thin as a rail, she’s still a tad taller than me, and can be furiously stubborn”. Even with cooperation some of those could be a struggle. “A few things. One, the equipment and tools you’ll be getting will make it a lot easier to control her. Two, she is likely to be a lot more cooperative than you would expect. Amy doesn’t strike me as a violent person, and the only one she is a danger to is herself. She might throw a tantrum, but I doubt it will progress any further than that. Three, we have a hotline you can call 24/7, and if really needed you can always contact emergency services”. Even the threat of calling someone would paralyze her. I don’t think we’ll need option three. “Does that answer that?”. This clearly isn’t the first time she has answered that question. “Yes”. I’ll have to look more into the equipment and tools, but overall it makes sense. “That leads me into the next point that many new parents have difficulty with. Discipline. I know she’s your friend, and having to punish her is the last thing you want to do, but it is not only necessary for her growth, but it will help her feel better and relax”. The first part tracks, but how would punishing her help her relax? “How?” My voice comes out an octave higher than intended. Surprise will ruin any composure. “Amy beats herself up a lot. Physically and emotionally”. And water is wet. “While not the complete picture, many who struggle with shame as well as many types of trauma act similarly. Does she ever make a minor error or mistake and then fixate on it long after it’s relevant?” Only constantly. “Yes”. There are too many examples to pick from. Even if I limit myself to recently. “A therapist will go through this in more detail, but it’s pretty clear Amy struggles with catastrophizing. It’s a cognitive distortion which makes her think the world is going to end for replying late to an email. Punishing her can help her let go of that. By making the consequence grounded and time bound, you are setting healthy limits for her”. This is much more academic than I was expecting. “Can I go easy on her?”. Even if it’s for her benefit, I can’t imagine ever getting used to hurting her, regardless of the reason. “It’s important that any punishment feels proportional to the infraction. I understand wanting to be lenient, but for her to trust you with deciding her penance, it has to have weight behind it. I’ll give you some guidelines later for appropriate punishments”. I can work within guidelines. I just hope they aren’t too extreme. “It’s still hard to wrap my head around”. Just staying calm is taking 50% of my brain power. “There’s another upside to this as well. In addition to helping her with her guilt and worry for things she did wrong, you can show her when a punishment isn’t needed for when she hasn’t done anything wrong. Once she fully trusts you with disciplining her, she will also trust when you decide not to”. Getting her to move past mistakes is a temping upside. I just wish it came at a lower price. “Is there any chance that she is still my friend at the end of this?”. I don’t know if we could stay friends given the reverse. I could be too ashamed to talk to her ever again. “Are you friends with your parents?”. Parent, but the point still stands. “Yes”. At least since I got into college. “Have you always been friends with them?”. See period before college. “No”. We once screamed so loud the neighbors called the cops. “Let me guess, no during your teenage rebellion years, and then slowly growing stronger after”. Right on the money. “We fought about the dumbest things”. Why did I care so much about going to that concert? It wasn’t even a band I liked. Just one that Chelsea thought the drummer was cute. “Well I have some good news for you. It’s highly unlikely that Amy is going to go through the same rebellious phase later on. The beginning is going to be a rough period of adjustment, but after that I think you will find that your relationship changes for the better. It’s going to change, but change is inevitable". Amy never really had her rebellious phase. At the same time I was screaming at my mom for trying to stop me going to a party, Amy was playing cards with her and watching game shows together. I guess she had enough shouting at home. “Thank you”. At least I can cross off my biggest fear. I only just realized how close I came to losing her, I couldn’t deal with that again. “Any more questions about the packet?”. Lots, but none productive. “That pretty much covered it”. Straightening up the papers, I set the pile aside. “Okay. I have another packet for you. This one covers the next steps. You’ll get an email later tonight with a link as well as sign up information for our site. That’s the main hub for resources as well as a copy of everything I’ve given you so far”. Of course they have a website. How do they keep all of this hidden? “Okay”. Glancing through the packet, everything seems orderly. I wonder what it’s like to be the office drone who makes all this. “I already sent a message to the hospital. They are going to hold onto her until you are ready to bring her home. Should be 3 to 4 days”. That was my first question taken care of. “There is a rough timeline for your tasks on the second page. Don’t worry. Nothing you need to handle tonight. Any questions?”. And that was my second. “No. I think I got this. Thanks”. Timelines and tasks are my jam. A bit of normalcy is welcome. “Alright. You have my contact information if you need anything, plus the site has contact numbers and emails once you get logged in”. All that is missing is the exchange of business cards. “Thank you”. Getting up I show her out. “Thanks and have a good night”. Closing the door I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. One hot water heater worth of shower later, I towel off and flip through the new packet. Furniture and supply shopping, building a trusted network, work and other engagements, building a network of professionals, continued and expanded responsibilities. My skimming is interrupted by a text from mom. Pictures from the balloon festival. Grabbing the page on ‘building a trusted network’ I glance back at my phone. Well it might be a bit out of order, but no harm in getting started early. Dialing, I put the phone to my ear. “Hey mom. How’s the festival?”. I looked forward to it each year growing up. “Beautiful. Every year it’s a unique collage”. It really is. Each hot air balloon is a work of art. Together they form a moving tapestry. “That’s great mom”. Glad to see that she is still enjoying her early retirement. “Everything okay dear? You sound hesitant”. I would say her instincts are sharp, but I’m pretty sure I’m throwing out red flags with every quaver of my voice. “Everything’s under control. Besides, I don’t want to ruin your vacation. I was calling to see if you had some free time to talk after you got back”. Doing this in person is going to be hard enough, It would be impossible over the phone. “Alex. What happened sweetie?”. Steadying my breathing I try to keep a neutral tone. “Amy’s in the hospital. She fainted, but she’s stable, but they are keeping her a few more days to be safe”. I can hear a pause as my mom lets it sink in. “Poor dear. Has she been eating well?”. Did Amy talk about this with my mom before? “No. How did you know?”. How did I not know? “Well when she lived with me I did all the grocery shopping. Hard not to notice when she ate less than a field mouse. I put my foot down right quick, but she always struggled with it”. I’ll need to see if there is anything else mom knows that I was oblivious to. “I never knew. How did I not notice?”