Dissociation

Day 1

Debbie was a thirty-seven-year-old single woman living in Chelsea, London. She was generally of a pleasant disposition but kept herself to herself. She used to be more adventurous and outgoing but as is life, shit happens!

Sleeping soundly in the one-bed apartment she had been forced to move to after her divorce, she was awoken by worst song she had ever heard, blasting from the speakers of her radio alarm. As with everyone else, if she was woken up in an annoying way, it set her in a foul mood for the rest of the day.

The sudden blast of that awful noise snapped her sharply from the dream she was enjoying, into an instant state and shock. There was something wrong with the alarm clock, electric buttons rather than a wheel controlled the volume, and it always went off at a horrendous level. Struggling to focus her eyes and shuffle over to the other side of the bed, she tried desperately to find the off switch.

She clambered out of bed in her nighty and dragged her feet down the hall to the kitchen where she instantly flicked the switch on the kettle and lit a cigarette. Standing at the counter waiting for the kettle to boil, she began to wonder what the rest of her day would be like. And while pouring her tea, she was startled by the telephone ringing.

Who the hell is that at this time? she muttered.

It was her ex-husband. She picked up the phone, and before she could say anything, he said,  I need to talk to you about something.

Without even thinking about what it could be about, she told him to get lost and slammed the phone down, then continued trying to prepare herself for the day ahead.

She loved her job, however her profession was a stressful one. She was a social worker, working to help mental health sufferers. It was her job to evaluate whether her clients were being properly looked after, or if they would be better off in care. Sometimes it could be a thankless job. But it was one she took seriously and believed in strongly, so she enjoyed her work.

Debbie had just finished her second cup of tea and her third cigarette. She was now awake and alert enough to finally go and get ready for the day. She went to the bathroom, got in the shower and began thinking about her appointments while washing her hair and wishing it was thicker so that it looked more like the woman from the television commercial.

While shampooing, she began wondering what he’d wanted on the phone.

I bet they’ve split up, she said smiling.

An hour later she had been washed and dressed, had dried her hair, and was preparing to walk out the front door.

She was a smart woman and always tried to look her best. She didn’t go for the tight pulled back hairstyles, or anything like that. But she always looked nice, if a little casual for someone in her line of work. She thought that dressing smart casual would make her seem more approachable to the people she visited, and it did really.

Waiting for the bus she felt her pocket vibrating, and as she reached for her phone she realised that this was the start of her workday. So with a sigh, she pressed answer and said, hello.

Debb’s, where the hell are you? You’re late! she heard.

She thought for a moment and looked at the time on her watch.

She said, I’m not late!

Then she was reminded that the clocks had gone forward the night before.

Debbie said, Oh my g... I completely forgot to put them forward, I’m so sorry I will be there as soon as possible.

She hung up the phone and stuffed it quickly back in her pocket, then threw her hand in the air to hail a taxi. As she opened the door, she got into the cab and told the driver where to go as she pulled her phone from her pocket, and called the office back.

Hi, it's me. I’m so sorry I didn’t put the clock forward so I got up late. I’m on my way in now, can you re-schedule my appointments and push them back an hour please?

Yeah, no problem. You better get here fast though. Mr. Walden is going off his nut! said Mo.

Maureen was her friend and colleague, they would go out for drinks every now and again, and covered for each other in work. They’d only become friends when her divorce had happened because Maureen had been through the same thing. And the traumatic time for Debbie had been made easier by their friendship.

Debbie paid the driver, walked quickly into the foyer of her office building and repeatedly pressed the button to the elevator until the doors opened. Struggling to catch her breath on the short ride up, and trying to come up with a good excuse, she tried to make herself look less frazzled in the mirror before she reached her floor. As it stopped, Debbie heard that electronic voice say, ‘Sixth floor’, so she hurriedly turned to face the door. She then patted her hair down and tried to shake off her panic while preparing to face the music.

As the doors slid open she instantly caught the eye of the boss, who proceeded quickly toward her. And in an instant, she decided to go for the, ‘play it down’ option. 

He said snappishly, What time do you call this?

Her giggling reply was, I know, I’m sorry, I just didn’t realise that the clocks went forward last night.

Hmm well see that this doesn’t happen again, he said with a scrunched up frown on his small round face.

