Annotations by Sophie (Complete)

[Sophie ♥]

For the better part of a decade, I've been writing a diary called Annotations.  Obviously my life isn't over so this story isn't done yet, but I have found some semblance of conclusion in the past few years.  In honor of Trans Day of Visibility, I want to share my story.

This won't come up anywhere else.  Not on Patreon, not on our "all stories" page.  It's just something I want to share with the community, who has been there for me for a long time and has a high ratio of trans members.  I hope some people can find something important in this.

I'll post a new entry every day until it's done (assuming I don't forget).

~Sophie

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Annotations by Sophie

I can’t quite understand why our world is so specific.  We categorize humans apart from other mammals, although we all give birth the same way, and we categorize mammals apart from other animals, although we all have conscious thought, mobility, and a heartbeat.  We categorize animals from plants and bacteria, although we’re all alive in a basic sense.

Humans are divided by religion and culture and gender and race and age and height and weight and ability and level of sanity.  Everyone is different.  We will never come up with enough subcategories to eliminate all the connections between everyone in the world, so why have subcategories at all?  

Specifics create oddities.  It’s odd for a Christian to be gay.  It’s odd for an American to be a polygamist.  It’s odd for a boy to wear a dress.  It’s odd for an adult to use a pacifier.  It’s odd for the obese to be healthy.  It’s odd for the blind to marry someone beautiful.  It’s odd for the insane to say things that make perfect sense.

If this world wasn’t so specific people could be themselves, and I wouldn’t have to hide behind this alias anymore.

Annotations by:
Sophie

[Wannatripbaby]

Okay, I'm definitely recommending this to the Playpen. 1 chapter in and this is just too good! 

[Sophie ♥]

It's funny because these days, I see a lot of purpose in categories.  Census information is really helpful in demographic studies and ensuring that there is population equality.  Without categories, we wouldn't be able to isolate what is working and what isn't and how to go about fixing it.  Unfortunately, categories also lead to stereotypes and discrimination.  It's a double edged sword.

I also wrote that chapter like 10 years ago so I'm not that surprised my perspective shifted.

I'm going to be color-coding all my posts in blue so people don't confuse my replies and ramblings for actual posts.  

[Shotgun Diplomat]

4 hours ago, Sophie ♥ said:

It’s odd for a Christian to be gay

Well, not in my world view. But, maybe that makes me odd?

[diaperpt]

Happy TDoV!

I find it 'odd' that on the one hand so many trans people want to eliminate labels because they are used to put people in boxes placed on shelves... put in pigeonholes. But then LGBTIQ+ people are creating more and more labels to better define exactly who they feel themselves to be. 

Is this a conflict? I don't think so at all. Do I really think it's odd at all? No. The huge difference is between being labelled by someone else; having your identity defined - usually in a negative way - vs speaking up and self-defining, saying "This is who I am!"

And so, Sophie, I think I've just paraphrased what you've said. I guess I ought to do my own annotations! I like that this annotation of yours is short. My own weakness is a tendency to elaborate, extend and ramble on and on. Short is better. Thanks for sharing.

[Sophie ♥]

1 hour ago, diaperpt said:

I like that this annotation of yours is short. My own weakness is a tendency to elaborate, extend and ramble on and on. Short is better. Thanks for sharing.

It's probably one of the shortest.  They get pretty... rambling. XD  But I'm glad you're enjoying it.

[Bonsai]

As an engineer that tries to build up models that describe the behavior of complex systems, I love all the simplifications I can make to unify the behavior of a very large number of single entities under a limited number of well defined categories.

[Sophie ♥]

I am not the sort of boy who always has a book under his arm, but I have read enough to know that the first line in a story should be memorable.  Unfortunately, I am not clever enough to continue that tradition.

I write because by now writing is the only place where I can find decency in myself.  I’ve wondered for years how I would go about my adulthood, what I would be good at, how I would spend the rest of my existence.  I am not content being just another face in another field of this or that doing whatever those in the field of this or that tend to do.  I want to be extraordinary.

