Jo, the other personalities, and I have resumed our sessions after a vacation that stretched into five weeks. After an initial “re-entry syndrome,” the personalities are as comfortable with me as they were before the break. They seem calm. Aside from a few minutes spent cuddling Missy every session, everyone seems willing to let Renee and me continue piecing together the period of adolescence. Renee and I are looking closely at the months that preceded her evolution into a separate personality.
Renee did find time during her trip to Richmond to do some research. It was predictably difficult for her to pry records loose from the school, hospitals, and doctors, but she is smug that her tenacity paid off. She produced evidence that corroborated an emergency-room visit for head injuries that fit with Missy’s story that, as a preschooler, “That girl Josie got hit against the wall,” and has retrieved records concerning a hospitalization in adolescence.
Renee triumphantly displayed her “proof” of the early-childhood incident. I think that Renee needed this evidence far more than I, but since I literally chortled over the records from her adolescent experience, I empathize with her feeling of validation.
I’ve generally ignored clinicians who deny the existence of MPD or who suggest that the manifestations appear to meet some pathological need on the part of the clinician. But, like Renee with the early hospital records, I feel that I now have proof that I can show anybody who would dare to doubt. Renee brought separate reports from a neurologist and a psychologist that confirm to me that Jo would have been readily diagnosable as a multiple when she was in high school if only her physicians had had an understanding of MPD and thus asked the right questions.
I would be tempted at this point to overcongratulate myself for my perspicacity if I were not so well aware that I came to my information by a different route. Jo trusted me as she had no other clinician. When I met her, she was free of her parents, and she was ready for diagnosis and treatment. I have also become painfully aware that MPD is pretty much dismissed by many in the medical community.
“LET’S PICK UP AFTER ISIS threw herself from the bars,” Lynn said.
About a week after Jo’s fall, Nancy noticed that there was something peculiar about her daughter. She couldn’t quite put her finger on the problem, but there appeared to be a new tension in the teenager’s movement. When Jo walked, she worked to keep herself from staggering. Nancy, watching her daughter butter a piece of bread, noticed that the girl held the knife as if it were heavy and hard to control.
“Joan Frances, what’s wrong with you?” Nancy asked. Certain that her mother would be angry if she was sick, Joan Frances answered, “Nothing. I’m fine.”
“Well, then,” Nancy pursued, “why are you having so much trouble with that knife?”
Joan Frances glanced down at her hands. They looked strange to her, like hands that belonged to a puppet on a string; she felt as though she were controlling them from a great distance. “I don’t know,” Joan Frances finally said.
“I want you to stand up,” Nancy said, “and put your feet together.”
Joan Frances rose and struggled to get her balance. She found that she had to hold on to the wall or the counter for support.
“Are you feeling OK?” Nancy asked. This time, Joan Frances considered the question. “I do have a headache.” The constant pounding behind her right temple had become so much a part of her that she hadn’t thought to mention it before. “I think you should stay home from school today,” Nancy said. “I want you to come to the office this afternoon and see Dr. Roger.”
Joan Frances agreed, as usual, to do as her mother asked, but it was Jo who was pleased to have the day off. She was happy alone in the apartment. She could read, or simply sit and think, without Nancy’s demanding that she do something. At the end of the day, Jo walked unsteadily to the clinic where her mother worked.
Roger Schuler, Jo’s doctor and Nancy’s boss, asked Jo to do a number of simple things that Jo found surprisingly difficult.
“Follow this light with your eyes,” the internist said. Jo discovered that the pain in her head prevented her eyes from moving from side to side.
“Walk a straight line.”
Jo stood up and fell against the wall. “I’m not drunk,” she joked, but she was upset that she couldn’t keep her balance.
Back in the examining room, Dr. Roger tested Jo’s reflexes. Her right leg jumped at his little hammer; the left leg barely moved. “Wait here,” he said. “I’m going to talk with your mother.”
