Pieces of Me, page 16
“No!” That’s Kaz’s voice that comes out, not mine. She’s up front and center. I can feel her—almost like she’s sitting right next to me, but in my head. She doesn’t try to take over, though. She’s afraid. Huh. “No, that’s not it.”
Her thumb strokes the back of my hand. God, it’s nice to be touched. “Then, what?”
“I’ve been diagnosed with dissociative identity disorder. I don’t know if you know what that is—”
“Dissociative identity disorder?” Nisha echoes, jerking back. She pulls her hand out of mine. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
I shake my head. “You have no idea how much I wish I was.”
“That shit’s not real.”
I’m a little surprised at the vehemence of her tone. “Yeah, it is.”
She scowls. “Are you making this up to get out of seeing me?”
I stare at her. “No offense, but I wouldn’t do something like this just to avoid someone. I’m telling the truth. That’s why I’m in here. That’s why I hurt myself.” It’s easier to take the blame than try to explain that Scratch was the one with the blade.
Nisha looks at me in disbelief and disgust. “Is your name even Kaz?”
I think of Jess that morning at the apartment, looking at me the same way. She felt duped, betrayed, like I bet Nisha feels. “My name is Dylan, but Kaz is inside me. She’s part of me. She likes you. She really does.”
“Right.” She backs up. “I don’t have time for this. You wanna play head games, pick someone else.”
“I’m not playing.”
“No? ’Cause it sounds like you want to keep me on the line for whenever you feel bi-curious. I’m not interested in being a booty call for someone who would lie to hide who she is.”
“I’m not lying!” I hold out my bandaged wrists. “Does this look like some kind of joke to you? Please, will you sit down? Let me explain.” I don’t know why I care so much that she understands, but I think it’s because Kaz is so close I’m no longer sure what’s me and what’s her. It’s like layers in Photoshop.
“I don’t want to sit. And I really don’t want to listen to any more of this.” Her features harden. “I took the train here, you know that? I took time out of my schedule. I had to make an effort to come to you, and for what? To get made a fool of.”
“I didn’t know you were coming,” I argue. “I didn’t even know Kaz called you. If I had, I would have called you back myself and explained everything. I’m not telling you this to pull something over on you. I’m telling you because you deserve to know the truth.”
“You’re messed up,” she says, shaking her head. “Really messed up. I’m sorry, but I … I can’t do this. I won’t. Take care of yourself, Kaz—Dylan. Whatever the fuck your name is.”
I watch her walk out. Inside me, Kaz’s pain is sharp and deep. To be honest, I’m hurt, too. I’ve never had someone look at me like I was evil.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. She hurts so bad and there’s nothing I can do to help her. All the pain she’s taken away from me over the years and I can’t even spare her this.
Kaz doesn’t reply, but I feel her retreat deeper inside. Her withdrawal leaves an emptiness behind that is almost painful.
I don’t understand. Nisha seemed like someone who would understand. Someone who would sympathize and support. Maybe she has her own trauma and that’s why she can’t handle this. Maybe she really did think I was lying. Or maybe she just didn’t want to deal. I can understand that. But if she liked Kaz as much as she seemed to, wasn’t that worth at least a conversation?
I lie back against the pillows and close my eyes with a sigh. I have a headache and I’m emotionally drained. I need a nap.
The next time I talk to Connor I need to thank him for giving a damn, because I’m starting to realize just how fucking rare that is.
* * *
DALI
Our house has always been the way it is. The decor has changed, and the floor plans sometimes shift and morph, but it’s always been exactly what each of us needs it to be. It’s our world. It’s always been easier for those of us on the inside to communicate with each other than it has been for us to communicate with Dylan, but there’s a consent element. We have to want to communicate with each other.
Kaz, Lannie, Alyss, and myself have always had fairly decent lines of communication. I suppose I should add Scratch to that as well. But Alyss can reach the kids when the rest of us can’t, and Scratch has access to the basement where Lannie can’t go. There are rules on the inside, even for those of us who have been around since the beginning.
