Annotations by Sophie (Complete)

[Sarah Penguin]

Your poor heart Sophie such feels *hugs*

[Sophie ♥]

Thank you for the support everyone. ❤️ 

[Sophie ♥]

There was trouble in paradise with forum girl.  No matter how diligently we planned, things kept getting in the way of us.  Mail kept getting lost.  Her phone kept getting broken.  Accidents would happen.  We organized vacations and flights, only for them to fall through at the last minute.

My friends were kind to me.  They supported me and took care of me through many hardships, though they were all thinking the same thing.  Somewhere in my brain, I was thinking it too.  Sometime in June that year, I asked the forum girl to be honest with me, maybe the tenth or hundredth time I asked.  But this time she was.

She told me that despite the photos and the audio clips she sent me, she wasn’t who I thought she was.  She was a man, a little older than me, who didn’t expect things to go this way.  She didn’t mean to fall in love or string me along for over a year.  She wanted to disappear every single day, but she felt like I needed her.  She wanted to give me everything, even if it meant that one day I would hate her.

I wasn’t surprised, not really.  But it was a lot to take.  Truth be told, I understood everything she was saying.  Hadn’t I done the same thing to the boy I once called my role model?  I knew how hard it was to end the fantasy, when everything you could ever want was lying right there at your feet.  So, since she was honest with me, I was honest back.

I told her that she was a girl, and she needed to stop pretending she’s not.  I told her that I loved her no matter what, and I always would.  I told her that I understood why she did what she did, and I’d get over it in time, but for that moment I was very upset.

Then, as my thoughts spiraled out of control, as each small lie she told built upon the next small lie, as everything started to unravel in front of me, I told her I needed to go for a few days.

I checked myself into a hospital because I didn’t feel safe.  I needed time to think where my spinning brain wouldn’t whirlwind me into another bottle of pills.  The people there were kind and thoughtful and attentive and I read through three books in two days.  Then I got a phone call.

The forum girl asked some of my friends about me and found out where I was.  She had to argue with administration for hours just to get patched through to me.  It seems a little crazy now to think about it, but then it was just nice to hear her voice.  Not the voice I expected, but a voice that I knew wasn’t a lie.

We talked a lot that week, while I was in the hospital.  She called every day and she told me about all the changes in her life.  She told her mom she was a girl and went to get her name changed.  She told her best friend and had already started practicing makeup techniques from online videos.  She bought a dozen blouses and was walking daily to get her weight down.

When I was finally released and I got home, I told her that she had always been a girl to me, no matter what she looked like.  I told her that I wanted her to visit, and nothing was going to get in the way this time.  I told her that I would guide her through her process just like she guided me through mine.  In some ways, it was nice to be able to return the favor.

At the time, I thought she and I would be together forever.  Turns out, though we are only friends today, I was right.

Annotations by:
Sophie

[diaperpt]

So many of us seem to lie. Those around us tend to think we've lied to them. But have we? As you pointed out to forum girl, she'd been lying to herself. That's where the big lie was. The lies in the little details of who she was really wanting to be were a function of the big lie to herself; even the little lies which hurt you, were really part of that big lie.

You could point that out to her because you went through it yourself - as I did myself. Is it really fair for us to think our lies were bad? They all stemmed from the lies we told ourselves. I think the only bad thing is that the society and environment when we grew up - me, a skillion years ago - told us our identity was tucked down there between our legs; we couldn't change that and we needed to straighten up and play the part. For some of us, there's a protective part of us who steps up and lies to us, But those lies don't seem to live forever.

At any rate, I'm happy you made it through that!

[Wannatripbaby]

"Finding a lover is easy. Finding love? That's hard." 

-from the cover art of "Breaking The Girl." 

I'm glad to see one of these chapters end on a happy note after the last few chapters. ☺️ Do you plan on revealing who "Forum Girl" is today? Is will that remain a secret? Obviously the latter is fine. Just wanted to ask.

[harrycrosby]

It seems like everyone in Sophie's annotations is anonymous, perhaps to protect their privacy. I don't expect any names, whether or not those people are still in the community.

 

Glad for some happiness! You deserve it.

[Sophie ♥]

3 hours ago, Wannatripbaby said:

Do you plan on revealing who "Forum Girl" is today? Is will that remain a secret? Obviously the latter is fine. Just wanted to ask.