But you can’t be the best at anything anymore.  There are too many people and one of them is bound to be better than you.  The catch is: if you actually manage to make it to the top, the fame will tear you apart.  You know why Babe Ruth is still so popular, although his record was broken, or why we all know the name of Thomas Edison although his light bulb is minuscule in comparison to our network of electricity?  All they had to do accomplish something extraordinary.  Nothing could tear them down.  Nowadays, being the best means dealing with the media and interviews and newscasts and every time you walk down the street people want your autograph, and that’s all fine and dandy until you realize your privacy is jeopardized.

People are no longer friends or enemies.  They’re all sources.  Anything you ever say to anyone could be published, and in no time you’ll go downhill.  Your reputation will be ripped apart and your work’s progress will be undermined.  That’s the way people think, and it’s inevitable.  You have two options.  Be adequate and contribute or become a deity and watch as your worshippers burn your throne.

I can never be the best at writing, but I still do it.  That’s why the word processor on my laptop is the only place I feel decent; writing is the only thing I will do even though I know I will never be any good.

One day, I hope to write something amazing.  It wont be soon, because eighteen year olds can’t write good stories.  I am not developed.  I need more experience and more techniques and more ideas and much, much more time.  But I hope to write something amazing someday, something that really influences people and makes them think, and when I do, I will disappear.  I will finish my story, I will publish it, and I will vanish before the world can tear me apart.  I have too many secrets.  I can be torn so easily.

This story won’t be that story.  All the authors who write about crazy people are found under fiction in the library.  I can’t write about the truth and become a deity.  I just want people to know. I am not sure what I want them to know, but they need to know it.

Plus, no one will publish a book that involves my world.  It’s too invisible.

Annotations by:
Sophie

[Wannatripbaby]

I reminded of the lyrics a song I used to listen to:

"Everybody wanna be on top
I don't think they know what that means
Once you get there you can't stop
Everybody gunnin for ya spot
Aiming at ya team, I'm up all night, chasing dreams
Everything change when ya go from seeing it all
Big screen to behind the scenes
Leading us on like this the life they lead"

-Neverland: Andy Mineo

[diaperpt]

So many questions come to mind in reading this and none of the answers are any of my business. I admire you for your desire at 18 to be the best at something. Because of my own little quirks, my goals were always very small. I wanted to be good at things, but other than perhaps a big fish in a tiny puddle, never the best. And for you, I can't help wonder what it was you were writing at age 18. 

The need you felt to flee away after writing something amazing... because of too many secrets and the vulnerability of being torn... that pulls at my heart.

[Sophie ♥]

13 hours ago, diaperpt said:

So many questions come to mind in reading this and none of the answers are any of my business. I admire you for your desire at 18 to be the best at something. Because of my own little quirks, my goals were always very small. I wanted to be good at things, but other than perhaps a big fish in a tiny puddle, never the best. And for you, I can't help wonder what it was you were writing at age 18. 

The need you felt to flee away after writing something amazing... because of too many secrets and the vulnerability of being torn... that pulls at my heart.

You're so compassionate. ❤️ 

Honestly, feel free to ask questions.  If they are answered in later installments, I'll skirt the topic.  Or if I feel like I don't want to answer, I'll be upfront about it.  I don't mind being personal, since... like... this is a diary?

At this time, I think the only AB story I wrote was Abby.  Probably working on Bits of Molly.  I didn't write non-AB stories back then, but I wrote a lot of poems.

[Sophie ♥]

There’s this problem I have with worrying too much.  I decided to start there, because that’s where the real issues began.  The first time was when I was twelve.  I am no better today.  

Have you ever hung out with your friends instead of doing your homework, and the next day in math class your teacher tells you there’s a surprise test on algorithms?  At that moment, the anxiety builds in your chest and you begin to fret because you don’t even know how to spell algorithm let alone solve the problems on paper.  You start to wonder if studying for two and a half minutes before the teacher hands you your test would help your performance, and that wondering took so long that you realized studying wouldn’t help anymore.  Then you begin your test and instead of focusing on the problems in front of you, you focus on everything you can’t control.

