It’s not the 4th of July anymore, but just a little while ago I screwed up my courage–one more time–and told the son I live with that I’m a multiple. He’d had no clue whatsoever, and took it with his usual laid back attitude.
What this means (in case anyone out there is keeping track) is that I no longer have to hide my DID from those I live with. Well, with the exception of my 3 year old granddaughter; think I’ll hold off on telling her for a bit, even if she is 3 going on 30!
When I finally slide between my sheets tonight, I know I’m going to heave a deep sigh of relief; right now it hasn’t quite hit me that I am, to a certain extent, free to be my (selves) at least here at home, in my little haven from the world. There are two individuals here who care enough about me to not care what label I go by, or how silly I might act at times–they simply want the best for me. I should say 3 individuals, counting the cousin I told just over a week ago.
I can’t fathom what it’ll be like to have this sort of freedom–it seems, I don’t know, luxurious or something. But maybe I’m due a bit of this kind of luxury, after decades of hiding who I am even from myself. Life won’t suddenly become perfect, my loved ones won’t gain insight overnight into my different personalities’ needs and fears, etc. But I just took the Big Daddy of all giant steps, and somewhere way up in Heaven there are angels high-fiving on my behalf. I just know it!!