Jo sat on the table and leaned back against the wall. Her head now pounded in rhythm with her heart. Jo’s concern about her lack of coordination and equilibrium was nothing compared with her certainty that her mother would be furious with her. Jo figured that Dr. Schuler was at this very moment telling her mother that she was pretending to be sick. There would be hell to pay when she got home. “I’ll tell her I’m sorry and promise never to do it again,” Jo decided.
The doctor stated the facts but tried to hide from Nancy his own anxiety over how serious Jo’s problem might be. “I want to admit her,” he said. “Something’s going on here, but I’m not sure what. I think she needs a complete neurological checkup.”
JO HAD HER FIRST of three week-long hospitalizations. After neurologists, neurosurgeons, ear, nose, and throat specialists, and her internist puzzled over the symptoms and the test results and reached no conclusion, she was sent home with instructions to her parents to “watch and wait.”
Jo’s gait quickly became more unsteady. Soon she could barely walk without support. She fell too often to return to school, but the Board of Education provided her with a tutor who came to the hospital or the apartment. This tutor gave Jo enough background in math so that she became able for the first time to appreciate the beauty and logic of geometry and algebra.
Jo eventually grew less troubled by her loss of equilibrium. The hospitalizations protected her from having to deal with the aspects of her parents’ separation that she least liked. When home, Jo would sometimes lie awake for hours thinking of her mother in the next bedroom. She wasn’t comfortable knowing that Nancy lay there bitter and alone, but she also wasn’t comfortable when her father spent the night. If Ray wouldn’t forgive Nancy for having an affair, what was he doing sleeping with her? When Jo was in the hospital, she didn’t have to know whether her mother was alone, or sharing her bed with Ray or with someone else. Jo relished being far away from it all.
The doctors remained puzzled by Jo’s illness. The first neurologist consulted on the case wrote that he was suspicious of her symptoms. Her skull X-rays, EEG, and spinal tap were all negative. The sudden changes in personality and periods of blankness that Nancy described, combined with Jo’s indifference to her physical problems, led him to write that there might be a factor of hysteria in the illness.
The psychologist who examined Jo on the neurologist’s referral found her to be a “hysterical, depressed, repressed child” who felt the burden of her parents’ problems. Although the psychologist reported that he could not definitely rule out a neurological problem, he recommended that Jo enter psychotherapy to provide support for her and to help her resolve her feelings about her parents. This suggestion was ignored.
A consulting neurosurgeon suspected that Jo might have a brain tumor or allergic encephalitis. Jo was readmitted to the hospital, and came close to undergoing brain surgery in April, after she tried to return to school and was found “wandering through the halls in a confused and aimless way.” Nancy and Ray refused to consent to surgery. The neurosurgeon could produce no physical evidence that Jo had an operable brain lesion.
In late May, the ataxia and headaches lessened and then stopped. Jo regretted that she had to return to school for the final two weeks of the semester, but was comforted by the thought that she’d be able to see Mr. Dunlap without having her mother around.
While Jo was ill, Larry Dunlap had visited her at the hospital and at home, but he seemed to be visiting Nancy as well. Jo was worried about the relationship that might develop between her mother and Larry.
Was he telling Nancy everything that Jo had told him? Was her mother sleeping with Larry? Would Nancy try to dominate the time Jo had with Larry the way she did the time she had with her father? Back at school, Jo knew she wouldn’t have to compete with her mother for Larry’s attention. She resumed her early-morning visits to Larry’s office.
Jo also began to spend some time outside of class with Carla Hernandez, her geometry teacher. Miss Hernandez had taken a special interest in Jo while she was sick and had occasionally stopped by the apartment or the hospital after school. Now Jo went to Miss Hernandez’s room at the end of each day. Sometimes she helped the teacher; other times she simply sat and talked with this woman who seemed to enjoy her company.