 

2 hours ago, harrycrosby said:

It seems like everyone in Sophie's annotations is anonymous, perhaps to protect their privacy. I don't expect any names, whether or not those people are still in the community.

Pretty much this ^

I don't use any names at all in this story - including my own! - for two reasons.  1.) To protect anonymity, though I doubt anyone cares, and 2.) Because it doesn't really matter /who/ I'm talking about.  Your life and my life are three-act plays with the same beats and themes, and it's just the details that are different.  Who I cast as my 'forum girl' isn't important, because you have your own 'forum girl' (or equivalent).

I'm not posting this story to be self-indulgent or so people can know "how Sophie's life was".  It's so you can see that your life and my life aren't all that different (specifically for trans people, but I think people in general!) and people can realize that they aren't alone.  And that things get better.  

That being said, we're getting to the part in the story where you can guess at a lot of the characters, especially if you know me intimately. XD I don't mind that you know, but I'm not going to say any of their names because that defeats the point.

(Did that sound too pretentious?  I'm writing something atm and I'm in that mood!  Sorry!)

[Wannatripbaby]

6 hours ago, Sophie ♥ said:

Pretty much this ^

I don't use any names at all in this story - including my own! - for two reasons.  1.) To protect anonymity, though I doubt anyone cares, and 2.) Because it doesn't really matter /who/ I'm talking about.  Your life and my life are three-act plays with the same beats and themes, and it's just the details that are different.  Who I cast as my 'forum girl' isn't important, because you have your own 'forum girl' (or equivalent).

I'm not posting this story to be self-indulgent or so people can know "how Sophie's life was".  It's so you can see that your life and my life aren't all that different (specifically for trans people, but I think people in general!) and people can realize that they aren't alone.  And that things get better.  

That being said, we're getting to the part in the story where you can guess at a lot of the characters, especially if you know me intimately. XD I don't mind that you know, but I'm not going to say any of their names because that defeats the point.

Totally understand.

6 hours ago, Sophie ♥ said:

Did that sound too pretentious?  I'm writing something atm and I'm in that mood!  Sorry!)

Ooooooooo you're writing something pretentious? How quaint! How bourgeois! How loquacious! ?

[Sarah Penguin]

[Sophie ♥]

A lot of stuff happened after that.  The forum girl and I moved in together, and then we moved overseas together.  I dated a girl I didn’t like, and cheated on her with a girl I did like, which culminated in the worst birthday of my life.  There’s a story there, but I don’t want to tell it.  Maybe I don’t want you to think less of me.  I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life, like maybe you’ve made a lot in yours.  Maybe some of them you regret, and some you only regret the consequences.  Let’s just forgive each other for now and move on with the story.

Things started looking up when we met the English girl.  She was the first of three, and maybe my biggest failure.

As her name implies, the English girl lived in England, which was very far away from where we were.  She was engaged to a man she didn’t like, who shamed her for wanting to act and dress like a little girl.  She was a member of a very strict church and would see a church-sanctioned therapist every week.  But no matter how she tried to hide it, fight it, or ignore it, she couldn’t keep away her desires.

Then the English girl fell in love with a girl on a forum, the same girl I fell in love with on a forum only a year or two prior.  By then, the forum girl and I were just friends, and the English girl was becoming my friend as well.  She wanted so much to be happy; I could read it in every word she typed.  I thought I could help.

It took months of coercing, but the English girl finally got on a plane.  She travelled across the world to find us, to have her own chance at happiness.  She wore diapers and slept with pacifiers.  She would sometimes wet herself for the aesthetic and the attention.  She loved and kissed and embroiled herself in the forum girl.  She was so happy with us.

At the same time, she was so miserable.  She couldn’t help signing onto social media and chatting with her fiancé.  She couldn’t fight the barrage of messages from her congregation, telling her how terrible a person she was for leaving.  She couldn’t ignore texts from her parents, telling her everything could be better if only she would come back.  Guilt was eating her alive.

Her fiancé made new promises.  To be better.  To stop blaming her.  To stop yelling at her.  To give her beautiful children, a life she had always wanted.  He promised she could have little girl days and wear diapers, and he would never speak ill of it again.  Sooner or later, she started to believe it.