She got to her office, which thankfully she shared with Maureen, took off her coat, put her bag down and sat at her desk.

So how was last night then? Maureen asked. 

Don’t ask! Debbie replied.

Oh come on, it can’t have been as bad as all that, you were all excited the other day when he asked you out. Did he stay over or...?

Debbie replied to this with a sarcastic stare, and a sharp, No. He wasn’t that bad, it was just wasn’t right if you know what I mean. I think it is just too soon for me to be honest.

I know what you mean, Maureen replied.

So what have I got today? Debbie asked as she got her desk in order, trying swiftly to change the subject.

Well, you’ve got a ten o’clock, which was supposed to be a nine, Maureen chuckled, with a girl named Christina, she’s thirty, suffering from Dissociative Identity Disorder.

Oh yeah I remember, what’s the trouble? Debbie asked.

Well, we just need to be sure that she’s in the best place. Her father, who by the way is the chief Commissioner; keeps her very sheltered, so you just need to do an evaluation and see if she would be better off with you visiting her once a week, said Mo.

Ok, where’s her file, I’ll read it on the train, said Debbie.

With the file in hand, Debbie got up from her desk and got ready to set off to what she thought was a very posh address. She was a little nervous because it wasn’t every day she went to the home of the chief of police to discuss whether he and his wife were taking proper care of their only child. And apparently she wasn’t the only one who was feeling on edge about it. On her way through the bustling office towards the elevator, she caught sight of her boss giving her the eye. And while waiting for the doors to open, she nodded her head at him, and he nodded back.

She waved bye to Maureen as the doors closed, and began reading the file immediately. She knew that the previous officer assigned to the case had gone missing, and was dubious about the rumours that had plagued her office. Trying to shake off the feeling, she walked out of the foyer and onto the street, checking her phone and realising that her ex-husband had called her another couple of times. She shook her head as she put her phone back in her bag, and started walking up to the train station.

After she had bought her ticket, she walked to the platform and took a seat on a bench. She took the file out of her bag and started reading again, trying to familiarise herself with the case until her train pulled up.

When she took her seat and the carriage started to move, she began remembering all the commotion that had happened when her predecessor had disappeared. Nobody had said anything, but she and the rest of her colleagues all thought the same thing. He was the Commissioner after all, and she knew she would have to tread carefully.

So for the rest of the short journey, she read as much as she could from the file and tried to refresh her memory as best she could. She hadn’t wanted this case assigned to her, but her prickly boss, aside from his constant criticisms, actually had faith in her. And she appreciated the opportunity of a step up the ladder.

As the train pulled closer to her stop, Debbie stood up and gathered her things before moving to the doors and waiting to get off. Her bag was vibrating again, and when she checked her phone, she saw that her ex-husband still hadn’t given up. Though with more pressing matters on her mind, Debbie wasn’t going to chance a distraction. So again she cancelled the call, and tried to psych her self up to meet the Commissioner.

As she got to the gate, she stopped and took a good look at the place. It was beautiful, unlike any house she had ever been in before. And the sight of this huge mansion like home made her nerves even worse. It was a huge white building with two thick pillars either side of the entrance, reaching up to the roof. A huge imposing front door, with a large shiny golden handle. It reminded her of an American well to do family home, all it needed was a fountain in the centre of the driveway and it could easily have housed any self-respecting movie star.

As she slowly walked up the long driveway to the door, she began thinking about the type of people who would live in a house like this. They obviously had money and they weren’t shy about spending it to get what they wanted. And in a home like this, they clearly wanted to show off how successful they were. So by the time she pressed the bell, she’d already made her mind up as to what kind of people she was about to meet.

The door opened and a dainty, shy looking older woman said, Hello.

Hello I’m Debbie Rowland, I’m from the...

Oh yes, the dainty lady interrupted, Please come on in.

Thank you, Debbie said.

I’m Mrs. Kennedy-Walker, but please, just call me Maggie. My husband will be down shortly, he’s just taking a call from his office. He had to take the morning off you see.

I know I’m so sorry for being late, I forgot to set my clocks forward, Debbie giggled.

Not to worry my love, these things are sent to try us, Maggie said.

You have a beautiful home, Debbie remarked.

Thank you dear, we’ve lived here for about fifteen years, we moved here when George was made Chief of police. Ah, here he is.