. Because I cared more about my career than my friend. “Don’t beat yourself up sweetie. Listen, I’m going to head home tonight. I’ll meet you at the hospital tomorrow morning”. I knew this would happen. “You don’t need to do that. One more day won’t hurt”. Amy is going to beat herself up again if she hears that mom ended her trip early. “Nonsense. She’s part of the family. Besides, I won’t be able to enjoy it here if I’m worried about her”. I wouldn’t either. “Thanks mom”. I knew I could count on her for this part. Now the other part… “No worries dear”. It’s amazing how much basic validation can cut through insecurities. “Umm. Listen. Can you swing by here tomorrow instead of going straight to the hospital? There’s something I need to discuss with you, and I would rather do it in private”. I’ll need to read up on what to do if this goes wrong. “Sure. I’ll grab some donuts from that shop you like at the bottom of the hill and be at your place at 7:30 tomorrow okay?”. I’ve gotten sick from eating too many of their apple fritters more than once. “Thanks mom. Love you”. There’s a lot of feeling packed into the last two words. “Love you too”. The adrenaline in my systems starts to slowly dissipate. A slight shiver down my spine. Hanging up the phone I gather the papers in front of me and half heartedly flip through. Please let my mom be supportive. I don't know what I’ll do if I have to put a boundary down. I know not everyone in my life is going to be okay with this, but if I can just have one, please let it be her. Grabbing my highlighters I set to work. When paperwork is a welcome distraction, I know things have gotten bad. I stopped my pacing before I put a hole in the floor. I’ve never met my downstairs neighbors, but I can’t imagine they are all that happy with me. Info packets hidden but in reach. Check Supporting additional documentation paperclipped to packets. Check. Index cards with bullet points in my left pocket. Check. There is something to be said about over preparing as a coping strategy. I’m not a hypochondriac by any means, but for obvious reasons I’ve been reexamining my life for thoughts and practices that I’ve turned a blinded eye to. After getting Amy set up with a therapist, I think it’s time I took care of it for myself. Knock. Right on the dot. Just like mom. “Come in”. The fake confidence of yesterday has given way to the real exhaustion of today. “Hey honey. It’s good to see you”. My mom, a bag of donuts in each hand, arms stretched out for a hug. “Good to see you too mom”. I squeeze her as hard as I can without jeopardizing the donuts. “Here. Let’s eat. Any conversation is easier on a full stomach”. Every major conversation was always over food. “Thanks”. Grabbing the bags I start to set the table. The same folding card table I’ve had ever since moving out. I keep saying I’ll replace it once it breaks, but it never has. “So. How much prep did you do for this?”. Teasing aside, the answer is a lot. “Mom!”. She is twice as bad when I’ve been interviewing. Joking threats of search and rescue operations are a recurring theme. “Relax dear. I know how you operate. I’m not teasing. Just trying to get a sense for how big this is”. I can’t think of anything bigger. “Big”. Even saying I’m pregnant would look small in comparison. “Sweetie. No matter what I’ll still love you. You know that”. It’s how you could express that love that worries me. “It’s about Amy”. Now or never Alex. “I thought you said she was stable”. My throat feels like it is closing off. “She is. It’s about once she’s released. I’m going to be her guardian. Of a kind”. That sounds bad enough, even with being vague. “I think it’s going to be easier if you just tell me straight”. Okay Alex. Just say it. “I’m going to be her parent”. There. No backing out now. “Her parent?”. This is like my conversation from yesterday, only flipped. “Yes. Her parent. I’ll be taking care of her for the foreseeable future”. How I’ll be taking care of her is the real issue. “I know Amy struggles from time to time, but are you sure that’s needed? Besides what about work and everything else”. All excellent questions I already asked. “Trust me. It’s needed. It was either this or let someone we don’t know take her”. I could never let that happen. “How did she take it?”. Bad. It hasn’t happened yet, but it will be bad. “I haven’t told her. She’s in a delicate state. The thought of going to a mental health facility just about broke her. I’m waiting until she can handle this before telling her.” The heat death of the universe will come sooner than Amy being able to handle this. “Well I’m here to support the both of you”. Showing support despite the obvious confusion. I love you mom. “Thank you”. Taking a break to take a bite, I try to focus on the next step. “So, what does being her parent entail?”. Nothing you are not familiar with, technically. “Before I get to that there’s something else”. I try to swallow the lump in my throat. “Take your time dear”. She gently grabs my left hand. The tremors are impossible to hide. “Please. Before I tell you, promise me you won’t hate her. No matter what”. It’s a stupid thing to ask, but I need any reasurance I can get. “I promise. I’m sorry that was ever in question”. I asked a similar question when I came out in high school. Got the same response this time too. “Thank you. I’m sorry. I… I just couldn’t bear the alternative". It hurts too much to even imagine it. “Friday I cleaned Amy’s room. I thought it would be a nice gesture, plus the smell was seeping out. While cleaning I found something. A box buried in the back of her closet. In it were some amazon sized protective underwear and supplies”. I’m glad I found it. Even with everything that has happened. “Amy’s struggling with incontinence?”. If anything, she struggles with the reverse. Her bladder is as shy as she is. “Not exactly, but it’s important. I put the box on her bed and made a note to talk about it later. I figured I would have to schedule a doctor’s appointment or something for her. Well, I put it out of mind, until she got home from work. Then, when she saw it on her bed, she fainted”. Why did I leave it there instead of talking to her first? “Why?”. Here we go. “Because Amy likes to wear diapers. Something she is so ashamed of that she would have rather died than have anyone find out”. Something she put a great deal of thought into. “I’m so sorry. For both of you. Not about the diapers, but how much pain she’s in”. I’m sorry I ever doubted you. “There’s some more info. I have some packets I got from the person who is helping set this up. It’s probably easier if you read through at least the first few pages”. Her having worked as a librarian makes this part easy. We both prefer reading when it comes to important issues. “Thank you. Why don’t you relax in your room while I go through this”. Thanks for reading my mind. I get up from the table and give her a hug before going to my room and collapsing on the bed. It can be hard to think with that heavy of a mix of endorphins pumping through your system. I choose to shut off my brain and just listen to my breathing. I keep listening to breath, feeling the movement of lungs as I wait for her to finish reading. I’m too spent to work up any concerns. Besides, she already knows the hardest part, everything is easy in comparison. “Sweetie. I finished reading if you want to talk”. No judgement or concern. Just an earnest attempt to help. “Thanks. Are there any donuts left?”. I didn’t check before, and my stomach is making itself known. “Plenty. Extra cup of coffee too”. You are a saint. Sitting back down, I fill my plate while trying to get as much caffeine in me as I can. “So. Any questions?”