I remember our vigilant walks together, through moon-drenched suburban streets and flower gardens.  I remember how she would sometimes storm out of the house and sometimes walk away quietly.  I remember talking so much at her.  Maybe I didn’t listen enough?  Maybe I didn’t know how to, back then?  Was I defending the life I chose, or was I fighting her right to choose?  I don’t even know.

In the end, she went back to England.  I hope she’s doing well.  I hope her fiancé kept true to all his promises.  I’m so afraid the brilliance of her voice, the radiance of her smile, and the glory of her soul are things no one will ever see again.  She may have been the brightest woman I’ve ever met; she could outshine the sun if she tried.  It hurts to imagine her diluted by empty promises, wayward apostles, and the ever-present shroud of English rainclouds.

I know it’s not my fault.  She was a grown woman - despite her fantasies - and she had to decide for herself.  Wishes and dreams, happiness and hope… it was all secondary to freeing herself of that guilt.  I should have understood that better; after all, was what I did with that boy really any different?  Isn’t relief worth a few scars?  

I can’t hold it against her, because we were the same.  But I can’t forgive myself either.

Annotations by:
Sophie

[Wannatripbaby]

1 hour ago, Sophie ♥ said:

  I dated a girl I didn’t like, and cheated on her with a girl I did like, which culminated in the worst birthday of my life.  There’s a story there, but I don’t want to tell it.

Dammit Sophie you tease! XD

1 hour ago, Sophie ♥ said:

Maybe some of them you regret, and some you only regret the consequences.

Oh wow. That is Hella deep. I gotta remember that one. 

[Sophie ♥]

15 minutes ago, Wannatripbaby said:

That is Hella deep. I gotta remember that one. 

I 100% do not regret cheating on that girl.  Because the girl I cheated on was very rude and sort of mean and I didn't like her and she didn't really like me but we were both too stupid to break up.  The girl I cheated on her with was super cute and it was an amazing experience.  However, I regret the consequences, because it caused a HUGE fight (not with the girl, but with like 2 other people) and it was a big deal

[Sarah Penguin]

[Sophie ♥]

Living overseas wasn’t working out.  I missed my family, I missed going to school, and I missed Taco Bell.  Both the forum girl and I were happier when we lived in the United States, and so we decided to go back.

It took us a while to find our footing.  I went to school during the day and worked crappy retail jobs on the weekends.  She helped people fix computers and did all the grocery shopping.  Sometimes we would cuddle at night and sometimes she would diaper me.  It was reassuring, even through our arguments, that we always had each other.  It was around this time we met the second of the three, a girl I would later call my sister.  

Everyone wants to be understood.  We want someone to just ‘get it’ and stand by us and fight for us and love us without a good reason.  The word ‘family’ is supposed to embody those characteristics, but more often than not it doesn’t.  So I - like many other people in my situation - built my own.

The second of the three girls was nothing like my real-life sister; she was better.  She understood all my stupid jokes and obscure references without me having to explain them.  She fought with me to take my medicine and sleep every night and eat breakfast before school.  She knew just what to say and just how to say it so that I would listen.  She laid her health and her heart in my hands and let me decide her future.  She trusted me.  I trusted her.  For the rest of my story, I’m going to refer to the second of the three girls as my sister, and I hope my explanation was enough for you to understand exactly what I mean when I say it.

My sister and her girlfriend had been dating for a few years.  Sometimes she would call her girlfriend ‘mommy’, and sometimes her girlfriend would baby her and tell her bedtime stories.  A lot of the time, they played video games and watched anime together.  It sounded perfect on paper, but my sister wasn’t happy.  

I think there’s a homeostatic change when you’re dating someone where the relationship becomes your ‘normal’.  Even if you are unhappy or unsure about the person you’re with, you want to keep being with them because being without them doesn’t make sense anymore.  When I met my sister, I think she was amidst that phenomena.

Whatever the reason, my sister needed time away from her friends and her girlfriend, and I happened to provide a venue for that.  Her visit was meant to last only a week, but she wanted to stay for two.  At the end of those two weeks, I told her to stay, not for another week or another month, but forever.  