What if I fail this test?  How many points is it worth?  Will it lower my GPA or make me fail the class?  Why didn’t I study?  Was that movie I watched with my friends really worth a failing grade?  Are my parents going to ground me?  Will they take away my video games?  Spring break is coming up; what will I do without video games?  What if they don’t let me go to my friend’s house either?  Why didn’t I write my assignment down in a notebook?  Why don’t I have a notebook?  I am going to buy a notebook after school.  Time.

For me, the test is sleeping, and I always fail because while I am trying to sleep, I worry instead.  But the difference between your test and my insomnia is that I know it will keep happening, and there’s nothing I can do to prepare for it.

When my head hits the pillow, I relax and stop thinking.  Without those thoughts to cloud my mind, all my worries flood out of me.  But my worries are much more irrational.

What if there’s a test tomorrow and I forgot?  Did I do my homework right?  I had serious problems with number seven on page one forty-one.  What if that problem is on the test?  Is this going to be another sleepless night?  What if I fall asleep during the test?  I will most certainly fail and if that happens again I might fail the class and I might not get into a good college.  If I can’t get into a college I might not find a proper job and my future will be ruined.  No one will want to marry me.  I’ll have to move to a big city and get a factory job at minimum wage.  What if on the drive there I am struck by a semi-truck and die?  Would that really be such a bad thing if I wasn’t contributing anything to society?  Where would I even go?  What if I couldn’t afford a home?  What about the people that don’t have homes now; the people who don’t have a bed to sleep in like I do?  I am not using this bed since I cannot sleep.  I should give it to a homeless person.  What about the people who once had a house?  What if someone’s house is on fire at this very moment somewhere thousands of miles away?  If they don’t get to sleep tonight, why do I deserve to?

But I found a juvenile and awkward solution to my insomnia, and that solution was the first of many events that led me to become whatever I am today.  Unfortunately, what I am today is something I keep to myself because if I tell the wrong person, the moment I become a valued novelist my reputation will be in shambles and no one will take me seriously.  However, I am not yet a valued novelist and you aren’t the wrong person because you don’t know who I am.

I doubt it’s universal, but it worked for babies and it worked for me.  

Pacifiers are rather calming instruments.

Annotations by:
Sophie

[Wannatripbaby]

I'm very lucky to be one of the few people I know who doesn't have sleep problems (either insomnia or over-sleeping) it's just one thing I never really struggled with. I feel bad for those that do.

*Hugs pre-pacifier Sophie*

[Sophie ♥]

A common theme among stressed teenagers is the occasional bedwetting.  That’s a fact I wish would bare no relevance to my story.

It was about eight months, two doctor visits, and five different over the counter medications after my insomnia began that I discovered the influence a pacifier could have over me.  Let me explain how that happened.

There was a girl I knew online that I would often talk to.  A good number of my friends were connected to me through my computer in those days.  I hardly left my room when I could avoid it.

This girl had a knack for making me happy, and I quickly came to love her.  She had an odd aspiration though: to be treated like a girl the age of five, although she was thirteen at the time.  Intrigued, I would often play along and baby-sit her over the internet.  Soon I became involved with playing the role of the five year old and her my babysitter.  I enjoyed it.

Although I can’t remember quite how it happened, over a course of several months, I had regressed to a two year old when she would baby-sit me.  Then one night before bed she gave me a pacifier, and that same night I left my house at two thirty in the morning and went to a local department store to find one more tangible.  

It was an irrational action, because at that point in my life I wasn’t aware it would help me sleep and a thirteen-year-old boy had no use for a pacifier.  But I wasn’t thinking rationally at the time.  Everything made sense back then and I wish I knew why.

That night I slept wonderfully for the first time in ages.  The next morning, however, wasn’t so wonderful.  I had wet the bed.

The conclusion I have reached over that past few years was that sleeping with a pacifier regressed my subconscious.  If I sleep with a pacifier, I have about a one in three chance of wetting the bed, but falling asleep willingly without a pacifier was impossible at the time.

