The Flock

by Joan Frances Casey

  Whether or not expert consultation helps my patient, I could certainly use the reassurance. I am the first in the office to work with a multiple. I’m sure of the diagnosis but uncertain about how to treat it. Though Gordon is supportive, he knows no more than I about the disorder. The problem lies in finding someone to consult on the case.

  The theoretical literature is not of much help. I’ve read the relatively few clinical articles on MPD, and I’ve been surprised to find that Sybil, the book by Flora Schreiber, seems continually to be my best source of information. I read Sybil when it was first published, but dismissed it as overdramatized and fictionalized. Now it has become my bible. Sybil’s story mirrors much of the reality I am seeing, but there are some disturbing differences between Jo and Sybil. For instance, Sybil’s Vicky personality was described as a memory trace who said that she knew “everything about everybody,” whereas Renee (who seems to serve the same sort of “managerial” function within Jo’s group as Vicky did in Sybil’s) is honestly surprised by the tales the other personalities have told about their childhood.

  —

  “LYNN, LOOK,” I SAID, “my boyfriend said last night that if there were other personalities he’d know about them. Steve and I are practically living together, for heaven’s sake!” Lynn and I were again arguing about the diagnosis.

  “Renee, you’ve already told me that you hide your problems from Steve, just as you did with Keith,” Lynn countered with some exasperation, shaking her head. She was clearly getting tired of these debates. Suddenly Lynn looked up at me, eyes sparkling with determination. “You know I can’t find any other therapists around here who have treated multiples. I’m going to call Cornelia Wilbur about you.”

  “Sybil’s doctor?” I asked with astonishment and dread. I knew how taken Lynn was with that book. She sometimes started discussions with me by telling me something that Sybil or one of her personalities had thought. When I tried to tell Lynn that she was probably mistaken and that I was not a multiple, she often said, “You know, Sybil felt the same way.”

  I was frightened by the thought of Lynn’s consulting a nationally known expert because of me. Why would Dr. Wilbur talk to some social worker from Chicago? And if she did, what would happen when Dr. Wilbur laughed at Lynn’s naïveté and her misdiagnosis? I really felt that Lynn liked me. I didn’t care if her liking me was based on her obsession with multiple personality, but I felt uncomfortable about the reaction she would have when she found out that I wasn’t.

  I tried not to worry about it, yet still to be prepared for my time with Lynn to end. I had received a scholarship to attend a two-week workshop designed to prepare teachers to help precollege students understand political systems. While I was in the Smoky Mountains, where the seminar would be held, Lynn would be taking a month’s vacation. She hoped to consult with Dr. Wilbur at that time.

  Lynn and I parted as friends. I hugged her and told her I’d see her in a month. But I knew that that was not likely. A month away from Lynn would be time enough for me to get over any need to see her. I felt even more certain that, after a consultation with this “multiple expert,” Lynn would never want to see me again.

  DIARY    July 13, 1981

  Now, after a two-hour consultation with Dr. Wilbur, I see what a mistake both Renee and I made in imagining Connie Wilbur “larger than life.” When she answered her own office phone, I should have known that she was more like my colleagues than like a celebrity. But, despite her easy telephone manner and her complete lack of amazement that I might have found another “Sybil,” I still felt nervous about seeing her. I wondered how my style of therapy might appear to someone who didn’t know me and who didn’t know my patient. I thought Dr. Wilbur might disregard what I had to say when she understood that, in a single session, I joined in with Renee’s laughter, held the trembling Missy, and allowed Jo to maintain her intellectual distance.

  In the two weeks before the appointment, I condensed our three-months’ work into a twenty-five-page summary. Ultimately, I didn’t send Dr. Wilbur the material (fearing that she’d meet me at the door with “I’ve read your material and you’re wasting my time”), but just writing a letter helped me focus my own concerns about the consultation.

