I watch her leave—a divided self—noting her quick, petite steps. The striped mohair sweater once again pulled tightly over her fists. The woman I met last Tuesday now morphed into a little girl, a changeling, a human chameleon.
Head down and treading the corridor, she scuttles past Nurse Kennedy, then turns and waves at me with her striped stump. Wide eyes and gummy smile like an overanimated Studio Ghibli character.
I close the door and make my way to my desk. Sitting down, I pick up the phone.
This is the voicemail of Dr. Mohsin Patel. Unfortunately, I can’t—
I hang up and reach for my notebook:
Alexa Wú: December 7
Dolly was here this evening. She arrived early and was disorganized and dissociated. There is bruising on her wrists. She claims not to know how this happened. Defenses are dissolving and her switching into alternate self-states is increasing, indicating her life has become high-risk—particularly as she has little memory of what happens when she checks out. Need to think about cognitive restructuring to aid memory—Alexa is not safe if she can’t remember her actions.
I suspect one of the Flock knows why she missed her last session and what happened to her wrists. But it seems trust is still an issue. Many secrets. Discuss with Mohsin her extended regression and possible interventions. Do I need to visit the Electra and see what she’s involved in?
I wonder: is she telling me the truth, or might the bruises be self-inflicted?
Mohsin’s words flood back to me: They’re not straightforward—patients with dissociative identity disorder—dangerous in the wrong conditions.
I put down my notebook and switch on the kettle, urging haste. It seems to take forever. Time has slowed down. I have slowed down.
I wait.
Who is she? What is she hiding? What is she scared of?
I run my fingers along the base of my spine until the kettle eventually reaches the boiling point. I pour the water and wait again. Be patient, I tell myself. She’s not ready. Fear prevents her from letting me into her mind and the workings of the Nest. But it will come.
Doesn’t it always?