I’ve always been the den mother. I know where everyone is, and I know all their names. I know of alters buried so deep they might never be found, and I know it’s for the best if they’re not. I can’t talk to all of them, not even I can do that, but I know they’re there. And if I pay very close attention, I know what they’re feeling. I missed that with Scratch the night she tried to murder us. I won’t miss it again.
I stop writing in the journal and retreat into our inner world. I’m more comfortable on the inside these days. When the body was younger, I used to front more to keep us away from dangerous situations, but that changed over the years. Now, most of my time is spent making sure everyone else is okay, not just Dylan. And right now, there’s someone I need to check up on.
It’s dim in the room when I open the door, only a little daylight coming in through the curtains. She’s sitting on the floor in the corner, knees drawn up to her chest. It’s not uncommon for her to withdraw, but this feels different than just moodiness.
“Are you okay?” I ask, hesitantly. If she hadn’t wanted me to come in, the door would have been locked, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t in a state.
Kaz raises her head. I can just barely see her tearstained face. “Do I look okay?”
I wince at the harshness of her tone, but don’t back down. “No, but I’ve seen you look worse.”
She laughs and I’m relieved. Kaz is the most mercurial of us, and she’s never taken rejection well. It hasn’t happened often, but the few times it has were … difficult. If she withdraws, we all feel it. She’s a huge part of our community. Our “system” as Dylan is beginning to think of us. If one of us can’t do our job, the others have to step in. It causes disruptions, but it can be done. But with Dylan struggling in her position as public face, we can’t afford to have Kaz struggle. Lannie and I can’t cover for both of them. Not now. And with the damage Scratch has already done, we can’t risk Kaz harming the body as well, which she’s been known to do when things get dark.
Dylan’s birthday is rapidly approaching and a wave of change is coming with it. I feel it. We all do. I’m not sure we are entirely aware of what it means, but we know something is about to happen. Otherwise there wouldn’t be this upheaval. I don’t know if we let her become aware of us, or if she became aware on her own. I don’t know if what’s happening is the right thing, but it’s happening regardless. I’m just trying to hold everyone together so we can survive what’s coming.
The house has undergone some renovations lately. Walls are coming down, and with that, memories are resurfacing. Kaz has been the one to deal with some of the more … unpleasant ones.
“Do you want to talk?” I ask.
Kaz shakes her head. “Nothing to talk about. The girl I like can’t handle that we’re multiple, and Dylan’s too much of homophobe to go along with me.”
So she’s in one of her “it’s not me, it’s everyone else” moods.
“Don’t blame Dylan,” I tell her. “She tried to explain. Not everyone’s as open as you are when it comes to attraction, sweetie.” Honestly, I don’t know if Kaz has ever actually cared about any of the people she’s had sexual relationships with. Some of them have been pleasing to her, I suppose, and others not so much. Her idea of keeping Dylan from getting assaulted or hurt has been to take on the aggressor role to maintain control.
“You’re right,” Kaz allows with a sigh. “I’m just pissed ’cause that boy of hers likes her enough to give us all a chance. He won’t last, but at least he’s willing.”
“You don’t know that. He seems very nice.”
“He hasn’t met me yet.”
“You are not going to sabotage Dylan’s relationship out of pettiness.”
She looks offended that I’d even suggest it. “I’m not sabotaging anything. I don’t have to. He’s not going to have the balls to deal with us. If I don’t make him run, Scratch will.”
I frown, because there’s a lot of possibility in her words. “I’m going to hold out hope.”
“You always do.”
I lean against the wall. “I’m worried about us, Kaz.”
She frowns as she rises to her feet. “Why?”
“Something’s coming. I know you feel it. Alyss says the little ones are scared and anxious all the time. I hear noises in the basement. Lannie is afraid Scratch will try something again.”
“What are you afraid of, dilly-Dali?”