I don’t know why I did that.  She wouldn’t be better off with me and the forum girl.  We were living paycheck to paycheck, eating ramen for half our meals, and had no social life to speak of.  She would be trapped in a very small apartment without a bedroom of her own and only a large TV and a few cats to keep her company.  Why would I put her in that situation?  Why would I think that’s what was best for her?  Was I so conceited, so arrogant?

In retrospect, I never thought she would stay.  I thought she would choose her girlfriend and her old friends, her anime and her video games.  I thought she would leave and things would get better now that she had some time to clear her head.  The only thing I wanted to give her was a choice.  I wanted her to know the world didn’t have to be the way it has always been, that ‘normal’ could change and she could change it.  I wanted to help her see all the colors around her, rather than the few from which she refused to look away.

Though my sister stayed, for a long time I was scared that she would change her mind.  She would go home and I would never get to see the rest of her story play out.  I thought maybe I could never really help anyone in the long run, and maybe I was nothing more than destination from which everyone would inevitably depart.  But she didn’t change her mind.  Actually, I think she changed mine.

Annotations by:
Sophie

[Wannatripbaby]

Chosen-family is best family. ?

[Sarah Penguin]

[Sophie ♥]

Call it fate or destiny or happenstance, but somehow my story brings me once again to therapy.  I had nothing intrinsically wrong with me at this point; I was happily living as a girl and I spent my days with two amazing friends who also liked to dress up in diapers and baby clothes.  I was living the dream; not a universal dream, but the dream I had wished for since I was nine years old.  But it didn’t feel like enough.

What more was there?  I had graduated from college with honors.  I wrote touching touch-yourself stories on the internet that people seemed to love.  I had diapers with little stars that disappeared when I wet them.  I was beginning to feel like nothing would satisfy me.  And so I went to therapy for the third time.  

My third and current therapist was my age, almost down to the day.  I was immediately jealous.  She was doing something meaningful with her life, and I was working as a secretary at an insurance place.  But she had a way of challenging me that seemed to work.  After a few months I felt like I could tell her anything, so that’s what I did.

The first thing we discovered together was that I had depression.  Apparently it isn’t normal to stay in bed for an entire day because you don’t have the energy to get up.  Apparently it isn’t normal to fight off thoughts of suicide every time you have a moment to yourself.  This might sound obvious to you, but I had felt that way my entire life.  I thought everyone felt that way.

Despite this, I didn’t want to take anti-depressants.  Maybe in some strange, backwards way I appreciated my depression.  It made me who I was.  It made me good at writing and good at empathizing with people.  It made me care more.  I would later realize that this is total bullshit.

The other reason I avoided anti-depressants was because I didn’t think I deserved them.  I wasn’t trying to kill myself every week.  I wasn’t hurting myself anymore.  I could handle the bad days, if I gave myself enough time and distractions.  If I fixed my simple, stupid problems with medicine, wasn’t that invalidating of all the people who actually had to struggle?

After a series of discussions and debates - of which I do not envy my therapist’s position - I started taking an anti-depressant.  I felt guilty and stupid over the whole thing until three days later.

Here’s the thing.  Anti-depressants don’t change anything.  I’m not a different person, I’m not worse at writing or empathizing.  I don’t care any more or any less.  Absolutely nothing is different, but literally everything is easier.

For the first time in my life, I had control over my thoughts.  I could tell them no.  I could push them away.  I had the energy to argue with them.  I could think more clearly and act more decisively.  I had passion for the things I loved and the people I admired.  I was the exact same girl, undiluted.

Why did my ‘not suffering enough’ mean I had to suffer at all?  Back then, I remember it making so much sense.  But now that I can see the world in full spectrum, it seems silly.  If there’s one small thing I can do that would make everything so much easier, why would I fight that?  Because someone a long time ago said you have to have hardship to find true happiness?  Because nothing is free, and you have to work for it?  But if you win the lottery, don’t you take the money?  If you are given a gift, don’t you appreciate it even more than if you bought it yourself?  Why do we create these impossible standards to be happy when we don’t have to?

If I listened to everyone else on ‘the right way to be happy’, I wouldn’t be a girl.  I wouldn’t wear diapers and dresses.  I wouldn’t have two of the best friends in the world.  I would be dead in my mom’s basement and you wouldn’t have good stories to read.