Miss Hernandez was young, no more than five or six years older than Jo, and she treated her the way Jo wished her big sister would. On weekends, Miss Hernandez sometimes invited Jo to accompany her on errands around town. Unlike Jo’s big sister, Carol, Carla Hernandez never ridiculed the way Jo looked or spoke.
On the last day of school, Jo helped Miss Hernandez record the final grades for the term. She was fairly sure that Miss Hernandez would say something about making plans to get together over the summer.
“I’ve really enjoyed our time together,” Miss Hernandez said, and Jo waited happily for her to start talking about how they would arrange to get together over the summer. Then the teacher broke the news to Jo that she wouldn’t be returning to Kennedy High School the following year. Miss Hernandez was getting married in a few weeks and moving to Mexico with her new husband.
Jo was too hurt even to ask if she could stay in touch.
NANCY AND RAY ALSO had an announcement at the end of the school year. They had decided to resume their marriage.
Jo felt more guilty than pleased when her father took her aside and said, “Honey, I want you to be happy. I guess you just can’t make it without your old man around.” Jo had long been confused about her mysterious illness that no one would discuss. Now she understood that it was forcing her father to do the one thing he’d sworn he’d never do. Affair or no affair, Ray was taking Nancy back. Jo was certain that the reconciliation was being staged on her behalf.
Jo wondered what would happen to her relationship with Larry Dunlap after her parents got back together. Even though she would have access to her father again, Jo still cared for the man who had supported her when Ray hadn’t been around. She didn’t want to lose Larry just because her father was back.
A few weeks before Father’s Day, Jo wrote Larry a long letter telling him how like a father he had become to her. Jo was terrified of expressing her feelings so openly, but she also didn’t want Larry to walk out of her life the way Miss Hernandez had. She had to let him know how strongly she felt, even if her expression of caring prompted rejection.
Jo didn’t dare call Larry after she sent the letter. She calculated when he would receive it and considered the various responses he might have to it.
Days and then a week passed with no call from Larry. The day before Father’s Day, Jo received a telegram—her first ever. She opened it with trembling hands under her mother’s glare and read, “Fear not that I will ever abandon you. Love, Larry.”
“Do you know how hurt your father would be if he heard about this?” Nancy shouted.
Jo was so touched by Larry’s message that she matched her mother’s anger with uncharacteristic fury of her own. “So don’t tell him about it,” she shot back.
She hid the telegram so that her mother couldn’t find and destroy it.
Two days later, Nancy walked in the door from work, poured herself a drink, and called to her daughter. Jo could tell from the carefully controlled tone of her mother’s voice that she was in big trouble.
“I went to visit somebody in the hospital today,” Nancy started, and Jo listened impassively as her mother talked sarcastically about seeing Jo’s “special friend and father figure, Larry,” on the psychiatric ward.
“Larry pleaded with me not to tell you,” Nancy continued, “but he wanted me to find a way to keep you from feeling abandoned if he didn’t answer your phone calls or letters right away.”
She snickered. “It turns out that this isn’t the first time he’s had to be locked up for a while. I thought you should know what kind of father figures you choose for yourself. I always knew that man was a little strange.” Nancy laughed, conveniently forgetting that he had been a friend of hers too. “You are never to see or talk to him again.”
At that, Jo reacted. “I won’t be able to avoid seeing him next year at school,” she said.
“Nope, he won’t be returning to school,” Nancy said. “I talked to the principal today. It turns out that there were a lot of things about Larry the school didn’t know when they hired him. They’ve decided that it’s not such a great idea for him to be around young girls.”
Jo began to call Larry’s home phone number every day. Her mother had lied to her before, and surely she was lying this time too. The phone rang unanswered for two weeks. Then one day a woman answered.
“I’m one of Mr. Dunlap’s students,” Jo said. “May I speak to him, please?” There was a pause, and the woman said with a strong accent, “I’m Larry’s sister. He’s sleeping now and can’t be disturbed.”
