My son is applying for disability so I've been going through old files for medical records for his case. I came across old report cards and reports from child psychologists and school psychologists. Boy, did the memories flood back. All three of us (my daughter, as well) are bipolar, with other stuff thrown in. But we were not diagnosed or even under good care back then. I was either too manic or too depressed to even know how bad it was. I never got them to school on time; forget homework; they didn't even bathe regularly. I don't even remember what we ate. I made good money (I was a programmer) so I don't think they went hungry. I probably fed them pizza and fast food.

We got out of it alive, but I feel awful. There's still a lot of resentment and damage done from those years. I don't think the kids completely forgive me. (We live together under the same roof.) I guess I don't forgive me, either. When a mother says she's doing the best she can, she probably is. Sometimes, that's just not enough.