  Dear Dr. Wilbur,

  Somehow I feel I’m coming for this consultation too soon, with both too much material and too little. I want to be able to give you a clear idea of the experience Jo (Joan, Frances, Renee, Missy, Robin, and Reagan) and I have had and of the unique and lovely person they are.

  I feel protective of them, of myself, and of our relationship. As Jo, Renee, and Missy are fearful that you will change things in some way, so am I. Jo is afraid you will say she is a fraud. Renee is sure you’ll say she is not a multiple and I’ve been “too nice” to them. Missy thinks you’ll make me see that she is bad and make me stop liking her.

  I’m afraid that you’ll say that I don’t know enough, that I’m overinvolved, that I will hurt rather than help, that I’m being too optimistic, and that I don’t understand what I’m dealing with. At the same time, I tell myself that surely you will see that I am the one who has to do the treatment, that if I don’t know enough I’ll have to learn—and not turn her over to someone else. Surely you will say that treatment requires a high level of involvement, and that it is more important for Jo that I care deeply about her and delight in her and in her growth than it is that I know and understand everything.

  I have tried to organize this case summary so that you can read as little or as much as you need or want for clarification. Of course, I have found every scrap and morsel to be of consuming interest. I realize this may not be true for you—at least I can admit that intellectually. Emotionally, I am bringing this to you because I think that you, of all people, are likely to be as delighted with and as sad for Jo as I am, and therefore may really want and be able to help me help her.

  My anxiety was unfounded. Dr. Wilbur saw the consultation as a way of helping me understand how best to treat the disorder. She reassured me that my commitment to seeing Jo through the treatment was indeed the most important thing.

  Dr. Wilbur made some predictions about the case based on her experience with Sybil and with other multiples. She said that treatment would be long and difficult for both Jo and me, probably lasting three to five years. She said that there was no doubt that many more personalities existed than those I had met. All of those that Renee said were “in the past” and “now dead” were still around, said Wilbur, just not yet ready to present themselves. She also said that Missy’s refusal to grow up to be a woman suggested that this patient had been sexually abused. I’m not sure how much of this I’ll share with Jo, or how quickly I will share it. But I promised Jo that I would call after I had talked to Dr. Wilbur.

  —

  WHILE LYNN WAS CONSULTING Dr. Wilbur, I was at the Smoky Mountains seminar, working at impressing the coordinators with my energy and talent. They had paid for me to be here, and I was determined that they get their money’s worth.

  I settled into quick friendships with the other participants. The isolated mountain setting, the intensity of our ten-hour-a-day work sessions and equally energized nightly gatherings encouraged easy camaraderie. I was an expert at quickly formed friendships, at my best in strange settings. I knew that my new friends would leave this retreat marveling at my empathy and willingness to join in (and often instigate) anything from midnight pot-smoking and kitchen raids to theoretical discussions. They wouldn’t know me long enough to see the other parts’ interference with my ability to be friendly and empathic.

  I used my acceptance in the group to reassure myself that I didn’t need Lynn. I had managed quite well before meeting her. The four months of treatment was the longest chunk of therapy I had ever allowed. I had learned a tremendous amount about myself. Even though I didn’t have the complete control I would have liked, life was certainly better now. I was grateful for Lynn’s help and also grateful that I didn’t need her anymore.
It didn’t matter what horrible things Dr. Wilbur said about me. I was through with therapy.

  The Missy part comforted herself that, even if she never saw Lynn again, she had all the memories of their time together.

  Jo walked the mountain trails in the early mornings wondering how she’d ever again cope with the confusion alone.

  Joan Frances was glad she could stop lying to her mother.

  Lynn called me after her visit with Dr. Wilbur. Lynn’s simple statement resonated through me to all of the personalities. The message was clear: “Diagnosis confirmed.”

  10.

  DIARY    July 23, 1981

  Today was the first appointment after vacation. I felt sure that the personalities would have many contradictory feelings concerning Dr. Wilbur’s confirmation of the diagnosis. I knew they would all be anxious about the continuation of our work. As a result, I expected to see only the Renee personality. I thought that she would come in and check things out for the group by using this session to chat about our separate vacations, and actually looked forward to a fairly nonintense re-establishment of our relationship. I felt new confidence after my consultation, and I had really missed Jo and her various manifestations. Consequently, I was already at my door when she glided gracefully into the waiting room and smiled distantly at the receptionist.

