Functional, like a car that can get you where you need to be, but you never know when that clinking sound’s going to cause a complete breakdown. I can’t be like an unreliable vehicle. I’m a dad, and Lauren’s depending on me. I glance over at her. She’s been pretty quiet. She slept most of the way and just woke up a couple of minutes ago.
“We’re in your neck of the woods,” I joke, glad she’s awake. Talking releases some of my nervous energy.
“Yup. The big city.” A wide smile spreads across her face as we enter downtown. Her face has lit up.
She loves it here. She misses this…
“I’ve only been here one time, for a high school field trip,” I say, and then realize how ridiculous that sounds.
“Well, that, I remember,” I add quietly. I guess that’s one reason I’m seeing this woman.
“Well, if she’s in this district, she’s doing pretty well,” Lauren replies.
“Let’s hope that means she knows what she’s doing.” I let out a nervous chuckle.
“Everything’s going to be fine.” Her smile is reassuring, even though I notice her sigh. When we reach the building, it takes us another ten minutes to find parking. I wanted to keep looking, but we ended up in a parking lot that cost us twenty-five dollars for three hours. What a rip off! Lauren didn’t even flinch. I show Lauren the address, and she confirms we’re parked three blocks from the building. As we make our way down the busy street, I take it all in.
There are so many people, men, women, old, young, all different nationalities and ethnicities. There are three guys dancing in front of a fast food restaurant and people put money in a bucket in front of them. On another block, there’s a man dressed in a suit and tie telling people they’re going to hell, literally everyone is going to hell according to this guy.
Lauren looks up at me amused by my amazement. When she slips her hand in mine, I’m surprised, but I don’t hesitate to give her a gentle squeeze. I’m amazed at how her hand seems to fit so perfectly in mine, like it was meant for me specifically. She quickly pulls me through the crowd and we make our way to the tall, gold and black building with the address in front. Once we enter, the atmosphere is quiet, a stark contrast from the hustle and bustle outside.
“There should be a directory near the elevator,” Lauren says, letting go of my hand. I wish she hadn’t, but I remind myself I’m a grown man and not a scared little boy. We reach the elevator, and sure enough, the practice’s name is on the directory. Good thing she’s only on the 5th floor. The elevator ride goes faster than I want it to.
“It’s going to be fine, Chris,” she assures me again. I must look as nervous as I feel. At least we’re the only people on the elevator. When the doors open, there are large embossed letters with the name of the practice on display. We walk through the door and head to the receptionist desk.
“Good afternoon, welcome to New Horizons.” The receptionist seems cheerful and enthusiastic, but professional.
“Hi. I have an appointment with Dr. Clemons at three,” I say, clearing my throat.
“Excellent. Your name please?”
“Christopher Scott.” I’m tapping my fingers on the desk.
“Dr. Clemons is usually booked months in advance. You really were lucky to catch a cancellation,” she says with a bright smile, and I smile too. They must have hired this girl for her voice, because I feel a little better. Lauren touches my shoulder and smiles before heading to what looks like the waiting area. The receptionist takes my ID and insurance card. I glance over at Lauren and see her flipping through a magazine. She’s sitting with her legs crossed, but one leg wiggles back and forth. I’m not the only one nervous.
“Okay, Christopher, there are a couple of forms. The first few forms are the standard confidentiality agreement, HIPPA form, and authorization to bill your insurance. After those are done, you’ll be directed to an assessment screen. Some of the questions may not apply to your visit, and you can feel free to not answer them,” she explains, handing me an iPad and a stylus.
“Cool,” I say a little impressed.
“Dr. Clemons will be alerted once everything is complete, and she will be right with you. If there is anything you need, please don’t hesitate to ask. If you’d feel more comfortable in a private setting we do have an intake room that is available,” she offers.
“No, I’m fine,” I say gratefully, and I make my way to a seat near Lauren.
“iPad?” she kids.
“Fancy.” I laugh, feeling a little more at ease. I scroll through the paper work and sign. Everything starts off smoothly enough until I get to the health questionnaire. That’s when my head starts to hurt.
1. Do you have frequent dizzy spells?
2. Do you have obsessive feelings to communicate, but are fearful to do so?
8. Do you have frequent panic attacks?
42. Do you feel isolated even at social gatherings?
79. Do you have seemingly unshakable addictions (drugs, tobacco, food, or sex?)
104. Do you seem to hear voices when no one else is around?
136. Do you have compulsive feelings to communicate, but are fearful to do so?
By the time I’m finished, I’m expecting to see: Your results are in, and you’re bat-shit crazy flash across the scene. I let out a deep sigh and run my hands across my face.
“Was it that bad?” Lauren asks with a smile.
“Worse,” I joke. After answering all of these questions, the doctor should have a full-on treatment plan all set up once she calls me back there.
“Did the questions seem relevant?” she asks curiously. That’s the bad part.
“Almost all of them,” I nod before getting up and returning the iPad to the secretary.
