A decidedly difficult discussion

Child sweater outside Winchester's Great Hall

Long time readers of this blog will know I’m pretty ‘out’ about being an adult baby – you will also know that I have paranoid schizophrenia and see a psychiatrist every few months due to that. Because I’m relaxed I normally take Toast, my teddy bear, into the sessions ( see here ) and generally cuddle and maul him depending on how stressed I get. My psychiatrist has barely mentioned Toast and we certainly haven’t had much in the way of a ‘little’ conversation. That is about to change.

A few weeks ago I was really suicidal and let some things slip to my psychologist that I don’t usually tell medical professionals. During the session she went off to see my psychiatrist to report on my unfortunate mental state and, presumably, the rather different things I didn’t mean to say. My psychologist has also hinted that me turning up to the sessions in toddler clothes (see the picture below for how I was more moderately dressed for a recent session) and holding/cuddling/appreciating Toast is a bit too much of a ‘safety behaviour’ for what we have been trying to achieve. A lot will get told to my psychiatrist before I see him next. This will make him want to ask me some things.

Child sweater outside Winchester's Great Hall

Consequently, I’m going to have to explain everything . Starting with how sexual abuse at the age of three made me hate myself and not want to grow up and be a bad big person. Then how extreme, random violence directed toward me from the age of four, coupled with living in an emotionally barren and deeply frightening home environment, added to those feelings. It you goes on: my body has revolted me since puberty. Moreover, sex and sexual thoughts are seriously disturbing, hateful and alien to me.

Of course, the way I have battled these demons, starting at the age of three, is to regress and be little. Thus days I love as a three year old much of the time. I wear toddler clothes and nappies almost always, even in public. I, Toast the teddy is with me all the time,  as is (more often than not ) a pacifier. I don’t want to be grown up if I can help it.

Now whilst I don’t want to have paranoid schizophrenia and I’m far from ecstatic about the events that shaped my personality, I’m generally happy with who I am. I really like being a toddler as part of my normal life – I’m fine being three and have no problems explaining to people that’s who I am. However,  when one has to explain all that damage, those neuroses and my idiosyncratic way of dealing with it all to a bloody psychiatrist they are… erm… going to have views on how balanced and together one is as a person.

I’m perfectly capable of explaining that being a little is a reasonable, safe and good thing to be that doesn’t interfere with anyone else’s life or impede mine, but what the hell is he going to make of all of that when he comes to consider my ongoing treatment? There’s a big bag of shit associated with my past before I got Ok with being myself, he’s going to look at that and I cannot imagine what conclusions he will draw.

My solace comes from the fact that he’s a great, understanding doctor, of a type I’ve never had before, who has always tried to help. I rather hope he will refer me for some psychodynamic type therapy to help me deal with my ongoing emotional difficulties associated with my appalling childhood. Yet, even though I don’t feel bad about being an adult baby, I still feel that is going to be one hell of an intense conversation to have with my psychiatrist when I see him next. I’ll be majorly glad Toast will be with me for many cuddles and much fondling!

In case you are interested, this is an expanded version of something I published on my new Tumblr page . I’ll generally use it for posting pictures, which will then get copied to my Facebook page and Twitter account . If you don’t follow either of those you might consider dropping by the Tumblr page to keep up with my latest pictures and others that have caught my eye.