. I manage to sneak out between sips of coffee. “Nothing that can’t wait until later. I won’t say it’s not weird, but why would I let that stand in the way of her happiness and well being”. My thoughts exactly. “I’m sorry. I really didn’t know who I could trust about this. Thank You. Really. Knowing that I have at least one person to count on makes this ten times easier”. I got the one ally I really wanted. “I didn’t think I would be a grandparent at this age, but I’m proud of you”. Wonder if I should get Amy to call her grandma. “Thanks. I didn’t expect it either”. First in my social group to be a parent. I was sure it was going to be Rose. Mom flips through the papers as I finish up breakfast. Life has been moving too fast lately. A routine will do everyone some good. “So. When the agent first approached me about this, she asked if I had anyone in mind who could do it. You were the only name that came to mind”. I don’t know why I ever doubted you. “That’s very kind, but I could never be this kind of parent to Amy”. Did I miss something? “Why not?”. Maybe she just wants to enjoy retired life? “Were you looking for me to take over?”. No. I’m surprised how quickly I’ve become attached to the idea of being her parent. “Not exactly. Just that you have actual experience with being a parent. I just want what’s best for her”. I know she is in her twenties, but I bet some parenting tricks would still work. “It’s pretty clear Amy needs someone she can trust and is comfortable around. She still calls me Mrs Miller face to face. I love her dearly, but she’s never been able to let her guard down around me. Did you know that when she lived with me she used to wait to go to the bathroom until I was awake. She was worried she would wake me up. Took me awhile to piece it together, but she thought if she slightly inconvenienced me, that I would kick her out”. That does sound like Amy. “Tell you what. I’ll babysit whenever you need, and if something happens where you can’t be her parent, I’ll step in”. I’ll have to see when I can get Amy on board with the idea of a babysitter. “Thanks mom”. I’m glad she ended her trip early. “No worries dear. Besides, I think this could be good for you”. Why? She was never the type to hound about grandkids. “Me? I’m doing just fine”. Does she think I need practice or something? “When was the last time you took a vacation?”. What? “You think this is going to be a vacation?”. I’ve listened to her enough to know that parenting is never a vacation. “I was a single mother for almost your entire life. I know being a parent is no vacation. I meant that you promised me after you got the new job that you would start to take more time for yourself. Even if being a parent will make you busy, it helps provide a new perspective. I think you’ll come to appreciate it”. I can’t argue with that. I can already tell it’s working. “College. That was the last time I took real time off”. I got permission to end an internship one week early so I could go on a trip. “My point exactly”. It was always on the horizon, but never materialized. “So, what’s next on your tasks?”. I’m surprised she wants details. “Ordering a crib, along with a bunch of other furniture and supplies. Everything is being paid for, and I have the requirements, along with Amy’s measurements, but I’ve never done shopping like this before”. I’m not even sure what Amy would like. Not like I can ask her. “Care for some help?”. I guess she has done this before. In a way. “Really?”. I’m not going to say no to help. Currently, I’m rather clueless. “Everything may be larger, but I’ve picked out a crib before”. I doubt it had straps though. “Thanks mom”. This might be the strangest thing we’ve done together, but it’s not bad. Grabbing my laptop and logging into the site, we start browsing together. I really do feel like a new parent getting help from the previous generation. I can’t wait to bring Amy home.

Probably not till next week. Sorry. I know I'm terrible at keeping a consistent schedule.

Chapter 7 (Alex) “Alex Miller to visit Amy Silvers”. The middle aged woman working the front desk hunts and pecks on her keyboard with only the pointer finger on each hand. Same as my boss. Same slight wince in my eye too. The ER is a lot quieter in the morning. I guess a lot less people get hurt before they have had their coffee. “There she is. Looks like she is still asleep. Did you still want to visit?” Amy sleeping in isn’t shocking. No laundry before noon is the standard at home for a reason. “Yes. Thank you”. I promised I would be here when she woke up. Besides, as much as I love my friends, it’s nice to take a break. Saturday morning mimosas are much better as a treat, than the norm. “Looks like you were here yesterday. She’s lucky to have such a good friend. Too many people that come through here never have a single visitor. Especially the older folks. It’s sad”. Sadly in my experience far too many old people have earned their lack of visitors. “She’s a good friend to have. I think I’m the lucky one”. Something I’m glad I realized in time. “Isn’t that nice. Just a moment. I need to print off some documents and then have you sign them real quick”. A clipboard with a cheap plastic pen tied to it followed shortly after. Two pages, front and back. Seems a bit much for a visitor's pass. “Initial on bottom of each page and sign the last. I’ll have a nurse bring you back in just a moment”. Finding a seat in the vacant lobby, I get set on the paperwork. Much was as expected. ‘Are you or have you been sick’. Others set off my radar. ‘Have you been a caretaker of or experienced urges to caretake an adult Amazon in the past 90 days’. Hmm, I’d heard about that happening on other islands. Hopefully just a precaution. Passing back the clipboard, I decide to take in the decor. Obligatory fish tanks. Check. Health and Safety posters made with a tad too much enthusiasm and color. Check. Stain proof vinyl covered seats. Check. A hint of bleach with every breath. Check. Inoffensive royalty free nature sounds. Check. The HVAC providing the closest thing to an actual base. Check. By golly Alex, I think you might just be in a hospital. Maybe I had been spending more time with Amy than I thought. It seems at least her snark has rubbed off on me. Hope she’s doing alright. I know how much traveling impacts her sleep habits, I can’t imagine it’s any better here. That whole ski trip we took, everyone kept calling her raccoon on account of bags under her eyes. I don’t think she slept the entire week. “Alex Miller”. A friendly tone and outstretched lanyard beckons my way back. “Thanks”. Slipping the lanyard over my head, we begin to wind our way through the maze of corridors and buzzing fluorescent lights. “My name’s James. I’m Amy’s nurse for the morning shift. Feel free to let me know if you or her need anything”. Spotless scrubs and a smile in his badge photo. I hope he can keep it up. I know I couldn’t stay positive coming here every day. “Thanks. How is she?” Hope she didn’t do anything too dumb. “Still asleep. She had a pretty rough night”. Was it an escape attempt? Did she try something even more rash? “Is everything alright?”