Annotations by:
Sophie

[Sparkle Dust]

59 minutes ago, Sophie ♥ said:

If I listened to everyone else on ‘the right way to be happy’, I wouldn’t be a girl.  I wouldn’t wear diapers and dresses.  I wouldn’t have two of the best friends in the world.  

Amen sister!!  I feel the exact same way!  I toughened And discovered myself through depression!!   I still get depressed sometimes but I no longer feel suicidal.

However, without closure all of my sadness just turns to anger!!

[bbykimmy]

18 hours ago, Sophie ♥ said:

Despite this, I didn’t want to take anti-depressants.  Maybe in some strange, backwards way I appreciated my depression.  It made me who I was.  It made me good at writing and good at empathizing with people.  It made me care more.  I would later realize that this is total bullshit.

I've talked about this subject a few times myself, but I wanted to re-share here.

This.

"I don't need antidepressants.  They'll change who I am, they'll change how I think.  Are my triumphs still mine if I don't struggle for them?"

18 hours ago, Sophie ♥ said:

Here’s the thing.  Anti-depressants don’t change anything.  I’m not a different person, I’m not worse at writing or empathizing.  I don’t care any more or any less.  Absolutely nothing is different, but literally everything is easier.

When I hit the bottom of my depression, I was contemplating suicide nearly every minute of every day.  I vacillated between "quick-and-painless" but knowing that the people important to me might not get the insurance money, and elaborate and potentially survivable but knowing that if I succeeded, my loved ones would be taken care of.

I didn't know at the time that the person I was most concerned about was an abuser.

Every thought had a dark counterpart.  "This is hard" came with "I'm tired of everything being hard.  I want it to end."  "I'm sad" came with "and I'll never be happy again, I will feel like this forever and always."  "I'm disappointed in how I handled that" came with "I'm worthless and no one will ever love me."  "I don't know if I want to go out tonight" came with "it won't be worth it, it won't make me happy, I should just stay in."

Depression was like this tiny gremlin that lived in my brain and told me lies.  My own thoughts were twisted in my head, positive things became negative, seeking positivity became lamentations of futility.

But the thing it said most often and most emphatically was.  "I should die."

Antidepressants made it quiet.  All of my other thoughts were still there, but that dark voice was no longer adding things to them.  "I'm hurting" could JUST BE "I'm hurting".  And it took probably a week before I realized that the gremlin was gone.  When I suddenly realized after something bad happened, "Huh... that's weird, I don't want to kill myself."

And that shouldn't be weird.  Not for anyone.

Antidepressants are a correction to a malfunction in chemistry.  They are not magic, they are not "thought changers", they don't change who you are.  That gremlin is a chemical imbalance that exploits your own pattern recognition abilities, your own self-defense mechanisms, and turns them against you.

And I wouldn't be alive without them.

[Sarah Penguin]

hugs

[Sophie ♥]

4 hours ago, bbykimmy said:

Every thought had a dark counterpart.  "This is hard" came with "I'm tired of everything being hard.  I want it to end."  "I'm sad" came with "and I'll never be happy again, I will feel like this forever and always."  "I'm disappointed in how I handled that" came with "I'm worthless and no one will ever love me."  "I don't know if I want to go out tonight" came with "it won't be worth it, it won't make me happy, I should just stay in."

This in particular was a beautiful addition.  Thank you!  

[Sophie ♥]

My therapist and I came to the same conclusion: I should become a therapist myself.  I had always wanted to be one, truthfully, but I never had the passion or the drive to make it happen.  Since I started taking anti-depressants, I felt like I had both of those things in abundance.

I wrote an admission letter to the best school in the area, asking for entrance into their masters program.  I didn’t take it that seriously; I made jokes and told silly anecdotes.  I didn’t lie and I didn’t try, two things you should absolutely do on admission letters.  Nonetheless, I was accepted.

The program was especially difficult, maybe because I was out of practice at academia, or maybe because I took the advanced track.  Maybe I just wasn’t cut out for it.  I spent my days reading articles and writing papers.  My insomnia came back with a vengeance, but I didn’t have time for pacifiers and diapers.

To make matters worse, I was dating a girl at the time.  She was a really nice girl with a really big heart and a basket of problems that always needed solving.  Somewhere along the way, I signed up as the person to solve them.  I wanted to make her happy.  I wanted to make her proud.  If I could fix her issues, shouldn’t I?  I never was good at saying no.