Jo hung up. The next afternoon, she called again and Larry answered. “Larry! Mr. Dunlap, it’s me,” Jo said. She was so relieved to hear his voice that she began to cry.
“Jo?” Larry’s voice sounded groggy, distant.
“Larry, are you OK?” Jo asked.
“Yes, I’m fine,” Larry said, “I took a little vacation, a little vacation, that’s all.” Larry was beginning to sound more like himself. “Did you miss me?” he asked.
“Oh, Larry,” Jo said, “I was so worried about you.”
Now Jo felt more certain that her mother had lied about seeing Larry on the psychiatric ward. He didn’t sound crazy.
“Larry, I’ve got to see you,” Jo said.
He said nothing. Jo clutched the phone tightly, wondering if perhaps her mother had gotten to him first. Maybe Nancy had told Larry that Jo was forbidden to see him.
“Do you think you can get over here, over to my apartment, without your mother knowing about it?” he asked. Jo relaxed and felt a conspiratorial companionship. She and her father had deceived her mother lots of times. Larry’s suggestion only made him seem more fatherly to her.
“Yes,” Jo said. She listened carefully as he gave her directions. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
Larry lived in an apartment complex at the edge of a shopping mall. Before Jo left the house, she called her mother at work to say that she was going shopping with some friends. Nancy was delighted that Jo was finally getting out with some girls her own age and arranged to pick Jo up at the mall after work.
Jo stepped out into the July heat and began walking the five miles to Larry’s apartment. “This is going to take forever,” Jo muttered as she watched the cars whiz by her. She turned and stuck out her thumb and muttered, “Oh, why not?” Hitchhiking might be risky, but she didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was getting to Larry.
The second car stopped. “A businessman,” Jo guessed, and hopped in the car. The shopping center turned out to be on his way, and as the man drove, he lectured Jo on the dangers of hitchhiking. Jo stared out the window, grunted politely at the man’s warnings, and rejoiced that the idea had occurred to her.
Jo arrived at Larry’s apartment and wiped her sweaty palms on her jeans before she knocked on the door. It was quiet for a moment; then the door opened and Larry peered out at her.
He looked different, sleepy and pale, wearing jeans and a tee shirt. Jo had only seen him dressed in his school outfit of chinos, sports jacket, and tie. But it was Larry’s expression that was most disturbing. He looked at her quizzically, as though he couldn’t quite place her.
“Larry, it’s me,” Jo said. Larry began to smile broadly as though at some private joke. He motioned her in. “My mother thinks I’m shopping,” Jo said as she entered the apartment. “She’s picking me up at the shopping center at six.”
“How about a drink?” Larry said. “Scotch? How about Scotch?”
Jo shrugged. She really didn’t care much for alcohol, but she sometimes had a glass of beer or wine with her parents, so she guessed it was OK to have a drink with Larry.
“How are you?” Larry asked. “You’re out of the hospital, right? And you’re well now?”
Jo was puzzled. Of course Larry knew she was out of the hospital. He had seen her every day at school during the last two weeks of the term. She hadn’t even written her Father’s Day letter to him until after the school year had ended. But she was tolerant of Larry’s lapse of memory. He had, after all, been tolerant of hers.
Jo sat on the couch and took a sip of the drink. She shuddered at the bitter taste. Larry sat in a chair across the room, watching her expectantly.
“Oh, Larry, I’ve missed you. I was so worried. My mother said…I thought you had gone away forever.” Jo’s voice broke. “Things are so bad at home, and I couldn’t find you….” Larry was beside her in an instant.
“Oh, my poor baby,” Larry said, holding her against him and rocking her as she sobbed. “I’m so sorry you were worried. I’ll never do that again, I promise.” He offered her the glass. “Here, drink more of this,” he urged.
Jo sipped more of the drink and then told him about her confusion over her parents’ reconciliation.
She drank until the glass was empty.
“Feel better now?” Larry asked gently.