. The panic evident in my voice. I knew I should have told a nurse to knock her out. “Oh, nothing that serious. She just had some trouble adjusting to spending the night. It’s fairly common”. Maybe lead with that next time. “I was worried about that. She has a hard time adjusting”. If by ‘hard’ I mean that she drove back to my mom’s house every weekend of our first semester in college to ‘sleep somewhere comfortable’, then yes, she does have a hard time adjusting. “Here we are”. James parts the curtain and let’s me take in the sight in all of its glory. Amy’s lucky that there’s no pictures allowed in the hospital. Sheets and blankets haphazardly lay in a pile around her. The catheter tube in plain sight as it snakes off to the side. Pokey is strangled by her non-iv arm so tight that I’m surprised her head is still attached. Speaking of Pokey’s head, there is a non insignificant amount of drool on her horn, which is partially in Amy’s open mouth. Going a little bit higher and we are treated to possibly the worst case of bed head in recorded history. It looks like she slept on a live wire. Each strand is pointed in a different direction. Her face is crisscrossed like a switchboard. Lastly, Pokey’s horn is not the only thing she had been chewing on. She’ll be coughing up hairs worse than your average cat. “Sorry about that. I put her sheets back on about an hour ago, but she keeps kicking them off. As long as there is not a safety concern, sometimes it is the best to just leave it as is. I let the doctor know as it might be from a medication interaction”. A slight brush from which is likely second hand embarrassment spread across his face. “Well the bed head is definitely classic Amy. Not sure about the rest. It is pretty adorable though”. If this is from a medication side effect then I definitely want some on hand. Next time she wouldn’t be so lucky about no cameras. “She’ll likely be out for at least another hour or so. If you want some breakfast or coffee I’ll be happy to grab you some. It’s normally only for patients and staff, but it’s pretty empty today and they always have extras.” Breakfast and a show. Not bad for a Saturday morning. “That would be lovely. Thank you”. I’d been too nervous this morning to make anything. “Great. The coffee’s pretty good. As for the food, let’s say it is competitively priced at free”. Of course. It might be a worn out stereotype, but that doesn’t mean it’s false. “Understood. Maybe just the coffee then. I think it’ll tide me over till lunch at the cafe”. This time without the peppers. “Good call. I’ll be back in a moment with the coffee. Is there anything else?”. The professionalism to be able to maintain composure with Amy’s next to him is impressive. “Oh. I brought some books for her. I hope that’s alright”. Mostly light reading. A trashy romance novel with a few pages I had dog-eared, some young adult fantasy novels, and the book from Amy’s bedside table. ‘A collection of classic Little literature’. It is not as the name would imply a bunch of nursery rhymes and coloring books. It came out a few years ago. A Little volunteered to come here and brought it with them. Apparently it was a demonstration of why Littles are grown ups. I don’t think it went well for him, but the book did cause a fair bit of stir. It’s even been included as part of some real literature classes. In her own way, she was always the more academic of the two of us. I get why she dropped out, I just wish she found work that let her apply her brain more. “No worries. I’ll need to check through them when I get back”. Worried I’m smuggling Amy a nail file? Well behind every rule, there’s a reason. Wonder what that one is. My endless scrolling through social media is interrupted by a very tired groan. “Good morning sleepy head. How do you feel?”. I had covered her back up mostly to protect her ego, but the droll and hair were a lost cause. “Alex?”. Assuming I had translated that right from sleep speech. “Here as promised”. It’s hard not to giggle as she extracts Pokey from her mouth as well as an impressive arrangement of hairs. “What time is it?” I’m a little surprised she didn’t ask ‘what year’ with how she sounds. “9:45. Don’t worry, you didn’t miss much”. A vast understatement, considering the most excitement all morning was a paper jam. Of which I heard the heroic struggle from no less than three staff members. “Tell me. It is as bad as I think it is”. I struggle to think of ways it could be any worse. “Sorry Amy. It’s much much worse”. Said the predator to the prey when asked ‘are you hungry?’. “If you took a picture then you’re going to end up in a bed in the room next door”. It would have been worth it. “Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me”. Only thanks to hospital policy. I scoot my chair next to her and help brush aside the strangling hair. “Alex.. I’m sorry. I...”. Her voice trails off to a mumble as she breaks eye contact. “Shh. We both said enough apologizes last night to last a lifetime. No more”. Sadly this probably isn’t the last time we will have this conversation today. She seems to really need to beat herself up. “Thanks. I really mean it. For everything”. I feel guilty everytime she thanks me. Thanks for what? For ignoring her for so long that I didn’t notice till it blew up. “Don’t worry about it. You're my best friend. Besides, my mom would never forgive me if something happened to you”. My mom clearly has a favorite, and it’s not her daughter. “I think I’m going to have to break the no apologies rule. I’ve bailed on her too many times”. I would call her right now to put that to rest, but I don’t think Amy’s ready to talk to anyone else. “You know she would never hold it against you”. I don’t think anything Amy could do would stop my mom from loving her. “That’s what makes it worse”. I need to break her out of this, or she is going to be recounting every slight she has ever given for the rest of time. “You're not as bad as you think you are. Now for something more fun than an endless apology loop. I brought you some books. You can start flipping through them as soon as the nurse comes back”. Well maybe not the dog-eared pages when the nurses are around. “Wait. Um. About my room. Did you ...”. Even after bringing everything in the open, she still can’t stand to even talk about it. I’ll have to look into a therapist that can help, assuming the social worker doesn’t have a recommendation already. “I put everything away back in the box in your closet”. I hope it doesn’t stay there forever. I know it means a lot to her, and I don’t want her to be afraid in her own home. “Thanks”. The relief in her voice palpable. “I’ll be right back”. Standing up and grabbing my empty coffee cup on the way out I head to the nurses station. One earbud in her right ear, one in my left, playing music our mothers would not approve of. Guess nothing has changed since our middle school bus rides. Complete with Amy’s nose in a book. Although I don’t think we would get in trouble listening to punk nowadays. At least from my mom. Ever since James told us that the social worker would be by in about an hour, Amy’s clammed up. I wish we could just go home now, but I know this is for the best. No matter how hard it might be. Thus, I’m doing my part to distract her. I don’t get why she’s so nervous. It’s a person whose job it is to help, and I guarantee that nothing she could say would top some of the horror stories a social worker has likely dealt with. But that’s Amy for you. I try not to play armchair psychologist, but it's pretty hard to ignore a case of anxiety this obvious. Hopefully that is one of the things she can help with from all of this. A knock interrupts my reminiscing. Amy squeezes my hand hard enough to cut off circulation. “Hi, I’m Linn. I’m a social worker here at the hospital. Is now a good time to talk?”