I smile at the pet name. “I’m afraid Dylan is going to break and one of us will have to take her in.” It happened once, a few years ago. Remmie couldn’t handle things anymore. Next thing we knew, she was gone and so was Tuesday, and in their place was Alyss—a little bit of them both, but different.
Kaz shudders. “I’m not taking her on.”
“We need to help her so it doesn’t happen.” To be honest, I don’t know if any of us have the power to stop it. Each of us is a person in her own right, but we’re governed by Dylan’s mind. I don’t know what would happen to us if she wasn’t able to host anymore. She’s always been the host.
“Have you talked to the old bitch?”
I grimace. “You shouldn’t call her that.”
Kaz shrugs. “It fits. Have you talked to her?”
“No.” I sigh. “I should, I suppose.” I don’t like talking to Scratch, though. She’s always so angry. Bitter.
“You’re the only one of us she respects. Except for Alyss, maybe.”
I tap my tongue against the back of my teeth. “She’s afraid of Alyss, a fact for which I am very happy.”
“You talk like an English teacher sometimes, Dal.”
She’s teasing me, which is a sign that she’s not completely morose over this heartbreak. “Why don’t you come sit on the veranda with me? It’s too gloomy in here.”
I expect her to turn me down, but she nods. “Don’t tell anyone else about this, okay?”
“Of course not.” I put my arm around her shoulders as we leave the room. I am the keeper of secrets—I never tell anyone what I’m not supposed to. That’s what has me so afraid. If all of the walls come down and Dylan remembers, there won’t be any secrets anymore.
And no one will need me at all.
* * *
DYLAN
Dr. Zhao comes by to talk about treatment once I get out of here. My diagnosis of dissociative identity disorder is official.
I’m told I’m lucky that we’ve gotten a diagnosis because people with DID often go years in the mental health system before getting the proper help.
I don’t feel lucky. There’s a part of me that wishes it had been a tumor, but I’m smart enough not to say that out loud to anyone who knows and loves me. I did say it to Dr. Zhao, though. She’s hopeful I’ll change my mind once we begin treatment.
There aren’t meds you can take for DID, but there are things you can take to help offset other issues, so I’m going to be sticking with the pills that help my BPD and anxiety. The DID stuff is going to be dealt with through therapy. I’m going to start off seeing Dr. Zhao a couple of times a week, continue with my reading and journaling, and once a month we’ll meet with Dr. Mueller. We’re going to do this for a few months and then reevaluate.
“How’s Kaz?” she asks.
So Kaz was “fronting” the last time Dr. Zhao came by. I was right. The realization is comforting.
“I’m not sure. A girl she liked didn’t take hearing about the DID all that well.”
“Kaz told her?”
“I did. Kaz was … co-conscious with me.” Look at me, learning the lingo. “I think she knew we had to be honest about it.”
“Honesty will save a lot of confusion, but the goal of the disorder is to protect itself and you, so don’t be surprised if not everyone in your system agrees with being completely truthful.”
“The idea of a lesbian relationship freaked me out.” There, I admitted it. “Maybe she picked up on that.”
Dr. Zhao smiles slightly, in that sympathetic way of hers. “I can understand that. May I ask what you said to the girl?”
“I told her that I wasn’t Kaz, that I … we have DID and how Kaz really likes her. She accused me of being bi-curious and basically said we were too messed up for her.”
The doctor looks impressed with me. “So, even though you are not bisexual, you took Kaz’s feelings into consideration, that’s good.”
“I could feel how much she liked this girl. She still likes her, and I know how hurt she is. I couldn’t ignore that.”
“Dylan, I want you to know how wonderful it is that communication between the two of you is so open already. That bodes very well for our work going forward. Do you know if Kaz holds or remembers any of the trauma your system suffered?”
I shake my head.
“That’s fine. We’ll work on that once we’re able to resume our scheduled sessions. Now that we have a diagnosis, I’d like to use a combination of cognitive therapy and something called eye movement desensitization and reprocessing.”
