Alternative Therapies - Chapter 16

I was abruptly torn from my dreams when I heard the familiar creaking of a door. Panic surged through me as I opened my eyes just to see my mother stepping through the doorway. Shit, this couldn't be happening. Against my intentions, I had fallen asleep, and it took me less than a fraction of a second to realize the consequence of that.

After weeks in diapers, I had almost forgotten how disgusting it felt to wake up in a puddle of urine. Unlike the diaper, which absorbed any liquid like a thirsty sponge, the mattress seemed to refuse to soak up even a drop of the liquid that had escaped from me.

I barely dared to breathe as my mother approached me. What should I do now? How in the world could I hide what had happened? "Good morning, sweetheart," my mother whispered as she reached my bedside and bent over me to give me a gentle kiss on the forehead.

With every fiber of my being, I tried to hide any hint that something was wrong. I put on a smile that felt so forced my facial muscles almost hurt. "Good morning," I replied. Despite my attempt to sound cheerful, my voice came out so strained and shaky that I was sure my mother would become suspicious. To my surprise, my poor act fooled her, and she moved on to the closet, unaware of the secret lurking under my blanket.

I briefly sighed with relief, only to realize a moment later that nothing about my situation had changed. My bed was still wet and my diaper was still under my pillow instead of around my waist where it belonged. I couldn't understand why I had put it under the pillow in the first place. One thing was clear, the diaper, wet or dry, had to be in its right place before my mother came back to change me.

With a racing heart, I patiently waited for the perfect moment, like a little smuggler, to move the diaper to its rightful place. As my mother leaned into the closet to select my sister's outfit for the day, I seized my chance. Swiftly pulling back the blanket, I created a concealed pathway to the pillow, through which I sneaked the diaper beneath my covers without my mother noticing. Now, all I needed to do was lower my pajama pants a bit, secure the diaper around my waist, and put on my most innocent face when the "accident" was discovered. I could even insinuate that perhaps my mother hadn't been meticulous enough when putting on my diaper. The prospect of potentially pinning the entire fiasco on her brought a smirk to my face.

However, things didn't go as planned. Just as I reached for the waistband of my pajamas to pull them down, my mother, with a bundle of clothes in her hands, turned away from the wardrobe and headed towards our beds. I immediately let go of my pants, afraid she might notice something. Frozen, I had to watch as she placed the bundle of clothes next to my sister's bed, told her it was time to wake up, and then stand by my bed in the next instant. "Come on, Emily, it's time for you to get up too," she said lovingly.

I didn't react. My mind was racing, desperately searching for a way out. But I found no solution. "Well, someone seems too tired to get up," she joked, as my only response had been to stare at her open-mouthed, and gently lifted me out of the bed. But the moment she placed me on her hip, her smile froze. I could pinpoint the exact moment when the wetness from my crotch reached her skin just by looking at her face. "Oh no, Emily, I think your diaper has leaked," she sighed. She quickly carried me to the changing table, pulled down my pajama pants, only to find out that I wasn't wearing a diaper that could've leaked. Her face darkened instantly. "Where's your diaper, Emily?" she asked sternly. I was screwed.

"Under my blanket," I mumbled guiltily. With sparkling eyes and tight lips, my mother marched over to my bed, pulled back the covers with a decisive gesture, and revealed the damp mattress beneath. "The bed is soaking wet! What on earth possessed you to take off your diaper?" she hissed, her voice a mix of horror and anger. Ok, she was mad, and I completely understood why she was.

However, I believed she would understand better if she knew the reasoning behind my actions. "I... I wanted to prove I could manage without the diaper. That I... didn’t truly need it. That... perhaps the diaper is the actual reason for my bedwetting," I began to stammer. The plan, which had seemed so logical in my head, now appeared utterly foolish even to me. Everything had made so much more sense the night before. What made me suspect that I might have been subconsciously conditioned to rely on the diaper? I needed to explain this further to help her see my point of view. But before I could clarify my intentions, she interrupted me sharply. "A compelling demonstration, truly. At least the diaper stayed dry," she remarked with biting sarcasm, retrieving it from the mattress. Couldn't she just let me finish for once?

"I thought," I began, making a second attempt to explain my intention behind everything, but she immediately cut me off again. "Let me guess, you thought the diapers get wet on their own, not because of you?“ she mocked. I took a deep breath and tried again, "Mum, I just thought..." – "...that the monsters under your bed are to blame for your little mishaps and they'd leave you be once you're no longer wearing a diaper?" she interjected, a sarcastic smile playing on her lips. Desperately, I made one attempt after another to explain my original idea to her. Yet, with every new effort, she interrupted me. I tried to maintain my composure, but her taunting remarks were driving me closer and closer to the edge. "I was just hoping that..." I started once more, but she was once again ahead of me: "...your mattress finally gets the pleasure of a shower?"

It felt as if an inner dam within me was breaking. The relentless frustration, the perpetual sting from her biting remarks—it all came crashing down. "I don’t want to wear diapers anymore!" I exclaimed, voice shaking as I fought back tears. "I don’t need them! I’m mature enough to sleep without! I want to wear regular underwear, like Sophie does! I want the privilege of staying up later, just like her! I’m no longer a baby!" My fists slammed against the changing table in raw emotion, and the tears I’d staunchly held back now flowed freely. Although I knew my outburst might paint me as nothing more than a defiant child in a tantrum, I simply couldn't contain myself any longer.