. You would think she was the grim reaper asking for her soul with how Amy is acting. A nod is the only response given. This is going to be a long conversation. “No need to be nervous. I’m just going to talk about what’s been happening and some options to help. Before we begin, do you want your friend to stay? It’s your choice and there is no pressure either way”. I can’t tell if it would be better to say or go. “It’s okay Amy. I can go stretch my legs or something”. There is a garden I’ve seen through the windows. Might be fun to check it out. “No!” The force of the reply catches both me and Linn off guard. “I mean. Please stay. I want you here”. Her voice sounds like a kid waiting in the principal's office. “Okay. I’ll be right here”. I squeeze her hand back with what strength is left. “I’m sure you're tired of paperwork, but before we begin I have some releases for the both of you”. At least this is a single page. As soon as Amy and I hand back the paperwork she resumes her deathgrip. My poor hand isn’t going to survive today. “Okay. Amy, I looked through your file including Dr Martinez’s notes, but I still think it’s best if we start from the top. How are you feeling?” I’ve never liked the term ‘your file’. There is something nefarious about it. “Fine”. Amy’s voice is clipped and flat. She is about as subtle as a parade. “Okay. Any issues? I know last night wasn’t your favorite”. What happened last night? Was it that bad? “None”. Clipped and flat again. “Amy, I’ve talked with a lot of people in my career. I can tell when someone is lying. I know you're scared and you don’t want to talk to me, but all I want to do is help”. I’m not anywhere close to a humane lie detector and I could have told you that. “It’s fine. I’m not lying. There’s no issues”. The social worker just smiles. I guess this is not her first time dealing with this. “What’s your fuzzy friend’s name?”. ‘fuzzy damp friend’ is a more accurate descriptor at this point. “Pokey”. The blood begins to flow back to my hand as she releases it to squeeze the life out of her fuzzy damp friend. “That’s a good name. Did you come up with it?” I’m surprised Amy’s not mad with the whole kid routine, but maybe this is what she needs right now. “Yes” A small smile for that one. “It fits. Can you please tell me what you're nervous about? I promise I’ll try to help”. Something I’ve been trying to get her to understand this entire time. “Sorry. I just don’t like talking about this stuff”. You made that much very clear. “That’s perfectly understandable. Is there anything that would help you relax? Maybe a breathing exercise or closing your eyes?”. A weak nod as she buries her head in her unicorn. “Amy, I’m here for you, and no matter what, we will be friends. It’s okay. You can talk to her. She can help”. Pleading with her as I gently stroke her hair. “Let’s start again. How are you feeling?”. Come on Amy. “Tired”. Me too “Understandable. I know this is difficult for you, so I’ll try to be as brief as possible. From looking over your file, I have a few items on my list. Eating disorder, self injury, and suicide. Is there anything I’m leaving out or you want me to cover? We can also break this up into multiple sessions if needed”. Diapers. Amy needs to bring up diapers in some form. It’s tearing her up inside. “That’s it”. Damit Amy. I knew it was a long shot, but I still had hoped she would ask for help. “Okay”. I wonder if Linn can tell she is lying. “Have you ever talked with or worked with a professional about these issues”. I can answer that. No. “No”. I’m pretty sure Amy would rather take out her own appendix than let anyone help. “How about in general? Have you ever seen a therapist”. My mom offered to pay for one after everything that happened in college, but she never took it. “Only when I was a kid”. Oh ya. I forgot about that. Around the same time my mom insisted she started sleeping over more. She ended up being at my house more often than not after that. “What did you see them about?”. Her mom being a bitch. “My mom being a bitch”. Nailed it. “I see. Anyone since then?”. Credit to Linn for moving past that one without comment. “No”. I don’t think she even keeps a journal. I probably would have found it while cleaning. “Okay. Now this next question might be hard, but I need to make sure your living environment is safe. Dr Martinez mentioned a possible plan using pills. Did you still have them?” I didn’t find any pills. Oh Amy, what have you been up to? “Yes”. The wave of despair and defeatism hangs heavily to her. “Where would they be?”. You would think Amy was asked ‘where are the bodies’. “In my work bag”. Was that to hide them from me or to always have them at the ready? “Okay. I want to make sure those are gone before you go home. Are you okay if your friend disposes of them?” I don’t care if she agrees or not. I’m getting rid of them, and anything else I find tucked away. I’ll go through every scrap of cloth and under every floorboard if I have to. A single nod. Barely visible from her hunched position. “Do you have access to any firearms”. Please say no. A shake. A silver lining I guess. “Any other means or plans to end your life or inflict serious harm”. Amy, sometimes you are too clever for your own good. Silence hangs heavy in the air. Amy has always sucked at lying, I don’t know why she thinks this will ever work. “Amy, it is important that we make your home as safe as possible. You’re not in trouble, we are just trying to keep you safe. Is there anything at home or anywhere else that you would have access to, that poses a risk to your health”. I’m going to get a lock for the knife drawer. Nod and a sniffle. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her this defeated. Not even at Matt’s funeral. “Thank you. What is it?”. I wish we could stop now, but it’s probably better to rip this bandaid off all at once. “Razors”. Her voice hits five different notes as she tries and fails to keep it steady. I pull her into a hug as she shakes in my arms. “Okay. Where are they?”. I rack my brain, but she only had one disposable razor in her bathroom. “Shoes”. The word comes out between two sobs. I can feel her tears soaking through my shirt. “Your shoes?”. A statement more than a question. “Soles”. I would be impressed in different circumstances. “Okay. Is there anything else?”. Please be done. You’ve done enough Amy. “Closet”. Barely audible “Is there something in your closet?”. Ten ugly holiday sweaters, a box I regret opening, and enough mildew to colonize a planet. “Coat hook. Into stud. Supports body weight. Tested”. I can’t stop picturing it. How did I not notice just how bad this had gotten. “Thank you. Is there anything else?”. I don’t think Amy heard her. Her head is buried too deep in my chest. “Amy?”. I shake my head no. “I’m going to leave some paperwork with you. Some is homework for you to fill out. Don’t worry, you're not going to be graded, it’s just to let us know how to best help you. The rest are resources and guides to help. You can tackle this at your own pace. There’s no pressure. We’re going to chat again before you leave, but it doesn’t have to be today, or even tomorrow. We can wait till you are ready. It was nice meeting you, and I think you’re very brave for talking with me”. She hands me the packet before quietly leaving. It takes fifteen minutes for her sobs to turn into whimpers. Another ten to fall into an exhausted slumber Walking up to the nurses station I keep turning the idea over in my head again and again. It needed to be done, but I don’t like going behind her back like this. I just hope she can forgive me. “How is she?” James asks as I arrive. “Still sleeping. At least no more tears, I think she’s too tired to cry”. I wonder if she can take a shower after she wakes up. “Are you heading out? We can call you when she wakes up”. Leaving her to wake up alone like this is unthinkable. “No. Thank you though. I was hoping I could talk to Linn, the social worker”. She seemed nice. I hope she understands. “Sure, let me give her a call”. Half listening to the conversation, I stare at the pile