There was always another issue to solve and there was always another article to read and there was always another paper to write.  I went days without sleeping.  I kept forgetting to eat breakfast.  I would drive two hours to school and still be late to class.  I would nod off in traffic on the way home.  I would send texts to my girlfriend’s boss because she was afraid of saying the wrong thing.

Eventually, something had to give.  It just wasn’t sustainable.

Annotations by:
Sophie

[Bonsai]

Expectations are the real enemy. The main good thing of life is that it has no fixed rules, but to make it a good thing you have to accept the fact that there is no meaning at all and that all the moral categories are rubbish.

The less “truths” you believe, the better. Whatever causes sentiments in us (either positive or negative ones) makes us targets.

There’s always someone that wishes to exploit how we are wired, to convince us to act in a certain way. Freedom therefore is granted by the capacity of being unpredictable, so by the capacity of always doubting of our own conclusions.

Ideas and feelings are useful tools but, in the moment you grow attached to them, they become bindings and deadweight.

 

[Wannatripbaby]

12 hours ago, Sophie ♥ said:

She was a really nice girl with a really big heart and a basket of problems that always needed solving.  Somewhere along the way, I signed up as the person to solve them.  I wanted to make her happy.  I wanted to make her proud.  If I could fix her issues, shouldn’t I?  I never was good at saying no.

#callout ?

[Sophie ♥]

I needed an escape.  I needed to get away from school and helping people and caring about everything all the time.  I needed to stop thinking of all the things I had to fix every time I closed my eyes.  The thing is, I would never allow myself to stop.  It was my responsibility to study and help and care.  It was my purpose to think and wonder and worry.  I needed to break out of the loop.  So… I broke out.

I was always good at dissociating, but this felt like something new.  I felt like I was sitting in a small room with a comfortable couch, watching myself on television.  But the me I was watching didn’t act like me or think like me.  She was a different me.  A younger me.

The younger me was six years old and had a different name.  She liked to do puzzles and play cell phone games and bake.  I didn’t like doing any of those things.  I watched her on TV and I kept thinking: “this is such a waste of time”, but she kept doing them anyway.  Sometimes it would last a few hours.  Sometimes it would last a whole day.  But whenever it was over, when I was me again, I felt a lot better.  I was less anxious, less stressed.

Luckily, my girlfriend and two best friends were adaptive.  They helped take care of the younger me.  They took her shopping and played games together.  They made her feel loved and important, even if it was inconvenient.  Oddly enough, the younger me never got in the way of anything serious.  Despite her constant interferences, I always got my homework done and I always made it to school.  

From the perspective of a Little, this might sound like a dream come true, or like I made it up for attention.  Honestly, sometimes I wonder if I did.  Maybe I just needed a good excuse to shirk my responsibilities, so I tricked myself into believing it.  I don’t want to trivialize people who go through this sort of thing, just because I had a bad day turned week turned month turned year.  Then again, wasn’t this the same argument I made about not having depression?  Just because my symptoms and circumstances differ to other people, does that make me different?  I still don’t have an answer.

But my dissociations were not a dream come true.  Sometimes it was terrifying.  What if it happened while I was at school, or giving a presentation, or driving a car?  What if it happened one day and it never turned off?  What if I was stuck on that couch watching TV for the rest of my life?

To be honest, I don’t think any adult can really be a kid again.  I can pretend.  I can feel the right feelings and think the right thoughts.  I can flood my senses with nostalgia and travel back in time.  But every experience that made me - every girl I liked, every kiss I had and every kiss I didn’t have, every right thing and wrong thing and time I didn’t say no - are only a blink away.

I can never be the younger me, because the younger me isn’t me.  Even if she was everything I wanted to be, she would never know the difference.  In some ways, being Little is better than being little.  When you’re little, you can’t appreciate it.  But when you’re Little, it means something.

A year later, my girlfriend and I broke up.  Since then, I haven’t found myself in that room with the couch and the TV.  I still feel her sometimes, when I’m playing with Legos or watching a cartoon or drifting off to sleep with my teddy bear in my arms.  Sometimes I miss the simplicity of watching her on the TV, but I like it more when I’m only a blink away.

I just need to remember to sometimes take a break.

Annotations by:
Sophie