Identical

by Ellen Hopkins

  If I die,

  will I remember them then?

  Will I be condemned for them?

  Was it really me doing them?

  Or is Raeanne living inside me?

  She won’t

  talk to me, though I’ve tried.

  Searched for her. Screamed

  for her. She was the better part

  of me. Without her, how can I

  survive?

  Fragments Shards

  That’s what I am now.

  Incomplete.

  They keep asking for

  truths.

  I’m afraid to give them

  answers.

  I keep hiding behind

  dreams.

  Except maybe they’re

  realities.

  They keep asking for

  reasons.

  I give them lame

  excuses.

  I want to live in my

  fantasies.

  Except maybe they’re

  nightmares.

  They keep asking for

  explanations.

  I keep telling them

  I don’t have them.

  At First

  They don’t allow visitors.

  Only nurses. Doctors. One

  is a shrink. Dr. Carol Shore.

  Call me Carol. I’m

  a psychotherapist.

  And I’m here to help.

  “Help what?” I ask,

  pretending like I don’t

  need help. Never have.

  Help you face whatever

  it is that you keep trying

  to escape from.

  “Why would I want

  to do that?” My stomach

  heaves, but it’s empty.

  Because only by confronting

  your demons can you ever

  hope to conquer them.

  What she doesn’t seem

  to understand is, I have

  to go home to my demon.

  I Tell Her I’ll Think About It

  Anything to get her off my back.

  They give me something to calm

  the withdrawal, help me sleep.

  As I slip toward lovely nothingness,

  I hear a voice behind the door.

  She’s my daughter, goddammit.

  I have every right to see her.

  No. Don’t want to see him. Ever.

  Then snippets. Ugly movies.

  Please! Go away. Let me sleep!

  Relax…can’t…he’s here.

  The door opens, but I refuse

  to open my eyes. Maybe the drug

  will kick in, push me all the way

  down into unconsciousness.

  Footsteps. His. One, two. Stop!

  Kaeleigh, girl. Wake up. It’s Daddy.

  I’m right here beside you.

  His hand, cold, strokes my cheek.

  His head tilts against my chest.

  I wish I could take it all back….

  When I Wake Up

  I’m alone. In the dark.

  Where am I again?

  Who am I again?

  I’m hot. So hot.

  I was hot in a car.

  A BMW? With…

  More ugly movies.

  Only Daddy’s not

  in them. I am.

  Oh my God. What

  have I done? Who

  have I been with?

  A collage of faces.

  Ty. Ty? Who is he?

  There was a party….

  I went there with

  Mick. Mick? And

  Madison was there.

  Madison. She was

  at Lawler’s house.

  Lawler? Mr. Lawler?

  I told him I like

  older men. Older,

  like…Daddy. Daddy?

  No…No…No!

  But he said, I wish

  I could take it all back.

  Take It All Back

  Okay, maybe I do need help.

  I can’t even remember what “all”

  is. Only bits and pieces. And why

  would I want to remember more?

  Only by confronting your demons…

  Confront him? How could I ever?

  And how could I ever let anyone

  know what my father has done

  to me? Who would understand?

  You’ve got some powerful demons….

  Greta! Oh, maybe I could tell Greta.

  I need to see her, need to know

  if she ever confronted her demon.

  Can’t believe it happened to her, too.

  I met evil when I was very young….

  But you wouldn’t know it to look

  at her now. She’s strong. Strong

  enough to fight Nazis. Strong enough

  to invite Lars back into her life.

  Could not imagine sharing a bed…

  Sharing a bed with a man

  she loved. A man she trusted.

  Instead she sent him away.

  Out of her life. Such loneliness!

  Please trust me enough to tell…

  Ian. My amazing Ian. My best

  and only true friend. If I told

  you, you’d turn your back on

  filthy me. If you haven’t already.

  I Stare at the Night Sky

  Outside

  the window.

  The stars shine, as

  they always do. Same

  stars. Same sky. Only I am

  different. Am I different? Will

  my life change now? Better or worse? Will Mom come back,

  save me? She can’t. She has work to do, far away

  from home. Will she take me with her?

  Do I want to go? And a bigger

  question. Will she listen now?