of scrubs behind him. I thought about being a doctor for a brief moment in college (who didn’t). I’m glad I work in tech. No one dies or throws up. Just endless emails and meetings. “She’ll be down in just a minute. Everything okay? You look nervous”. I guess Amy is not the only one lacking subtlety. “Ya. I’m fine. It’s just this whole thing has been pretty difficult”. That’s what the pros call lying by omission. Comes in handy far too often at work. “It’s okay to take a break. It’s something we learn in school. You have to be able to take a step back or you burn yourself out without helping anyone”. There isn’t anyone else I could call to help. My mom is away this weekend, and Amy doesn’t trust anyone else. “Thanks. I promise I’ll keep an eye on it”. Another partial lie. I’ll keep an eye on it. I just won’t do anything about it. “Hey, you wanted to chat”. Linn walks up carrying an overstuffed manilla envelope. I do not envy her. “Ya. Sorry about that. Amy doesn’t do well with those conversations”. And lead has difficulty floating on water. “It’s no problem. If it makes her or you feel any better, she’s not even the worst I’ll deal with today. Not by a long shot”. I guess no one got bit or spit on in our meeting. “Thanks. I know you're busy, but the reason I wanted to talk is there’s something Amy forgot to mention. I was hoping we could go somewhere private”. Amy didn’t forget. She chose to exclude. “Sure. My office is just a floor up. It might be cramped, but it’s private”. Privacy is a luxury in a hospital. “Thanks”. The trek up to her office was uneventful. It’s weird how right above the ER there are offices with mundane everyday work. Linn turns on the door to the shoebox she calls an office. Even the door is extra narrow to fit the space. A full 60% of the space is file cabinets, leaving just enough room for a computer older than me, and a desk chair. One of the file cabinets is working double duty as the desk. “Sorry about this. We haven’t finished converting to electronic records, so I’m stuck with these in the meantime”. I would be worried about removing them. They could play an important structural component of the building, keeping the floor from moving. “No worries. I used to work at my college library. I’m used to lots of paperwork”. Also where I obtained my disdain for it. “So what did you want to talk about”. Here we go Alex. No backing out now. “Well you see, this whole thing kicked off when I found something”. Fat lot of nothing all the psyching myself up did. I’m just as cagey as Amy when it comes to this. “Something like drugs, or something more personal”. Drugs would be easier to explain, and probably less embarrassing for her. “Personal”. Very personal. “Okay”. Her calming voice is working on me. I should look into the training social workers do. It would probably help when mediating meetings. “Um, is it okay to talk to you about this? I mean we signed releases but...”. I kind of hope she says no. Then at least I tried. “Those releases were for letting me talk to you. You were always able to do the reverse. What you feel comfortable talking about is between you and your friend. Although, it sounds like this is pretty important, and you wouldn’t be the first friend or family to have come forward with something”. She’s right. Damit it. “Okay. Well I found a box of Amy’s things while cleaning. It’s nothing dangerous or anything, just something she’s ashamed of. I was hoping you could find someone to help her with it”. Nice and vague. “Is she gay?”. What? “What? No! I mean yes, but she’s not ashamed of it. That’s not what’s in the box. I think it’s something more like a fetish”. I never asked or looked up if that’s true, but it seems like calling it a fetish is fair. “To get my license I went through a lot of training on how to deal with different situations. Part of that was sexuaility. You would be amazed at how many conflicts we deal with that have some element of it. I promised I won’t judge her or you. We can just leave it as her having a fetish if you want, but it sounds like this needs to be addressed, and the more specific you are, the easier it is to find a match for someone who can help”. I take a deep breath in preparation. As easy as it would be to leave this unsaid, I know she would never say it herself. “Diapers”. There. It’s not that hard. “Does she want a Little or something? I don’t know if I would call that fetish”. To Amy’s credit, I guess this is harder to explain than I thought. “No. Like diapers for an Amazon”. Before yesterday I only knew that some old people wore them. “Does she have a medical condition. A lot of people are ashamed of disabilities”. The gears in Linn’s brain are still clearly turning. I guess this must be rare if a social worker has never heard of it. “No. She doesn’t have a condition. She likes to wear them. I found a baby bottle too. She says it makes her feel safe, but she’s terrified of even saying the word diaper”. For something that makes her feel safe, she sure is afraid of it. “Okay. Thank you for telling me. I’ll do some research to see if we have a therapist who has experience with this area, as well as anything else we can do to help”. That was less productive than I had hoped. “Thank you”. I swallow hard. All that energy for this. “I’ll have the nurses let you know if I find anything or need any further information”. I’m not going to get my hopes up. I’ll probably end up having to find someone myself. “Thanks”. I keep a positive tone as I close the door. Walking back to Amy’s room, I’m left questioning if I did the right thing. Looking out a courtyard from the third story window I take another bite of my sandwich. It’s good, especially without my mouth catching fire, but I feel myself missing the heat. Maybe I just want some physical pain to accompany my emotional pain. Amy was pretty sedated after she woke up. We mostly sat silently listening to music till I took a break for lunch. I didn’t think she could tell that I’m nervous around her. Too much going on for something like that to stand out. Why does doing the right thing feel so wrong? Did I do the right thing? My pity party is interrupted by a tall woman in a black suit taking a seat next to me. “Alex Miller?”. A friendly but firm tone pairs with a likewise friendly but firm face. “Yes?” Hurriedly swallowing my oversized bite and cleaning my hands. “I’m Tara Black. I’m an agent with the Department of Health and Amazon Services. I was hoping we could talk”. What did I do? I don’t even know how you would piss the Department of Health and Amazon Services. “Did something happen?”. Seriously, what did I do? “Nothing serious. If you would please follow me. Feel free to bring your lunch”. Anything that requires a suited up government agent paying you personal visit sounds pretty serious to me. Total silence follows us on the short walk to an empty office. “It’s a lease office. Don’t worry, we won’t be interrupted”. Not my primary concern. “Um. So what did you need to talk about?”