At the beginning of our next appointment with Dr. Kroll, Chris and I took our same chairs. Chris had been looking at me strangely for a few days, despite my efforts to be Blanche. She knew something was off.
Dr. Kroll reviewed the test results with us, all of which continued to point to some sort of trauma that had created two distinct personalities within my mind. She waited for me to comment. What could I say? That she was full of crap? That she was spot-on, as they liked to say around here? Should I tell her I believed in my friendship with Harriet, in my connection to the greatest queen England would ever know?
“Every single event in our lives has the potential to upset our brain chemistry, and thus change all subsequent events. But that elasticity is a good thing. We can restore our brains through exercise, sleep, diet, friends, action, and setting goals. So that’s what I want you to do. Start setting goals for yourself.”
I was about to reply without enthusiasm, then remembered I was impersonating Blanche. This was doing a real number on my mind—impersonating one of my multiple personalities. I leaned forward. “Okay, whatever. But what will help keep me just as I am now?” I glanced at Chris, who nodded encouragingly.
Dr. Kroll settled back in her chair. “There are many options. The antidepressants citalopram, fluoxetine, and sertraline are all possibilities. These drugs help reduce depression in some dissociative identity disorder patients.”
“I’m not depressed. I’m doing great. I’ve made huge strides on the novel I’m writing.”
Chris lightly tapped my knee with her foot. “You didn’t tell me you’ve written more. When may I read it?”
I forced a cheesy grin. “Soon.”
“There are also anxiety drugs that can help as you work through this, and in rare cases some doctors prescribe stimulants to fight depression.”
I shook my head. “Once again, not depressed. What about a drug that suppresses one of the personalities? That’s what we’re looking for.”
When Chris reached over and squeezed my hand, it took every bit of restraint I had not to scream. Fury raged like a hurricane through my veins.
Dr. Kroll shook her head. “I’m afraid there isn’t such a magic drug. One option is ECT, or electroconvulsive therapy. While it would probably work, I’d like to keep that as a last resort. Our best bet for success is psychotherapy. You and I will meet twice a week and talk this out until we can identify and resolve the trauma that caused this split.”
Chris shook her head. “No, we need to control it more than that. With talk therapy, how can you know which personality will end up being the dominant one? I like this ECT option.”
My jaw clenched. For Chris, keeping Blanche was worth the risk of frying my brain.
The look in Dr. Kroll’s eye warmed my heart. She was beginning to see the problem. “Are you saying you both prefer one of Jamie’s personalities over the other?”
“Yes,” I said before Chris could speak up and break my heart yet again. “I’m Blanche, and I love Chris very much. Chris prefers me to Jamie.” Chris nodded vigorously. “So I’d like to ensure that I remain the dominant personality.”
“But don’t you see that both you and Jamie can have Chris? Both of you are part of Jamie. It doesn’t have to be this either/or proposition. With therapy we’ll figure out why you’ve split yourself in two. What part of yourself as Jamie didn’t you like? What was missing? You might have created Blanche to fill in that missing piece.”
Oh, yeah, that was missing from my life—a destructive, vindictive bitch who only thought of herself.
Dr. Kroll turned to Chris. “Wouldn’t you like to have a whole person to love? Aren’t there parts of Jamie you miss in Blanche?”
“Not really,” she said.
Dr. Kroll scribbled something in her notebook. I could imagine the words: spouse of patient wishes patient were different person, thereby causing the trauma that created the split.
My emotions flatlined. The puzzle pieces did fit together alarmingly well. Chris had dropped the bomb about me not being ambitious enough for her, so I had created Blanche as a result.
Chris and I didn’t speak on the walk home, but once we were inside the flat, the door locked and bolted behind us, Chris slid her arms around my waist and kissed me. “Blanche, I need you so much.”
I leaned back, forcing myself to meet her eyes while I fingered a lock of her hair. “I know we’ve talked about this before, but sometimes it confuses me. What is it about Jamie that you don’t like?”
Stupid of me to ask, of course. Why not just cut myself in a thousand places and pour lemon juice over the cuts?
Chris nuzzled my neck. “She used to have an edge, but she’s gone all soft. She’s too comfortable with her life, with her art, with me. Jamie’s nice, but I’m tired of nice. Edginess makes me feel alive, makes me feel as if I can accomplish anything.” She nipped playfully at my ear, and something snapped inside me.
I stepped back. “How’s this for edgy? I’m Jamie. I’ve been Jamie since that night the car backfired and you thought it was thunder. No matter who wins the battle for my body, me or Blanche, you and I are done.”
I grabbed my keys and stomped from the flat. Shaking badly, I must have looked drunk as I weaved down the street and up into my studio. I engaged the deadbolt so Chris couldn’t enter. I jammed in my earbuds and turned Joan Jett up to ear-shattering, then ripped off everything on the studio wall, most of it gone already thanks to Blanche. Then with black and deep red and garish blue and shocking green, I began to paint Whitehall Palace on the wall. The paint splashed and dripped, but no matter. Fury held me in her grip, so I had no choice but to let her paint.