  Memory jabs. I accidentally

  told once. Didn’t mean to make her

  jealous. I was taking a shower. The soap stung

  and when I said “Ow,” Mom asked what hurt. I told her,

  “Where Daddy touched me.” She looked and her face grew red.

  But she said, I don’t see a thing.

  I guessed Daddy was right.

  She got mad, closed

  her eyes. Like I

  need to do

  now.

  I’m Still Tired

  When sunlight wakes me.

  I feel a little better, though,

  and that’s bad. They’ll make

  me go home soon. Unless I tell.

  A voice inside me whispers,

  “Can’t tell. They’ll be jealous.”

  Shut up. You’re dead.

  “Am I? Guess you’ll just

  have to wait and see.”

  When they finally bring breakfast,

  I ask the nurse, “Am I allowed

  visitors yet? Has anyone tried

  to see me?” Anyone being Ian.

  The nurse shakes her head, and

  the voice agrees, “He ran like

  the wind. You’re crazy, you know.”

  I wait for the nurse to leave,

  so she doesn’t think I’m crazy.

  Then I tell the voice again,

  Shut up. You’re fucking dead.

  “If you say so.”

  When Carol Comes

  I’m ready to talk. “Is there such

  a thing as a split personality?”

  Her eyes measure me up and down.

  Dissociative identity disorder

  is extremely rare, but yes, it’s real.

  “Do the different identities

  know about each other?”

  Sometimes. Usually not. Sometimes

  one does, but the others don’t.

  There are no definites with DID.

  “Could you split into someone

  you know—or used to know?”

  The jury’s still out on how the alters

  develop. But I suppose you could take

  on aspe
cts of someone familiar.

  “Will one—what did you call it?

  Alter?—do stuff another one won’t?”

  My questions have definitely piqued

  her interest. Often that’s the case, yes.

  Why? Do you know someone like that?

  Well, duh. Why would I ask?

  “I think so. What causes it?”

  Usually a childhood trauma. An illness,

  or an accident. Most often it’s related

  to sexual abuse in the formative years.

  “Does it mean the person

  is crazy? Can you fix it?”

  “Crazy” is hardly a clinical term.

  It’s a form of mental illness, and yes,

  it can be cured, or at least regulated.

  It doesn’t happen overnight, though.

  It takes years of treatment, and the guts

  to dig down and extract the truth.

  Guts? Do I have the guts? I smile.

  “Guts? Is that a clinical term?”

  That’s All I’m Ready to Give Today

  She provided a lot of answers,

  though, and I’m more grounded.

  So I get a jolt when she says,

  Kaeleigh, if we’ve been talking

  about you, I want to get you

  the help you need. The nearest

  residential treatment center

  is in Ventura….

  Residential treatment center?

  “No. I don’t want to go there.

  I mean I…why can’t I stay here?

  Why can’t you be my therapist?”

  This is a regular hospital. There

  are no beds available for psychiatric

  patients. I could treat you, but only

  on an outpatient basis. You’ll have

  to go home, and all things considered…

  “When? When are they going

  to release me?” How long do

  I have to make up my mind?

  Your withdrawal symptoms have

  mostly subsided and your vitals

  are good. Probably tomorrow.

  Tomorrow Isn’t Far Enough Away

  “Have you talked to my mother?

  Does she know what happened?”

  Why haven’t I heard from her?

  Your father said he’d take care

  of it. Hasn’t she called you?

  Well, of course he’d say that.

  “My father is a liar.” Whoa.

  “I’ll call her. Where’s my cell?”

  She goes to the closet, digs

  through my things. Um, it

  doesn’t seem to be here.

  You can use mine if you want.

  It was in my pocket when all this

  shit went down. Where is it?

  One answer: Daddy. No wonder

  I haven’t heard from anyone.

  Carol brings me her cell. I start

  to dial and suddenly remember

  Mom’s I don’t see a thing.

  “Will you talk to her? Please?”

  Of course. Carol waits, and

  when Mom answers, the good

  doctor pulls no punches.

  Mom Promises

  To get on a plane as soon as

  she can. I don’t know whether to feel

  relieved or not. Totally weird

  to think this, but I’ve never been so

  fucking scared in my life.

  I’ve always believed, of the two

  of my parents, she was the one I could

  count on. But I had completely

  forgotten that bath scene. Who is my

  mother? Who the fuck am I?