. Please let it be that I made a typo in some form. “It’s about your friend Amy”. What more trouble could Amy get into? “I know the last day has been difficult, but she doesn’t get into the sort of trouble that requires a government agent to visit”. I hold my breath and wait for the other shoe to drop. “I should explain. She’s not in trouble. In fact I’m here to help her”. The slow exhale helps calm me down. “Sorry, I don’t really know how your agency could help”. Maybe this is a finance thing? I know Amy doesn’t make much. “Like most large government agencies, we at the D.H.A.S. play a lot of roles. The overall mission of our agency is to promote and help the health and welfare of Amazons”. That tells me nothing. “I still fail to see how this is related to Amy”. Also why are they talking to me instead of her? “As an agency we deal with all sorts of issues. From financial assistant, to child abuse, and even education. In many of these situations we like to send someone personal who will be managing it from our side. As for Amy, she’s a special case. As you no doubt are aware, there exists a segment of the adult Amazon population that wear diapers for a variety of means. By itself this is not an issue, but given our society, it poses a risk to not only to those individuals, but Amazons at large. Thus her case is considered special interest within our agency. I’m here to help her with this as well as related issues”. My brain stutters as it tries to pick apart that word salad. “You think Amy wearing diapers is a risk to the general population?!”. I know it’s different, but this is absurd. “Physical health is not the only kind of health we are concerned about, although it does play a role in this.” She thinks Amy’s Diapers are going to mentally scar the general public? “How?”. Seriously. “What is the most associated item or aspect tied to Littles? Diapers. Many adult Amazons have a hard time separating the two. When confronted by an adult wearing them, some Amazons experience acute distress as it breaks their understanding of the social conventions. Violence has sadly erupted more than once as an Amazon has either tried to force the wearer into the role of a Little, or assault them for disrupting the social order.” My eyes spring fully open at the thought of someone getting hurt over this. “Amy only has some at home. She’s not going to cause a panic”. I don’t know if she is even going to wear them at home again. “As I said, we are here to help. We have found the most effective means for all parties is to work with the source. She’s not in trouble. This is about doing what’s best for her and everyone else”. They’re going to confiscate them. “I can see you're still nervous. Let me explain our project and then I can try to answer any questions you may have”. The more talking you do, the less comfortable I feel. “First of all, nothing Amy’s done is illegal. We are not treating her like a criminal”. I let out a small sigh. At least we avoided the worst. “Secondly, it is important to recognize the type of support that Amy needs. While it might seem like all Amazon in the same situation require the same assistance, in truth no two people are the same”. What kind of assistance could she need with this? “We have three broad categories we use when assessing the needs of clients. Beyond matching to a category, we also create individual plans that are adjusted as needed to make sure clients are fully supported”. Nodding, I try to follow along. “First, we have medical use. This is what you are probably the most familiar with and it is the closest to being accepted by society. Unfortunately that sliver of acceptance is only available for the oldest of Amazons. Those with medical needs that are younger often face humiliation and ostritzation, a sadly common trait with all our clients. Additionally the most accepted products on the market are more concerned with differentiating themselves with products aimed at Little, than at fully meeting the needs of our clients”. Meeting their needs? I can take a guess. “What we do for those who need it is offer contact with companies that supply products suited for their needs, support groups, therapy, and lists of affirming resources and help”. That sounds pretty useful for Amy. “Second, we have enthusiasts. These are those who largely do not have a medical need, but choose to wear diapers for other reasons. This ranges from sexual use to simple enjoyment”. I guess she would be an ‘enthusiast’. Feels strange to apply that to diapers, but not any weirder than people who like doing deep cave exploration. Safer too. “Many of the requirements are the same as the first group, with the added need of safe social interactions. We have contacts with club owners, movie theaters, even some zoos. This is to offer spaces and times that are safe and discreet, so our clients can meet others with similar interests”. A whole bunch of diapered Amazons looking at an elephant makes me smile. Maybe this won’t be that bad. “Lastly, we have what we call Big Littles. These are Amazons whose emotional state and needs more closely match Littles than a typical Amazon. Amazons in this group show a need for more hands-on interactions, similar to that of a parent. The largest factor we use to decide this category is if a client’s interest in diapers becomes a risk to their physical or mental health”. Please don’t be Amy. “For this group we find suitable living situations as well as offering support to both the client and the client’s guardians”. Amy would kill herself before letting someone be her guardian. “I want to stress that this is not a permanent assignment, and Amazons can move between the categories as needed”. Tara making direct eye contact for this is a bit unsettling. “Sorry. That was a lot to take in, but sounds good. I’m sure Amy will be happy to have more discrete options for buying things. Who knows. Maybe she will even make a friend or two”. I’ll be happy to pitch in for whatever she wants. “Thank you for being supportive and open”. The pregnant pause sends a shiver down my spine. “As for what category fits Amy the best and the type of support we are thinking of, she’s a very clear match for ‘Big Little’. I know this is difficult, but it’s one of the reasons I wanted to talk with you”. Please no. She’ll never go for it. “I don’t understand. Sure Amy has been struggling lately, but she works a job and pays bills. Don’t you think that is more than a little over reactive?”. Everyone has bad days. Don’t let this ruin her life. “If you hadn’t talked to Linn this morning, then this afternoon Linn would be discussing involuntary treatment options with you and Amy. Right now it is not safe to leave her alone”. She could handle 72 hours, right? Better than being forced into that. “Okay, but I don’t think the diapers are what’s making her unsafe. I don’t see how she needs a guardian”. You can’t kill yourself with a diaper. Well at least no an easier than most everyday objects. “We could treat them as separate, and often we do for those who are a better fit for medial or enthusiast. What we look at is if the diapers play a role in the mental health concerns and to what extent”. Amy’s scared. Who wouldn’t be. “In Amy’s case it is very clear that the guilt and shame she feels around diapers is in part fueling the other concerns”. Something I’ve known since the moment I confronted her about it. “How would you even know? I only found out yesterday and you only found out a few hours ago. You even said so”. Grasp, meet straws. “It was very clear that Amy was suffering from trauma. That much was obvious the moment the EMTs talked with her. What we didn’t know was from where”. “There’s other stuff. It doesn’t just have to be the diapers”. There is so much other stuff. Everything her mom did could fill a whole wing in a library. “That’s true, but it would be hard to argue that that some percentage isn’t from feelings about diapers. What we do know is in cases like these, things are often interconnected. Trying to treat just the self harm, or eating disorder, without touching underlying issues is like dressing a bullet wound with the bullet still in”. Amy’s never going to talk about this. “She could do that with therapy. It doesn’t need to be this extreme”. I’m just going through the motions. We both know that wouldn’t work. “Okay. Let’s look at the options. We could have