Debbie turned to the staircase and saw a stern looking taller gentleman walking down toward her. He had an intimidating stance about him, and there was something that gave her a feeling, as though she was stood in front of a headmaster at school after doing something wrong.

She pulled her self together and said, Hello, I’m....

I know who you are. You’re the one who thinks that were not looking after our daughter properly! He said.

Please George, don’t embarrass me, she’s only here doing her job, Maggie said.

And Debbie responded, I know this must seem like an intrusion Sir, but really I am only here because I want the same thing as you, I just want to make sure that everything that can be done for your daughter, is being done. Nobody has expressed any real concern as to your ability, but it’s my job to keep tabs really. That’s all.

His expression softened, and he said, I’m sorry, it's just frustrating, as a father you want to be the one who protects and takes care of the family, and having someone turn up to look over your shoulder is...

I understand that Sir, I’ve had a lot of experience in cases like this, and your feeling are completely normal. I promise I’ll discuss everything with you and make sure you are completely informed and on board with any suggestions I may have, she said. 

Ok, come through to the lounge and we can talk about what we can do to help. After you my dear, He said to his wife.

Debbie was shown into a magnificent room, antique golden regal looking wall tables, fine art on the wall, immaculately cleaned cream carpet and three huge luxurious sofas surrounding an enormous fireplace.

What a beautiful room, she exclaimed.

As she gazed up at the high ceilings, taking in all the details, she noticed hand painted cornice, a beautiful ceiling rose and a chandelier like light fitting. Her eyes met with the obviously nervous couple and she realised that this was no time to be talking about interior design.

Clearing her throat and getting her papers out of her bag and said, Well, let’s get to it shall we? Don’t worry, just part of the whole rigmarole, nothing to be concerned about. Is your daughter here or?

Yes she’s in the other room watching her programmes, said Maggie, Would you like to see her now?

Debbie said, No it’s ok, we’ll get these questions over with first, then I can meet her. Well D.I.D is an extremely complicated condition, and one that can vary widely, so it’s hard to just pinpoint what kind of care plan would be best. It really does differ from person to person and that’s why I’m here, to determine whether she would benefit from a difference in her care plan. This visit is not a reflection on either of you, we just have to work out if everything that could be done for Christina; is being done. Can you tell me a little bit about her, starting with when she was diagnosed? I need you to tell me about each of her personalities as well, and if there’s anything I could say that would trigger an episode, you know, just what the specifics of her condition are.

The couple looked at each other, and Maggie said, Well when she was...

Her husband quickly interrupted her and said, We don’t really know why she has this condition to be honest. She was around eight years old when we noticed a change.

He looked at his wife as she sat beside him with her eyes looking down at the floor.  Her demeanour had changed; Debbie noticed.

George continued, She was around eight years old when we noticed a change, so we took her to the Doctor, and he diagnosed her, but a real reason was never actually determined. She’s a placid girl, always has been, and I think we’ve done everything we can to ensure that her life is a good one.

Maggie intervened, As for her other personalities...

Four, George said sharply, All of them relatively calm, though sometimes an episode will occur. We spoke to the doctor about it, and he prescribed medication for her, to keep her calm.

Ok, now you say, the cause was never known? Who did you see for her initial diagnosis and treatment? Said Debbie.

A friend of mine, now the chief psychiatrist at the hospital. He diagnosed her and did extensive therapy with her. He probably provided the information you have in that file, George said.

I see, and what can you tell me about her alternate personalities? Starting with the more dominant ones, Debbie asked.

George quickly continued, Well, the personality we see most of is Tina. Tina is Christina at the age of seven, she was always a happy smiling child with not a care in the world.

It's not unusual for people to go to a happy place, it's just a way of tricking the brain into feeling better, she probably felt safe and secure at that age. My concern is what happened at the age of eight. Is there really no explanation as to why this might have happened? said Debbie.

We’ve told you, no. She’s had extensive therapy and no cause was ever determined, George snapped.

I’m sorry I was just trying to get a clearer idea of her condition, Debbie replied apologetically.