Obviously I couldn’t fabricate lies about my bedwetting forever, and I couldn’t go without sleep either.  I had to find a middle ground.  I needed to keep my bed dry and sleep properly.  

A baby could do it.

I found that I was beginning to mimic a lot of things babies did.

Annotations by:
Sophie

[Wannatripbaby]

A tale as old as time...

seriously though, this is all really good stuff! Maybe someday I'll post the writings I wrote as a teen/young adult. Although there's only like... 7 entries. XD

[diaperpt]

All so very interesting... anxiety to sleeplessness mixed with the beginnings of age play. Now, nothing at all to do with the substance of the story, but what local department store does a 13 y.o. go to at 2:30 in the morning for a pacifier? 

Aside from that, I wonder how many people here have made similar slides into age play in that it was a series of rather strange circumstances tied together by some inner need not understood at the time - and perhaps never.

Thanks for being so open and vulnerable in sharing this.

[YourFNF]

On 4/1/2020 at 7:12 AM, Sophie ♥ said:

But you can’t be the best at anything anymore.  There are too many people and one of them is bound to be better than you.  The catch is: if you actually manage to make it to the top, the fame will tear you apart. 

 

Annotations by:
Sophie

Honestly I never found away to resolve this problem... I've kinda just given up and focused on finding something to get me out of the situation I'm in

[Sophie ♥]

22 hours ago, diaperpt said:

what local department store does a 13 y.o. go to at 2:30 in the morning for a pacifier? 

Meijer - a midwest less-sucky Wal-mart.  We had one about a mile from my house and I liked to go on night-time walks.

[Sophie ♥]

One weekend in the April that girl that I came to love came to visit.  She lived two hundred and seventy four miles away, and I had never met her before.  I had seen pictures though.  By this point, we were technically dating.

She rented a hotel room with her mother about a mile away from my house.  We went to eat pizza on Friday night.  I didn’t like pizza but she did.  I didn’t want to seem picky, so I ate it anyway.

Saturday, she came over my house at noon.  My parents were divorced, so my mother alone socialized with hers.  We went to my bedroom and began to do boyfriend-girlfriend things, but getting into detail is disrespectful to her.

Saturday evening we went out to dinner again.  I can’t remember where we went, but we didn’t get pizza.  I was thankful.  We returned to her hotel and cuddled for an hour before we got in the car to take me home.

We didn’t go to my house, though.  This girl and I had talked about my pacifier and my sleeping habits and my bedwetting.  I knew the logical solution to all my problems, but my embarrassment got the best of me and I decided not to bring it up.  But she didn’t forget about our talk, and on our way home we stopped at the same department store where I purchased my pacifier to buy the second item of my secret life.

We wandered to the back of the store where the makeup and pharmaceutical drugs were.  Along the back wall were feminine needs and next to that were incontinent aids.  I wouldn’t walk into the isle.  The girl stayed with me and held me and told me it was all right and not to be ashamed.  Her mother ventured into the isle for me.

I remember the experience vividly, but because while writing this I feel the same anxiety that I felt five years ago during the incident, I am going to condense.

We walked to the front of the store and her mom purchased the package for me and we returned to my home.  My mother didn’t know about my bedwetting, so I had to avoid her on my way to my room.  I put the bag next to my bed and went to the computer, checking my email and getting on instant messenger to avoid thinking too much.

Hours passed and I began to get tired.  I finally turned my computer off and went to my closet and grabbed my pacifier.  Then I went to the door and locked it; I was smart enough to put a lock on my door after a week of bedwetting.  My mom didn’t find it too suspicious.  Then I turned to the package that the mother of the girl I had come to love had bought me.

I didn’t sleep that night.  I couldn’t bring myself to put on the adult diaper.

Annotations by:
Sophie

[Bonsai]

I’m wondering if “that girl” goes without a name because she’s now out of your life, or just because you prefer to reveal her name later on.