“Dr. Clemons will be right with you,” she says, taking it from me. “Right with me” has turned into almost forty minutes. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until my stomach starts to growl. I left all my candy in the car.
“You want me to run and grab you something?” Lauren asks, hearing the monstrous growl it just made.
“No. Hopefully this will be over soon,” I say, though the optimism I had at the beginning of the visit is fading fast.
“Mr. Scott. Dr. Clemons will see you now,” the receptionist calls out to me. I look at Lauren, and she pats my leg before I stand. Once I’m standing, I see that a door near the receptionist desk is open. Standing at the door I see an older woman with a long braid in her hair, wearing a white sweater and long grey skirt.
“Dr. Clemons?” I ask to be sure.
“That would be me.” She seems warm and pleasant, like the receptionist. “Thank you for being patient. I apologize for the wait. Right this way,” she says, gesturing towards her office. I look back at Lauren who has a wide smile on her face and is giving me two thumbs up like I’m about to be up for bat in an all-star game.
When we enter the office, my nerves ease up a little. The atmosphere inside her office is a lot different than the waiting area. The waiting room was cool and modern, but her office seems warm and friendly. Well as much as an office could be. The walls are a tan with brown chairs, two in front of her desk and to the right is the proverbial couch you see in the movies. The wall behind her desk has the obligatory degrees hanging, but her office doesn’t come off as snobbish or imposing. It’s comfortable and homey.
“You can have a seat here,” she says, gesturing towards one of the chairs in front of her desk. I guess it’s not time to lie on the couch and tell her how screwed up I am.
“Are you comfortable? Would you like anything to drink? Coffee? Water?” she asks and my eyes drift to the bowl of candy on her desk.
“I’ll just have one of these,” I say, taking four mini snickers from the dish.
“They are addictive, aren’t they?” She chuckles as she puts on a pair of square black glasses. “Well, I’d like to start by saying that anything that you say to me in this room will be kept strictly confidential. Unless, of course you ask me
to speak to someone on your behalf.”
“Also I record all sessions in case I need to go back over them later,” she states.
“I understand,” I say, pushing my hands down in my coat pocket.
“Have you worked with a lot of patients with my condition?” I ask, eying the picture of her and two little boys.
“I have. You’re in good hands,” she says reassuringly.
“In your questionnaire, you indicated that you had been seeing Dr. Lyce. She’s quite well-known is there a reason that you’ve decided to end your relationship with her?”
“Conflict of interest.” I shrug. “I’d like to start with a clean slate. I didn’t see her for DID so I’d like to start the same way you would with any new patient.” My nerves are starting to get the better of me.
“I understand. Well, there are a few different tests that I’d like for us to complete,” she starts.
“What kind of tests?”
“Well the first is called Dissociative Disorders Interview Schedule. DDIS, for short. They are tests where I ask you a series of questions, some of which you’ve answered in the health assessment you took today. Then the Dissociative Experiences Scale, or DES, helps me screen for the possibility that you may have another disorder that could possibly have been misdiagnosed. It also gives me an idea of the level of dissociation that you are having.”
“Are we going to do all of those today?” I ask, feeling a little overwhelmed.
“We can. However, based on the questionnaire, it seems our time may be better spent discussing some of the concerns that you have overall. I could get you scheduled for these tests next week.”
“Yeah, I don’t really think there is any possibility I’m misdiagnosed.” I say honestly “My main reason for being here is…” I trail off, trying to choose my words carefully.
“And remember, Christopher, I am here to be your sounding board. I don’t have an agenda or preconceived notions. I am here to help you sort things out in the most objective manner. I would like you to be able to speak freely and truthfully.” She leans forward on her desk, giving me all of her attention and a warm smile.
I nod.
“How did you find out about your condition?” she asks, pulling out a leather notepad. This is going to be fun…I take a deep breath and tell her how Lauren showed up at my door and how all hell broke loose. I’m a little hesitant at first, but as I continue, it feels better getting everything off my chest, and I’m able to speak more freely. I tell her about the memories I’ve had, how sometimes I have thoughts that don’t’ really seem like mine, and my panic attack. She listens intently making frequent eye contact as she scribbles away in her notepad.
“…I feel lost and confused. Before all of this happened I thought I knew what I wanted in life. I knew what I wanted to do, who I wanted to marry, now I don’t know anything,” I mumble.
“Your feelings are completely normal. Your life has changed significantly in a very short period of time. These changes would be stressful for anyone. You’ve become aware that you are a parent, you’ve become engaged, the knowledge of your disorder…I’m surprised that the pressure you’ve endured hasn’t caused your alter to surface.” She says the last part impressed. “Also the fact that Cal reached out to you, alters usually prefer to stay hidden,” she says, still scribbling away in her notebook.
“You said that when you believed your switches were blackouts, that you had headaches. You mentioned when you discovered your parents were hiding your condition from you that you felt one coming on?” she asks, but it seems more like a statement.
“Yeah,” I confirm.
“However there was no time loss, or blackout at that time?”
“No.”