The second personality I suppose would be Lizzy. Lizzy is the person who comes out at times when she feels either threatened or uneasy. Lizzy is the protector. She’s the one who appears when Christina feels as though she needs to defend herself, although we haven’t really seen much of her lately to be honest. The third is Timmy, he is an eleven-year-old boy who was her imaginary friend from the time she was five years old. He tells us how he thinks she is feeling. He likes to paint, and he’s just a normal easy-going child I suppose. I think Timmy is who she would have ended up like. The last is Baba. That’s how we call her. She’s a little baby. And when she’s here, we have to treat her as we would a baby. She can’t really do anything for herself, and she loves attention and affection, cuddles, playing ‘I-see’ that sort of thing.

Debbie scribbled down what she was hearing, and said, I see, well is there anything else you can tell me? Is there anything that I might do or say that might trigger an episode? Do all of her personalities know the two of you as parents or?

The only one who doesn’t recognise us as her parents is Lizzy. To her we are just... housemates I suppose, Said Maggie.

I see, and is there anything I shouldn’t say or do? And when you say that Timmy is who she would have ended up like, what do you mean by that? Said Debbie.

The Commissioner looked at his wife and then said, Well, she was always a little bit of a tom-boy as a child, so make of that what you will. She might have just invented him, mightn’t she? Who can say? And as for what not to say or triggering an episode, the medication she’s been prescribed keeps her calm, so there isn’t really anything to worry about. She is lucid, but just feels tired a lot of the time and takes things slower than usual. It helps her relax, and I suppose it’s made things for us a little easier too, George replied.

And her personalities, Are they aware of each other? I mean is there any co-consciousness? Debbie asked, all the while wondering about the medication choice.

Yes apparently so, we sometimes hear her having conversations. It can be a little disturbing at first, but I suppose you’re used to that, George said.

Well, Debbie said, Perhaps it’s time for me to meet her.

Looking cautiously at each other, George and Maggie held each other’s hand and stood up saying, Ok well let’s go find her then.

They led the way out of the opulent living room across the wide white marble tiled reception hall to a set of large dark varnished wooden double doors. And as they opened, yet another wonderful room presented itself. Beautiful panelling on the walls up to the ceiling, gigantic sofa’s surrounding a fireplace, and above was a large flat screen television playing cartoons. The sofa closest to the doors was facing the television above the fire, and just peeking over the top of the sofa, Debbie saw the top of a head of dark brown hair.

Walking around the couch, Debbie saw a girl. Well... she thought of her as a girl, even though she was thirty years old. She seemed just like a child, curled up on a huge couch watching cartoons, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt.

Hello there, my names Debbie, what’s yours? she said.

A little face looked up at her and said, Timmy.

Debbie’s come to talk to you, is that alright, I’ll just turn your cartoons down a little, said Maggie.

Debbie sat cautiously at the other end of the sofa facing Christina, with her parents standing behind her as if on guard with worried expressions on both their faces.

So Timmy, what have you been doing today? Debbie said.

As she started talking to Christina, Debbie was taking in every aspect of Timmy’s character. She noticed the body language and facial expression. The way Timmy moved onto his back with his knees bent and his hands clasped together on his stomach. She knew why his parents had been so nervous... it was a strange set-up.

Not much, just watching cartoons and stuff, said Timmy.

Your mummy and daddy tell me that you like drawing pictures, Debbie said.

No... I like to paint pictures, said Timmy.

Oh that sounds good, would it be ok if I had a look at some? Said Debbie.

I’m not sure that Timmy would like that, George said gruffly.

George and Maggie looked at each other with a strange worried expression that got Debbie wondering why they didn’t want her to see Timmy's paintings.

Lizzy told me that I wasn’t supposed to show anyone my paintings, said Timmy. 

Why’s that Timmy? She said.

Christina sat up on the sofa quickly. Her back straightened, her legs crossed at the ankle and her facial expression was not that of a child anymore. Debbie thought that Christina had now a look of a mother defending her child’s actions to a teacher after a school ground fight with a bully.

Because I said so! That’s why, she said.

Debbie knew what was happening. She now knew that she was no longer talking with Timmy, but with Lizzy.

Thinking quickly, Debbie said, You must be Lizzy; I’m Debbie it’s nice to meet you. Would you mind if I talked to you for a while.

I suppose not, she replied.

Then Debbie said, Ok can I just ask you your name and your age?

My name is Lizzy, I’m thirty, she said.

Debbie wrote this down in her notes and Lizzy said, What are you writing that down for?