[Wannatripbaby]

I'm totally using "Boyfriend-girlfriend things" as a euphemism for sex next time I talk to my GF. XD

[diaperpt]

That weekend had to feel totally surreal to you. Great to be with someone you'd already come to love, but for 'the girl' to have the solution to your wetting problem and for the mom to participate in the purchase of said solution had to be difficult for you. I can understand you not being able to bring yourself to put it on, even with your bedroom door locked. I assume the lock was to keep your mom from finding out that you were sleeping with a pacifier, but I'm sure it became a way of her not finding out that you were wearing diapers.

I admire your willingness to make yourself vulnerable and put these slices of your life out for us.

[Sophie ♥]

On 4/5/2020 at 4:02 AM, Bonsai said:

I’m wondering if “that girl” goes without a name because she’s now out of your life, or just because you prefer to reveal her name later on.

I don't think I give a name to anyone in this story?  But you'll get more on her shortly.

20 hours ago, Wannatripbaby said:

I'm totally using "Boyfriend-girlfriend things" as a euphemism for sex next time I talk to my GF. XD

It wasn't /exactly/ sex!  But getting there. ^_~

13 hours ago, diaperpt said:

That weekend had to feel totally surreal to you. Great to be with someone you'd already come to love, but for 'the girl' to have the solution to your wetting problem and for the mom to participate in the purchase of said solution had to be difficult for you. I can understand you not being able to bring yourself to put it on, even with your bedroom door locked. I assume the lock was to keep your mom from finding out that you were sleeping with a pacifier, but I'm sure it became a way of her not finding out that you were wearing diapers.

Yeah it was... weird.  Weirder in retrospect.  At the time I was too embarrassed to say anything or do anything so...

Yeah the lock had a lot to do with the bedwetting I think?  Also I was like 13 and really wanted some privacy.

Thanks for all the kind words.  Sorry there were no chapters yesterday - I'll get one up soon.

[Sophie ♥]

I still had one day left - Sunday - with the girl I had come to love before she returned to her home two hundred and seventy four miles away from me.  I wanted to make the most of it, but when she came over she started scolding me for not sleeping.  I didn’t tell her, but I must have looked like a mess.

She told me that we were going to her hotel room today to watch movies.  I was to bring one of the diapers her mother bought me the night before.  I agreed solemnly.  I was too exhausted to argue.

We did exactly as she said we would do.  We cuddled on the bed and watched some movie about a ghost man, although I can no longer remember the name of the movie now.

When the movie was over, her mother went to get us some food.  I saw it as an opportunity to spend some alone time with the girl I had come to love, but instead when her mother left, she took the diaper out of her purse and handed it to me.  She told me to put it on so I could get some sleep.  I complied unwillingly.

I doubt you understand how troubling it is to change yourself into a diaper for the first time, especially given the small amount of free space a hotel bathroom provides.  It took me much, much longer than I thought to adequately pin the tapes around my hips.

When I came out of the bathroom, not having flushed the toilet, her mother was already back.  I knew I blushed at that moment.  It wasn’t a big deal for the girl I came to love or her mother, but for me I was unbelievably shy about being diapered in front of either of them.  I was shy about being diapered at all at thirteen years old.

I ate quietly.  They were very polite and said nothing to embarrass me.  She was wonderful in many ways.  I bet she got it from her mom.

The next movie she put in was Charlie’s Angels; the second one, so it wasn’t a surprise when I fell asleep.  I didn’t think I could sleep without my pacifier though, and I didn’t bring it because there was no way I would use it around people.  But when I was around the girl I had come to love, those worries that always bounced around my mind never made an appearance.  I was calm around her.  I could sleep.

I woke up near the end of the movie.  They were leaving within the hour and I had to go home soon.  I went to the bathroom to change.  Without the pacifier, I hadn’t wet the bed, or in this instance, the diaper.  I threw it away inconspicuously just in case her mother wasn’t aware I was wearing one.

They took me home and the girl I had come to love kissed me goodbye.  I slept that night with my pacifier and a diaper.  She told me to.

I woke up wet the next morning.  It was strange.  I felt small.

Annotations by:
Sophie

[Cute_Kitten]

That girl and her mom sound like they were chill, accepting peops and just what you needed at the time. It's great you could open yourself up and be vulnerable with them- that takes a lot of trust in another person.