“No,” Jo said, “I feel awful.” Maybe it was the drink, maybe the heat, maybe it was the weeping and the release of pent-up anxiety, but Jo felt dizzy and queasy.
“Come with me,” Larry said, taking her hand. “You need to lie down for a while.” Jo allowed Larry to lead her into his bedroom and let him stretch her out on the rumpled sheets. He sat down on the bed next to her. “Listen to my voice,” Larry said gently, “and you’ll feel better.”
Jo closed her eyes. She felt comfortable with Larry, and particularly peaceful when he talked to her in quiet, rhythmic tones. “Relax, relax, you need to relax,” he said. “Think of the sea. You’ve told me how much you love the sea. Think of being at the sea.”
Larry was right. As he described a gorgeous summer’s day at the beach, she felt calmer.
He paused and then talked soothingly again, in time with her breathing. “Think of the ocean, the seagulls, the sand.”
Jo imagined that she was really there. She was at the ocean, smelling the salt spray; she felt it in her hair.
She was vaguely aware that someone was taking off her shirt. That was OK. You don’t need a lot of clothes at the ocean. You have to take off your jeans to go swimming. Jo was all naked now. It was nice. Swimming in the ocean nude would be good.
“You feel safe,” Larry said.
“Safe,” Jo repeated, and felt secure in a way that she had never been. Jo loved being at the seaside like this with Larry. She felt good, so indescribably good.
Suddenly Jo was back in Larry’s bedroom. Larry! He was naked and on top of her. “No!” she screamed, drowning in the spray of her own shattered self.
Minutes later, I opened my eyes for the first time. The man lying next to me was sated now, but he watched me anxiously.
“Hi,” I said softly, smiling at him so that he’d know everything was OK.
“You’re such a sweet thing,” he murmured, and nestled me to his chest.
“So this is Jo’s Larry,” I thought. “He seems so gentle and kind. No wonder she loves him.”
I lay there, enjoying the calm tenderness but feeling a wonderful tingling in every nerve. I felt vibrant and so very alive.
I was new. My lack of a past gave me a sense of anticipation. I had nothing to fear. I’d do just fine. I already knew the most important thing—how to make a man happy—and felt lovable in every inch of me.
“Jo?”
I looked up at Larry. His smile was sweet and innocent. He looked more like a mischievous little boy than like a grown man. “You better get dressed now,” he said. “Your mother is picking you up at the mall.”
I got out of bed and stretched up tall, pulling each muscle taut. I spun a quick pirouette in sheer joy; it felt so good to be me.
“My God, you are beautiful,” Larry said in wonder.
“Am I?” I asked, and reached for my jeans.
I walked from Larry’s apartment across the wide parking lot toward the stores. I felt the humidity, enjoyed the heat shimmering off the asphalt. I took long strides and thought, “I’m tall and thin. I like that. I couldn’t stand it if I were short and fat.”
I stepped inside a cool department store and looked out at the parking lot. I knew Jo’s mother would be picking me up soon and that I had to watch for her car. I couldn’t visualize it, but trusted that I would recognize it when it arrived.
While I waited, I exchanged glances with the people going in and out of the store. A lot of them looked back at me appreciatively, especially the men. “Larry was right,” I thought. “I am beautiful.”
I loosened the braid that Jo wore and shook my hair free around my shoulders. I admired my reflection in the store’s window. I wanted to hug my new self and the whole world. This was going to be fun. Soon Nancy arrived, and I raced out to meet her. Nancy mistakenly thought that I was her daughter. But she liked me better than the daughter she had known before. I could make people happy.
From that day on, I was determined to block out all the other personalities, but quickly learned I didn’t have the power. So I worked to keep track of what the others did when they were out, and I enjoyed myself when I had control. I was never tired, sad, or depressed. I was happy and made other people happy as well.
