I wish I could let myself enjoy this without fear.

At the time of writing, I'll move into my own apartment in the coming days. I won't have roommates, and I'll have plenty of space. And yet I still can't help but feel as though I need to stop liking this.

First of all, I'm scared about how thick the walls between apartments may or may not be. They might not be thick enough to hide the smell, and if the apartment next door smells it, I'll get in trouble. I'm scared that the landlord or whoever will search through the apartment complex's communal dumpster and find the diaper(s), and then I'll get in trouble.

I could talk to my therapist about this. I have talked to her about this, but I always feel guarded. When she asks me why I enjoy it, I can't answer as thoroughly as I think she wants me to. It's just so difficult because I started seeing her when I was a literal child, so talking to her about adult topics feels inappropriate. I know intellectually that she's helped people with far more objectively problematic situations, but that doesn't stop me from feeling like it's too awkward to talk to her about.

I don't think I am a pedophile for liking diapers. However, I'm scared I'll eventually become one if I don't stop liking diapers. There's a reason so many otherwise accepting, kink-friendly people think this is predatory, creepy, or otherwise uniquely unacceptable. Ever since I decided to accept this part of myself last year, I've been a lot more anxious and my mental health has been worse. Maybe it is for the best that I quit, even if I want nothing more right now than to wear and feel happy about it.

To make matters "worse", my mother has even apologized for her words back in June, which I talked about here. She admitted that she hadn't known quite what to say, and understood that in my mind, her words had validated that I must go to extraordinary lengths to hide it from her. I accepted her apology.

To give you an idea how ashamed I was (and still am), I would often barricade my bedroom door with a chair while putting the diaper on. I know it's irrational because if my mom actually knocked on the door when it was barricaded, she would only be more suspicious, and it would only reinforce how ashamed I was that I needed to act so forcefully secretive. And it's pointless anyway because she already knows. I just don't need her to see me in a diaper, even if I've already told her I wear sometimes.

This is pretty rambling at this point, but I'll summarize it like so: I don't think I'll ever be able to decouple the enjoyment of wearing diapers from the anxiety I've come to associated it with. Does it ever get better?