“Okay.” I have no idea what she’s talking about.
“Basically, we’ll identify areas of trauma and use EMDR to begin working on how your system reacts and processes the experiences. The focus will be dealing with past and present trauma, but also setting you up to deal with any future issues as well.”
“So, it will help with flashbacks?”
“That’s the goal. I assume since you asked that you’ve had flashbacks?”
“A couple, yeah. They scare the shit out of me.”
“That’s because your mind hasn’t processed those memories, so it feels like it’s happening in the moment. Do you remember what they are?”
“A man reaching for me. His hands. His breath. He hurts me.” Talking about it brings them back—flashes in my head that make my heart pound and my throat tight. I can see him, shadowy and vague. His hands reach for me, and the fog around him clears a little. “I think he has a tattoo on his arm.”
A sharp pain jabs me in the stomach. I gasp, doubling over in bed.
“It’s okay.” Dr. Zhao is out of her chair. She offers me her hand and I grab it hard. “You’re safe.”
Oh my God, it hurts. I’m sweating and gasping for air. Then, as sudden as it came, it eases and fades away.
I catch my breath and release her poor hand. Dr. Zhao hands me the glass of water beside the bed and I take a sip. “I’m sorry,” I tell her. “I thought my appendix burst or something.”
“Most likely an alter,” she says calmly. “You got too close to remembering, and they were trying to protect you.”
I’ve only met one so far who confuses pain and suffering with protection. Scratch. “It’s a really shitty way of trying to protect me.”
“Yes, well, they sometimes go to extremes, as you are aware.”
The sweat begins to cool on my forehead as my heart rate slows. It’s like nothing ever happened. “Is this going to happen every time I remember something? Because I’ll stay ignorant, thanks.”
“It may. Perhaps we need to assure your system that you don’t necessarily have to remember the trauma in order to begin healing from it.”
“Yeah, let’s do that.” I sigh. “How are they able to do things like make my stomach hurt?”
“They are limited only by your mind. But the more we are able to increase intersystem communication the less they should, hopefully, feel the need to use physical cues.”
“I just want to be normal. Is that possible?”
She smiles again. “Normal is overrated. Let’s use the word ‘balanced’ instead.”
“Seriously?” I slap my hand over my mouth. That wasn’t me. Scratch, maybe, since she’s close? I can’t feel her like I do Lannie and Kaz, but I know she’s around.
Dr. Zhao chuckles. “How about we look at it as getting you to a good place, then? A place where you feel secure, safe, and content with your system?”
“Okay.” Honestly, it’s hard to concentrate on what she’s saying when I feel like Scratch might be lurking. She fucking scares me. I don’t know what she’s going to do. Go away, I think. Back off and leave me alone, you fucking bully.
“Dylan? Are you all right? Are you dissociating?”
I blink and raise my head. “I’m okay. I’m here. Sometimes this stuff makes my head spin. It feels so out of reach and impossible, and I don’t understand a lot of what I’m reading and hearing…” Yeah, it feels pretty defeating.
“Have you tried watching some YouTubers who have DID?” she asks.
“I’ve watched a couple.”
“I’ll give you some suggestions of who to watch—systems who provide verified research in a more accessible way. There are Facebook groups as well, and other social media sites where you can talk to other systems. I would suggest checking some of them out and finding a few you like. It can be very helpful knowing you’re not alone.”
I laugh at her unintentional joke. “Hard to be alone with a houseful of people in your head.”
Her eyes crinkle with laughter. “Yes, I suppose it is.” Her smile fades. “I want to help you, Dylan, but how you progress is going to depend on you. I can’t tell you it’ll be easy, but I can assure you that we’ll advance at your pace. I know it’s overwhelming, but you can have a fulfilling life.”
I nod. She and Dr. Mueller keep telling me the same things in different ways, trying to drive the message home. I can have a meaningful life. Well, yeah. That’s awesome.
But which one of me gets to have it?