Jo called Larry a week after my birth. She had no memory of what had happened that afternoon after she had lain down on the bed. Jo worried about the time she had forgotten. She hoped that she hadn’t done something to make Larry angry. She dialed his number and got a recording. The phone had been disconnected. She called the operator and was told that there was no new listing for Larry Dunlap.
Larry had walked out of her life.
AFTER PIECING TOGETHER THE PUZZLE, I was impressed by all that Lynn and I had learned, but she still had more questions.
“Renee, how did you come equipped with total knowledge about the current life and no knowledge about what had happened before your birth?”
“I guess I can’t explain how I had the information I needed, but I think I can tell you why I had it and why I lacked information about what happened before my birth.”
Lynn nodded. I had never actually analyzed this phenomenon, and now I struggled for the words.
“The way I see it, I was created to make the group successful in dealing with other people. I wouldn’t have done a very good job at that if I’d known that people had hurt the group in the past. I was even better than the others were at dealing with Nancy and Ray, because they weren’t my parents. My ancestors were Jo and the other personalities. I didn’t feel a stake in a relationship with Nancy and Ray, so I didn’t get bogged down in their problems. I didn’t expect anything from them. I couldn’t be disappointed.”
Lynn considered all of this and then said, “But, Renee, after your birth, the group found that it needed more than an ability to please people.”
“That’s right,” I answered, delighted that Lynn and I were figuring things out together. “That’s why there were personalities created after me. Kendra was created for self-protection after I found out that my black boyfriend, Eugene, didn’t really care about me. He won a hundred-dollar bet from his brother by having a white girlfriend to take to his fraternity dance and family picnic. Cassandra and Doug were created when I worked at the state legislature and got scared because I couldn’t make everyone happy. Charlene and Honey were created because I could never figure out how to be a good wife to Keith.”
I stopped my litany and looked at Lynn in surprise. “All of that’s changed now,” I said excitedly. “I’m much more than a people-pleaser personality. I’m doing a great job teaching high school. I’m getting along well with Steve. And it doesn’t seem to matter that my decisions and actions don’t always make everyone happy.”
“That’s right,” Lynn affirmed. “All of the major existing personalities—you and Jo in particular—are growing and changing and becoming better able to handle your problems. Not only is there no reason to create new personalities, but there is less need for the minor or ‘special-purpose’ personalities to come out.”
I cut her off. “Lynn, if you’re about to conclude that Jo and I will end up being one happy person together, forget it. Even if Jo is getting better, she’s still a twit. I’m not going to integrate with her.”
“Oh, Renee, you know that I think integration is secondary to having all the personalities inside feel better about themselves,” Lynn said.
I nodded. This had been Lynn’s response to my fears about integration for some time. I just needed to hear that she hadn’t changed her mind.
Lynn looked thoughtful. “Renee, what would you do if you found out that one of your colleagues took a student to bed?”
“I’d kill him,” I said reflexively. I loved the kids I taught. I loved them like a mother tiger, protectively and ferociously.
“Why would you react so violently?” Lynn asked.
“Kids are special people,” I explained with irritation. “No adult should take advantage of their vulnerability.”
“So what does that tell you about Jo and Larry?” she asked.
“Oh.”
I was struck by the significance of what Lynn was implying. “Even if Larry’s actions did result in my birth,” I said slowly, “what he did to Jo was horrible. Even if he was crazy, he shouldn’t have violated her trust in him. What you’re trying to show me is that it’s because of experiences like this that Jo is so screwed up and afraid of people.”
Lynn beamed and gave me a quick hug as I left her office. I made my way home, mulling over what I had only just discovered about myself.
My new perspective changed the way I felt about the other personalities. I began to think of them as analogous to my more difficult or disturbed students. I didn’t demand proof of abuse from the troubled teenagers I saw at school, nor did I tell them to shape up. I loved them for who they were and trusted that they would grow when they felt safe in doing so. Like these scared, impressionable kids who often weren’t easy to love, my internal others were acting out their pain and despair. For the first time, I felt tolerance and compassion for them.