Failing my children

I don’t care that I am failing myself, but I am so utterly disappointed in myself that I am failing my children as much as I am.

I have mostly been living in bed for the past 16 months (another, longer story on how that happened). This is my safe place. The place I never want to leave. 

Even when I want to get up and be “normal” and do something in life, the others inside me hold me in place so we don’t leave the bed so we can stay safe.

My children are young, and they see me in bed everyday. Even when I am having a good day and get out, it is exhausting but I use every ounce of energy I have to try to be normal for my kids.

I hate myself when I miss their events because I know I won’t get these moments back to do over. Yet, I stay in bed as if chains hold me here.

“Singletons” the name given to those without Dissociative Identity Disorder, don’t have any concept of why I can’t get out of bed. They don’t understand how the fears or hurts of other parts inside me can greatly influence my behavior and thinking, and sometimes leave me paralyzed. 

Tonight my kids said goodbye to me, their mother who doesn’t get out of bed for unknown reasons, as they joyfully headed off for swim team practice. Another moment missed.

Sadness prevails.

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