My Mother Threw Away My Sex Doll, What Should I do?

Last Friday, my long-awaited package finally arrived - a life size sex doll torso - Stephanie. It was beautifully crafted, and I was genuinely pleased with it. I had even bought lingerie and dress for her, eagerly expecting the moment I would get home after work to dress her up.

However, upon entering the house, I was met with an unexpected sight: my mother had thrown the sex doll away. She accused me of having psychological issues, claiming that buying such an item was wrong. I felt deeply hurt by their actions. In truth, while the initial reason for purchasing the sex doll did stem from a physical desire, I had hesitated for a long time before making the decision. Two significant events in June had led me to finally go through with it: a long-time friend suddenly became distant, and my girlfriend of over two years showed emotional detachment during a walk. The intense feelings of loneliness, repression, and isolation pushed me to seek comfort in the form of this doll.

For me, the sex doll torso represents much more than a physical object—she is a form of emotional solace. Though she doesn't speak or move, her presence is tangible and real. I read to her, fondle her and find peace in her simplicity. Compared to the complexities of human relationships, she offers purity and tranquility.

While I cannot oppose my mother' decision, as she acted out of concern for me, I can't deny the profound sense of loss. It feels like the last shred of emotional comfort has been taken away. I now understand the feelings of students in the past who were into cosplay or Lolita fashion, whose parents destroyed their so-called "eccentric" clothing because they couldn't understand their need for expression. I recognize now that their pain was not unlike mine.

I'm left uncertain about my emotions—whether it's the sorrow of losing something important or the sense of being lost and empty within myself. As an amateur photographer in my late thirties, I used to capture many photos, but recently, my passion has waned. Even familiar faces now feel distant over time. I had envisioned a future where I would dress the doll up and photograph her, making her my personal model. That thought had given me a spark of hope and purpose. Now, that hope is gone.

I don't blame my mother. She acted out of love, even though I wish they had understood me better. Sometimes, the quiet presence of someone or something can be the most precious form of companionship. Perhaps I haven't matured enough yet. What saddens me the most is that I haven't had the chance to take any photos of the doll in the last few days. I never even had the chance to say goodbye to my doll properly—only to hear the news from my mother.

I don't know what the future holds. Is it truly so difficult to find a peaceful place and space for oneself?