Long-suppressed feelings bubbled up inside of me. Every emotion I had stifled for weeks now demanded to be released. I was ready to scream my state of mind at her if it was the only way she would listen. Yet before I could even utter a sound, my mother unexpectedly shoved something into my mouth. A rubbery object suddenly filled my entire oral cavity, rendering me unable to articulate a single coherent word. Instinctively, I tried to expel the intrusive item, but she held it firmly in place, making it impossible for me to spit it out.

"That's enough, Emily! I don't want to hear another word out of you today! And don't you dare take that pacifier out of your mouth," she said, her voice so sharp that any hint of resistance in me was immediately crushed.

The plastic felt cold on my lips, and the rubber inside was soft yet always noticeable. Every time my tongue moved, it brushed against the pacifier. Its clean, new taste told me one thing: my mother hadn't given me one of Sophie's old ones. It was likely one of the unused pacifiers bought for Sophie before my mother got her to stop using them.

Upset and without another word, my mother began to take off my pajamas. Every movement betrayed her frustration. She half-heartedly wiped me down with a wet wipe, seemingly uncaring that I was still damp when she put a fresh diaper on me.

Before I could even grasp what was happening, my mother, with a determination that nearly startled me, gripped me under my arms and lifted me off the changing table. The soft material of the diaper was the only thing covering my skin as she placed me on Sophie's small wooden chair in the corner. The chair's legs scraped gently against the floor as she turned it to face the bare wall. She then leaned in close, our faces just inches apart. Her eyes still blazed with anger as she spoke to me in a stern voice. "Emily," she began, "you will sit here, facing this wall. You won't move an inch or make a sound until I've stripped your bed and cleaned everything up. And while I'm doing that, you'll think long and hard about what you've done and how you've behaved!"

Her words echoed in my ears as she straightened up and began to strip my wet bed. Every fiber of my being felt weighed down with overwhelming guilt. I felt so incredibly foolish. Why had I taken off my diaper? What was I thinking? I didn't want to cause my mother any trouble, I just wanted to finally get dry.

Tears welled up in my eyes and slowly, inexorably, dripped one by one onto my lap. I tried to stifle the rising sobs, but it was futile. Instinctively, without even realizing what I was doing, I began to suck on the pacifier that was still trapped between my lips. When I became aware of what I was doing, my initial instinct was to stop immediately, but I noticed that the familiar silicone piece in my mouth gave me at least a small sense of comfort and security. And so, I distracted myself from my guilt with my pacifier until another, more pressing sensation took hold. A sensation that I couldn't ignore by sucking on my pacifier, no matter how hard I tried.

Panic surged as I recognized the unmistakable need to pee. But no matter how desperately I needed to use the potty, after what had transpired, I simply didn't have the courage to ask her to get me on it. Resigned, I finally gave in when I realized that I could not avoid what was about to happen and felt the diaper that had just been put on me fill with an uncomfortable warmth.

Time felt interminable as I sat on the hard child's chair, the dampness of the diaper pressing against me, my eyes unwaveringly fixed on the wall. The noises my mother made as she stripped the bed and cleaned everything became a tormenting background melody to my own shame. The soft rustling of the bed linens, the scrubbing of the sponge on the mattress, and her occasional frustrated sigh all echoed in my ears, intensifying the guilt I felt inside.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, with Sophie having already dressed and brushed her teeth, I heard my mother's footsteps approaching. My heartbeat quickened as I saw the pastel baby-pink dress she held in her hands. Embellished with tiny teddy bears, pacifiers, and baby bottles, this dress appeared even more infantile than anything I'd worn before. It felt as though she chose this particular dress to highlight just how immaturely I had acted.

My mother began to pull the dress over me, and for a fleeting moment, I felt relief thinking she hadn't noticed my wet diaper. But just as she slid the fabric over my hips, she froze. Her hand brushed against the damp diaper, and her expression darkened. "One would think you're old enough to say when you need the potty," she said, shaking her head. "Thinks she doesn't need a diaper, and then this..."

Without another word, she gently but firmly lifted me onto the changing table and changed my diaper with the same practiced roughness she had shown earlier. Once the fresh diaper was snugly in place around my hips, she set me back on the floor. My feet had barely touched the floor when my gaze was involuntarily drawn to the large mirror on the opposite wall.

I rubbed my eyes repeatedly to ensure that the reflection truly showed what I was seeing. The baby-pink dress I was wearing ended much too short, unmistakably revealing the diaper beneath. It didn't help that the pacifier, which I had completely forgotten about in all the commotion, still rested between my lips. My face, tear-streaked and flushed, completed the childish look. I couldn't recall ever looking so babyish during my entire therapy.

The fatigue evident in my eyes showed just how much the previous night and the last hour had taken a toll on me. I had stayed up for what felt like forever, all in vain. I didn't think it was possible, but I was really relieved to get a chance to sleep at kindergarten. In fact, I was even looking forward to my nap.

The outcome of my failed attempt to get rid of my diaper was that from now on, I had to go to bed an hour earlier. My mother unequivocally communicated that this arrangement would persist until my behavior reflected someone mature enough to stay up until 7 PM.