I really wish I could just wrap my daughter in a bubble, and she could be oblivious to all my psychiatric issues (she's 10 now). Poor thing, she wasn't even 3 months old before I started taking her to see my psychiatrist with me. Eventually, she grew to love going there because my pdoc also saw children, so there were always new toys around, but I was glad when my daughter started school, and I was able to stop bringing her to those appointments and having to talk around her. My pdoc was great; if I told her I had something I really wanted to discuss (out of the hearing of my daughter), she would call me at home, so I could talk to her about it on the phone.

It was maybe January of this year when my daughter said, "You take a lot of medicine, Mommy. Why do yo take so much medicine?" I told her I had something called bipolar disorder that could make me really sad or do stupid things like spend too much money. The money part she didn't get; she may be 10 years old, but she is a whiz at math, better, my husband says, than most of the 10th & 11th grade students he teaches physics to. For her, math and money is simple. If you don't have the money, you don't spend it.

Earlier today, when I was cooling off after a walk, I had on just a sports bra & panties. I was sitting up to drink water, and my daughter saw me. She said, "Mommy, why can I see all the bones in your spine?" I told her that I needed to gain weight but didn't go into any detail beyond that. I suppose in another few years, I will talk to her more about eating disorders. The one time I tried, she was aghast and said, "Why would anyone do that to themselves?!" I told her someone had touched me in private places, and it caused me problems, re-iterating the importance of her telling me if she is ever touched inappropriately. In a few years or so, I will show her some of the pictures taken near my low weight. I don't own any photographs of me at my absolute lowest (those were the days before smart phones & digital cameras), but even the 2 or 3 I have near that time period are still very disturbing.

I hate that my daughter is gaining more & more of an awareness of my problems. Well, I knew I'd never be able to hide them from her forever and despite her having tons of sensory issues, she is very, very bright. For the 2nd year in a row, she scored a 100% on the state math assessment test (STAAR), missed one question in reading (and it was a confusing question; they had the exam with the choices online), and scored a 97% in writing. She has never gotten less than an "A" in school, and usually wins a medal in the annual school U.I.L. math Number Sense competition, which is mental math; the contestants can only write down their answers, no work allowed to be written at all. It's a tough competition; I used to compete in that one in high school.

I hope at some point she will understand some, but in the meantime, I feel like she's been dealt an absolute dud as a mother. I don't work because of the BPD, so we have money issues. I don't like driving on busy roads or freeways, so I never take her into downtown Houston into the museum district. They've got some good museums, and there are days with free family admission. Some afternoons, I'm so tired, I have to take a nap. Other times, I'm moody & snappy without a reason. I have trouble keeping house. I hate to cook & rely on a lot of frozen stuff for meals. Sometimes, I just feel like such a failure as a mom It makes me feel awful about myself. I mean, in other countries, war is ongoing. Women and girls don't have the right to go to school or read. People struggle for food, for clean water to drink. People struggle with horrible physical illnesses like cancer. I have none of these problems, but often I can't see through my own issues and appreciate what I do have - a loving husband, a brilliant daughter, a home (for now anyway), family that while they may not be rich will help if need be, a good relationships with both my sisters and my mother.