  I rushed to greet her and then slowed with uncertainty as I looked more closely at this svelte, remote woman. She looked different—tan and elegant in her tank top and wraparound skirt, her hair tucked into a knot at the nape of her neck. But I realized that the greatest difference was not in her appearance but in her expression. She seemed distant and ever so slightly amused. I omitted using a name as I gestured toward my office and said, “Won’t you come in?” I pointed to a chair, closed the door, then turned to hear her say in a polished tone, “Hello. I know you are Lynn, but we haven’t formally met. I am Isis.”

  I remembered that Renee had mentioned this Isis personality as one who kept a great deal of distance from any trauma.

  I felt all the strange and conflicting sensations that I’ve come to associate with seeing how profoundly Jo could change. Facial expression, muscle tension, voice, and vocabulary all indicated that this was someone I hadn’t met. Isis’s mannerisms were so distinct from the other personalities that I knew I would recognize her instantly when I saw her again.

  “Why don’t you tell me something about yourself?” I offered, and restrained my impulse to take off my shoes and curl up in the chair, as I would have if Renee or Missy had been present. Such a casual approach would have been out of place.

  “There really isn’t much to tell. I’m only here talking with you today because the others were too frightened to come,” she said. As I watched Isis clench her jaw and raise her chin before speaking, I was reminded of all the pseudo-sophisticated and very scared teenagers I had treated over the years. I leaned forward to hear more.

  —

  I WATCHED WITH INTEREST from my internal seat as Isis chose her words. I may have been the personality who did the best job of running things, but I honestly didn’t know Isis well. In fact, I had told Lynn that this was one of the personalities who had disappeared long ago. An hour before the appointment, as I felt defeated by my inability to decide what to wear to the session, I realized that I was as frightened as Jo about seeing Lynn after our long absence. Isis spoke to me then, for the first time in many years. Softly and confidently, she said, “Renee, I will go. I would like to meet this woman face to face.” She chose the clothes.

  Now Isis spoke to Lynn, doling out her words as though each was precious and intended to be noticed. “I am committed to beauty, but beauty isn’t always easy to find. Among this personality group, I seldom take center stage. More often I cast shadows of myself on the overt actions of the others. When there is something that interests me, I take control, but that is rare.

  “The others are so frightened. Their fear detracts from the joy that I might feel at sharing in their life. But otherwise they are irrelevant. I’ll always be, no matter what happens to them or to this body. I’m a roving spirit of the universe. I will continue long after the end of the others.”

  “Always young and beautiful,” Lynn murmured.

  “Or old and beautiful,” Isis rejoined. “Age and physical being mean little to me.”

  I remembered from years past that Isis believed she transcended mere mortality and had fascinated a group of high-school friends with her stories of cosmic being. I wondered if Lynn would encourage a monologue on existence beyond life.

  Lynn, however, seemed more confident and determined than I had seen her before. She was staying on track today. “If you were always there,” Lynn said, “you must know many things about the other personalities. What can you tell me?”

  Isis hesitated. “I’ve existed in a spiritual sense forever, but I didn’t join this particular body until Jo was thirteen years old. I have always felt free to leave it when it wasn’t to my liking.”

  “Isis, why did you join the body when you did?” Lynn prodded.

  Isis paused and groped for memory; I could feel her momentary irritation with the question. “It was the summer,” Isis said. “I found myself by a large glass door, looking out at beautiful flowers and feeling calmed by the splendor of the season. I was glad to find that my temporary physical home was long and lean. I taught the body to move gracefully and to dance.”

  Lynn nodded. “Renee says that she doesn’t remember anything before the summer she turned fifteen. How interesting that you two came to be when Jo was an adolescent. Do you know what was happening right before you found yourself in the body?”