“The last time you had a switch that you remember at least was the day before Lauren arrived?” she asks, and I nod.
“And the memories began once she arrived. Lauren, I mean?” she asks, and I nod again.
“Does that mean something?” I ask her, feeling a little anxious.
“Possibly? How do you feel about Lauren?” That was a little blunt. I wasn’t really ready for that question.
“Uhm.” I feel myself starting to fidget in my chair.
“Remember, Chris, that you can speak freely here. There is no need to feel nervous. Our session will only be beneficial if you’re completely honest,” she says, folding her hands.
“I’ve never felt the way I feel about her before. It’s like we have a connection but that would be crazy because I haven’t known her long. I don’t know her, like I do Jenna. I feel like I shouldn’t feel this way, and I’m afraid that the feelings aren’t mine.” It feels good to say it out loud.
“I think one of the hardest things for patients who dissociate is to realize that your alters…”
“Alter,” I interject. God, let there just be one.
“Alter, is a part of you. You share the same feelings that he does. Cal was created for a reason. What my job will be is to help you to find out what that is. Our goal is to integrate that portion of your personality—the portion created to help you cope—back into the fold so to speak, making you whole once again.” Her voice is smooth and calming, but the word “integrate” makes my skin crawl.
“I don’t want to integrate with him. I want him gone,” I say quietly as if Lauren can hear me. When the words leave my mouth I feel a rush of relief. Then, I see Lauren’s face in my mind, and I feel a huge amount of guilt.
“It’s normal for you to feel at odds with your alter. However, he is a part of you. I can only liken it to cutting off your own foot.”
“I’d get a prosthetic.”
She smiles. “Well, you seem to get along well with Lauren, and you have a little girl that you’ve taken quite well to, you state. He can’t be all bad,” she says, and I roll my eyes. It was sheer luck he didn’t impregnate some STD-ridden psycho.
“One of my acquaintances who knew me as Cal says that he wouldn’t like my fiancée. If we’re one, how could he hate someone that I love,” I counter.
“From what it sounds like Cal may be the part of your personality that is uninhibited, unedited, that does and says the things that you may not. He is the personification of the emotions that you sequester. If there is a part of you that dislikes things about her it isn’t unusual that his feelings would be magnified,” she says, closing her leather notebook and pulling out another pad. I look at the clock in the office and see that our session is over.
She writes on the paper tears it off and hands it to me.
“Medication?” I ask.
“No. There isn’t any medication that is specifically for DID but some treat the symptoms that it could cause like depression, insomnia sometimes physical ailments, but other than your panic attack, it seems that you’re not suffering from anything that concerns me. This is just a bit of homework.”
I take the piece of paper and read
Find three things that you like about Cal.
Is she serious?
“It’s so important that you come to terms with the fact that he is a part of you and that you embrace that part of yourself. He isn’t your enemy,” she says, standing from her seat. He’s not exactly my friend either.
“You are at an advantage. You have a direct source to reach him,” she says as we walk towards her door. That’s my worry, I don’t want to reach him or connect with him or understand him. I want him to disappear. I want him gone, like he never existed.
Lauren
Chris said everything went fine in his session with the doctor, but I can’t help but notice that his mood has changed. He was nervous before, but now it’s almost like he’s irritated. I don’t know what the doctor told him, but whatever she said, he didn’t like it very much. I can tell he’s trying to hide it, but for the first time, he’s pretty transparent. He’s quiet on our way back to the car. I want to ask him what happened and get more than a throwaway answer like “everything went fine.” I’d pay anything to know what went
on in there, and since he doesn’t seem to want to elaborate, I’ve decided not to push any further.
It’s absolutely beautiful out, unseasonably warm for an April day in Chicago and so many people are out taking advantage of it. I start to think back to the late nights when Cal and I would walk around downtown while it was quiet. I put that memory away as quickly as I can. I can’t think about Cal. I try to keep all my memories of Cal and I locked away, because thinking of him will consume me. It’s like a slippery slope, one thing leads to another. First it’s something we used to do together, soon I’m thinking about the way he used to smile, the way he laughed, how it felt when he hugged me. And, when I think about how it felt to be in his arms, I think of other touches, and my body becomes alive with the memory of him. Sometimes I manage to sleep through these instances, and wake up feeling slightly satisfied. Other times, I require a cold shower. Now I’m walking next to Chris and neither of those options are available to me.
I wish Chris would just say something. When him and I are together and there’s silence, when things start to feel awkward between us, that’s when I think about Cal the most.
He’s not saying anything, but I can tell there are a million thoughts running through his head. Still he’s taking in everything around him. The noise, the lights, the energy of the city, they make me feel alive. I’m not sure if it does that with Chris. He’s observant, but I’m not sure if it excites him.
When we make it back to the car, I start to ask him if he wants me to drive. I have to admit that his driving scared me a little once we hit downtown. It’s ridiculously apparent that he’s not used to driving in such a congested area, but he didn’t even hesitate to get back in the driver’s seat.
Almost Broken: If I Break #2 Page 21