  Am I one person? Two?

  Maybe even more? Oh, great. Maybe

  there are a dozen of me,

  doing drugs and sleeping around

  all up and down the state.

  Speaking of drugs, I could

  use a big fatty right about now.

  How will I ever score after

  I get out of here? And which one

  of me is the loadie, anyway?

  I’m sure getting high

  isn’t good for my “condition,”

  but how can I not, if I have

  to go home? I can’t imagine living

  there any other way.

  I Suppose I Got the Addictive Gene

  From my wonderful father. Something

  else to thank him for. Bastard.

  “Thank him for giving you life.”

  Fuck that. All he did was have sex

  with Mom. Probably just one time.

  “Have you noticed you’re cussing?”

  Now that you mention it, yeah.

  That, I’m pretty sure, I got from you.

  “That, and a great sex education.”

  Sex is disgusting. And I really,

  really wish you’d quit talking to me.

  “No can do. You need to hear me.”

  Well, if you’re so smart, what do

  I do about Daddy? I need to tell.

  “He’ll go to prison for a long time.”

  So what? He deserves it. Daddies

  shouldn’t touch their daughters.

  “Not totally his fault. Remember…”

  Yeah, yeah. So what, am I supposed

  to just say okay, it’s not your fault?

  “You could have a little sympathy.”

  So I just go on home, wait for him

  to go on a bender, drop in for a little?

  “Maybe you should confront him.”

  Confront him? You mean like tell

  him to his face that he’s a sick man?

  “The direct approach might work.”

  No damn way. He’d deny. He’d

  blow up. He’d blame me.

  “Face it. You’re a chickenshit.”

  Damn straight. But I can’t take this

  any longer. And I can’t rely on you.

  “You always have before.”

  Sorry. I don’t want to be pieces of me

  anymore. I have to take care of myself.

  “Seeing, my dear, is believing.”

  I’m Deep into Conversation

  With one of me when Daddy walks

  through the door. He looks around.

  Who are you talking to?

  “Uh. No one. Myself, I guess.”

  My belly starts cartwheeling.

  People will think you’re crazy.

  Fuck, Daddy. I am crazy.

  “I know. I’m sorry, Daddy.”

  I just got a call from your mother.

  I’m going to throw up.

  “I thought she should know.”

  I told her we can handle this.

  No! No! No! “I want her

  here, Daddy. I need her.”

  You’re not three, Kaeleigh.

  “No. I’ll never be a little girl again.

  You took that away from me.”

  I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.

  Wow, Ballsy

  I can’t believe I found the nerve

  to say that much. But I can’t

  believe he told Mom not to come.

  They’re releasing you tomorrow.

  I’ll take the day off to bring you home.

  Then we’ll have to discuss our options.

  “Options?” What options? Back

  to school, back to work, back to…

  Oh my God. How can I go back?

  I can’t have you getting stoned

  and running around like a tramp. Your

  reputation may be trashed, but…

  “My reputation? That’s what you’re

  worried about? What the fuck is wrong

  with you, Daddy? You need help.”

  Don’t you dare talk to me like that.

  He stalks over to the bed, raises

  his arm, and just as it starts to fall…

  I wouldn’t do that if I were you,

  sir
. Carol. I’m afraid I’d have

  to report you for child abuse.

  Daddy spins to face her, anger

  leaking from his pores like sweat.

  I know the law. Don’t recite it to me.

  Artfully, Carol maneuvers between

  Daddy and me. I’m afraid your blood

  work indicated a problem, Kaeleigh.

  We’ll need to keep you an extra day

  or two, to run a few tests. Sorry.

  I know you wanted to go home.

  Daddy backs up a few steps.

  Problem? What kind of problem?

  She isn’t pregnant, is she?

  Carol’s grin is sardonic. Funny

  place for you to go first. No, we’ve

  found an electrolyte imbalance.

  It’s probably from all the vomiting

  she’s been doing, but we want to

  test her for kidney disease.

  Phew. Saved by possible kidney

  disease. At least for a couple of days.

  Hey, wait. Kidney disease?

  Turns Out

  The electrolyte imbalance is real,

  the result of not only puking

  from Oxy withdrawal, but also