her spend a few weeks involuntarily in a mental health facility. She would be safe, and we could make sure she is eating. After that we could send her to an outpatient therapist. Do you think she would be willing to truly engage in that scenario? Would you feel safe having her alone at home?” I barely feel safe leaving her alone in her hospital room. “No”. Looking down at my feet, I let this crash over me. Amy’s going to be sent off to some stranger. At least I can say goodbye. “The other option is treating her as a Big Little. Instead of a short stay at a secure facility, she has long term parents/guardians. She is slowly reintroduced back into normal life while keeping her support system, and we actively work on a major fear of hers instead letting it fester unsaid”. How many years would she be gone? “Well, we could tell the therapist in advance. So she would have to confront it”. Playing devil’s advocate isn’t fun when it’s your friend's freedom you’re debating. “How do you imagine that going? I’m picturing a melt down in the therapist’s office followed by sliding right back into the behavior she was supposed to be working on. Then back here. Am I wrong?”. I tried Amy. She’s right. This is the best for you. “No. It’s just, I don’t like forcing something like this on her”. I feel like a pretty shit friend already. “I don’t either. This isn’t a judgement against her. Everyone involved just wants the best for her. You included”. Everyone wants what’s best for Amy, except Amy. “So where do I come in?”. Moral support? “As I said. We find it important to find a suitable guardian. Ideally we would like to find someone in her existing circle who is supportive of both her, and who doesn’t have a problem with diapers”. I don’t really know any parents or people that would be interested. “Her mom is out. I guess I could ask my mom, but I don’t know how she would react. I’m guessing positively, but it’s hard to tell”. Sure it’s weird, but mom would probably go for it. “I was more looking at you”. Me? “Me? I’m not a parent. Hell, we're the same age and have been friends our entire lives. I can’t be her parent”. I’ve never even thought about having kids or adopting. “She trusts you, and we know you would be supportive of her”. I don’t know how much she trusts me after today. “I have a job. Plus I don’t know the first things about being a parent, let alone how to help with all the other issues. I mean outside of if I even should look after her, I don’t think I even can”. I remember watching a video in health class on how to change a diaper, but that was for a Little. How does that even work for someone Amy’s size? “We’ll pay you your current salary and benefits while you are her primary caregiver, and will make sure you always have a place at your job to return to. We’re not asking you to do this alone. We will take care of contacting therapists, doctors, and whatever else she needs. On top of that we’ll provide you training and resources on being her parent”. She’s really serious about this. “You really want me to say yes”. Why do I want to say yes? “We think it’s the best option for her”. She would hate me for this, but I think it might be the best too. “So if I do say yes, and this is only hypothetically. What happens?”. How do I Amy-proof my apartment? “She spends a few days here as we help set up your apartment as everything else you need. Don’t worry. We will take it step by step”. That answers that. “And if I say no?”. I wince at the imagery of Amy being carted off by some stranger. “We will look into any names you give us as alternatives, and if that fails send her to a care facility till we can find an appropriate match with foster parents”. Not going to happen. “There is no way she could handle that”. She probably would do something everyone would regret.. “Tell you what. Eat the rest of your lunch and take some time. Nothing needs to be decided today. I’ll leave you my card and this information packet. You can call me at any time with your decision or any other questions you may have”. Dropping off the material she turns towards the door. “Thanks. Sorry, still a bit overwhelmed”. Probably ten pages to flip through till the end of lunch. “Understandable”. Life gets complicated fast. “One more thing. Please don’t mention any of this to Amy. Not at least till she is in a better state to handle it”. That’s something we can both readily agree on. The remainder of my sandwich might as well be sand for how much attention I paid it. I ideally flip through the packet again. Not really reading it, just unsure of what else to do. Can I really do this? Can I be Amy’s parent? Funny enough the diapers are the least strange part of this. Having to treat my best friend as at least some kind of infant easily wins that race. She’ll hate me, but she’ll be safe. The latter is always more important. Sorry Amy. I walk back to her room like a prisoner on their way to the gallows. I betrayed my friend's trust today. Multiple times. No matter how well intentioned or necessary, I still went behind her back. Pulling aside the curtain I am met by a completely frazzled Amy. The papers Linn gave us are strew across the bed. A broken golf pencil lay in the center of the mess. “Amy? Is everything okay? Did something happen?”. Did Linn come back while was gone? “Ya. No. Nothing happened. Just overwhelmed. I tried to get through this while you were gone, but my brain overloads the moment I start. I’m going to be locked up somewhere, aren’t”. Her body becomes more panicked with each word. “Amy, you’re not going to be locked up. I promise. Okay?”. She might not like the alternative, but she’s not getting locked up. “Are you sure?”. Her desperation hangs in the air as her eyes plead with me to reassure her fears. “I’m sure”. Grabbing her arm with one hand, I start to clear the paper with the other. “Do you want to go through this together?”. It seems she got stuck on a list of mental health facilities. “No. It’s too much”. My conversation with Tara really opened my eyes. For all her brilliance and sarcasm, sometimes she really is a kid. “Do you want me to decide?”. A quick nod from her tells me all I need. “Okay. I’m going to grab all these from you and then check in with the nurses real quick. Why don’t you read your book till I come back”. Initiating my mom’s voice when she wants to be soothing, I finish gathering up the pages and walk out the room. Leaving Amy to her books. Stopping halfway to the nurses station I pull out my phone and Tara’s card. “Hello”. Sounds like she is driving. “Hi, this is Alex. We talked a bit ago”. Some may say a lifetime ago. “Hi. Did you have some questions? I’m almost at another client’s house so I don’t have a lot of time”. Good to know there are more in the city. Though I suppose that makes sense with Tara working here. “I’ll be quick. I wanted to tell you I’ll do it. I’ll take care of Amy”. Saying it out-loud feels weird, but reassuring. “That’s great. Are you free this evening? There are few things I need to go over”. The piles of paperwork in my future are worth it to keep her safe. “I’ll be home at 7. Does that work for you?”. Hopefully they drug Amy before that. “Sure. I’ll be there at 7”. This is really happening. “Thanks”. Despite how scared I was, I feel like enough to walk on clouds. “You did the right thing”. Maybe someday she will see that. “Bye”. Finishing my walk to the nurses station, I recycle the paper before taking a deep breath and heading back. You know. She was right. For the first time today I know I did the right thing.

Sorry for the delay. I've been switching jobs which has killed all enthusiasm for writing. I should have a chapter posted this week. Sorry.