  “Well done!” I silently complimented Lynn on her determination. I paid close attention, since I didn’t know the answer, and I suspected that Isis had run out of easy answers as well. Her uncertainty was a rare, humiliating experience for her. Isis pounced on a thread of memory. Following it silently, she frowned. She did not like where this was going to lead.

  “It was him, Rusty,” Isis said flatly. “You haven’t met the boy.”

  “The boy?” Lynn asked.

  “Rusty,” Isis said again.

  “Missy said that ‘Rusty’ was her friend,” Lynn responded, “but I didn’t know he was one of the personalities.”

  “Doesn’t it seem logical that Missy’s friend would be another of the personalities?” Isis asked with a touch of ridicule.

  “You won’t have to worry about dealing with Rusty,” she added reassuringly. “He’s not about to come out here. His father taught him to hate women.”

  Without giving Lynn a chance to reply, Isis continued: “Rusty left and I came. It’s as simple as that.”

  “What did Rusty have to do with your joining the body?” Lynn pressed.

  Isis shuddered, then pulled away from the emotion attached to the memory blossoming in her mind. “It was the father. The father created Rusty and couldn’t decide if he wanted the daughter or the son. He praised the son, but desired the daughter.” She paused, her voice drifting.

  “How did he desire her, sweetie?” Lynn coaxed softly.

  Isis’s voice drained of all emotion; her eyes and speech became flat. “He wanted her sexually. The father got an erection while holding Rusty. Rusty felt confused and scared. I was there.” Her voice hardened. “I pushed the father away from me and never let him touch me again. I hate men!”

  She returned to her remoteness. “Of course, this really isn’t my concern. I only happened into this body at that time. I’ll leave it for good soon.”

  “Poor little girl,” Lynn said, and reached to pat Isis’s hand as she might have Missy’s. “How upset you must have been.”

  Isis smiled in surprise and deftly moved her hand out of Lynn’s reach. “Upset?” she asked incredulously. “No, not at all. Violent emotions are majestic. There is beauty in hatred—vivid reds and purples. But since that time I have left the body whenever a man moves to touch it. I do my hating from a distance
.

  “There are far too many men around this body,” Isis added parenthetically. “Renee likes that.”

  Lynn nodded. “Renee has told me about a period of promiscuity.”

  “I’m different,” Isis said with quiet pride. “I love women. I enjoy the grace of female bodies, at rest and in motion. I’ve written about my lovers; I’ve sketched them; I’ve danced with them.” Her sexual preference thus adamantly expressed, Isis seemed to fade.

  “Isis,” Lynn said quickly, “I think you are very important, and I hope you’ll come out and talk with me often.” But even as she completed her sentence, Isis was gone.

  Muscles tensed and hands clenched as Jo regained awareness. Lynn recognized the change. “Hi, Jo,” she said cheerfully as she watched the personality fight through amnestic fog. “I’m glad you’re back.”

  Lynn recounted her visit to Dr. Wilbur, and Jo listened carefully for anything that might threaten her relationship with Lynn. Hearing nothing frightening, and sensing from Lynn’s reaction to her that their relationship was still intact, Jo focused on her most important concern. “Did Dr. Wilbur say when I will be well?” Wellness to Jo meant no more amnesia. She had no awareness of Isis’s thirty-minute conversation with Lynn.

  How long would it be before her life was normal? Lynn said that Dr. Wilbur had no definite answer for that.

  Jo told Lynn that during her walks in the mountains she had realized how large a piece of her past she was missing. She had begun to work at reconstructing all of her twenty-five years on those walks and found that there were holes in her memory as large as several months. Jo said she wouldn’t be surprised to find that she had missed entire years. She now understood why she couldn’t do even basic math computations—Jo couldn’t remember a single math lesson after the fourth grade.

  Now she tried again to get an answer from Lynn. “So, how do we do it?” she asked. “Did Dr. Wilbur tell you how to make me well?”