by Portia Moore
“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 reassures me again. I must look as nervous as I feel. At least we’re the only people in 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's desk.
“Good afternoon, welcome to New Horizons.” The receptionist seems cheerfully.
“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 were really 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 already feel a little better. Lauren touches my shoulder before heading to what looks to be 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 is wiggling back and forth. I’m not the only one nervous.
“Okay, Christopher, there are a couple of forms. The first few 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.
Do you have frequent dizzy spells?
Do you have obsessive feelings to communicate, but are fearful to do so?
Do you have frequent panic attacks?
Do you feel isolated even at social gatherings?
Do you have seemingly unshakable addictions (drugs, tobacco, food, or sex?)
Do you seem to hear voices when no one else is around?
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 these questions, the doctor should have a complete treatment plan all set up before 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 receptionist.
“Dr. Clemons will be right with you,” she promises, 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 reception desk is open. Standing at the door is an older woman with a long braid, 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 is smiling widely and 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 is warm and welcoming. Well, as much as an office can be. The walls are tan with two brown chairs in front of her desk. Off to the right is the proverbial couch the one 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 to 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 reassures me.
“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 today may be better spent discussing some of the overall concerns that you have. 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.
“Remember Christopher, I am here to be your sounding board. I don’t have an agenda or any preconceived notions. I am here to help you sort things out objectively. I would like you to be able to speak freely and truthfully.” She leans forward on her desk, giving me all 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, I’m ab
le to speak more freely and it feels better to get everything off my chest. 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 this happened I thought I knew what I wanted in life. I knew what I wanted to do and 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 you had headaches when you believed your switches were blackouts. 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, at least one that you remember, 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, 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. 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 reason 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. I feel a rush of relief when the words leave my mouth. 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 state that you seem to get along well with Lauren and you have a little girl that you’ve really taken to. He can’t be all bad,” she says, and I roll my eyes. It was sheer luck that 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 you say, it sounds like Cal may be the part of your personality that is uninhibited, 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 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, connect with him or understand him. I want him to disappear. I want him gone, like he never existed.
Chapter 49
Lauren
Chris said everything went fine in his session with the doctor. Still, I 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 throw-away answer like “everything went fine.” I’d pay anything to know what went on in there but 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. There are so many people 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 me 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 comes alive with the memory of him. Sometimes I manage to sleep through these memories 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.
I wish Chris would just say something. When we’re together and there’s silence, and 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, that 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.
“I have another appointment with Dr. Clemons next week,” he says before starting the car.
“That’s good. Do you feel comfortable with her?” I ask, glad that he’s finally opening up about his appointment.
“For a stranger, I guess.” He chuckles looking down at his lap.
“She wants to do some testing at our next appointment,” he continues.
“What type of testing?”
“To confirm that I actually have DID. Go figure right?” He grins and I can’t help but laugh at that.
“The other is to test my level of dissociation. I think,” he continues. That’s why he should have asked for me to come in and talk to her. There wouldn’t be any tests needed after hea
ring from me. I can certainly testify to the fact that his level is pretty high.
He sighs. “She gave me some homework,” he says sardonically, pulling out a piece of paper from his pocket. He glances at it and hands it to me. I unfold it and have to bite my cheeks to keep from smiling. So this is why he’s been sulking.
“This isn’t so bad,” I say, and he frowns. Well of course it’s bad. He doesn’t want to like Cal.
“She wants me to connect with him.” Again with the contempt. I guess it’s better than pouting.
“Is that such a bad thing?”
He looks at me, completely baffled. It’s funny that Chris has never talked about how he feels about Cal. I mean, I know he isn’t happy about him but I never got the impression that he has the same disdain for him as his dad. I somehow thought he’d come to terms with the fact that Cal is him, but from the way he’s acting now, he doesn’t.
“Nope. It’s awesome,” he says even more sarcastically than before. I feel myself growing defensive and I’m really trying not to be. We both sit in silence, awkwardness filling the car.
“Well, are you going to do it?” I ask trying very hard to restrain my aggravation.
“I kind of have to.” He sounds bitter. At this moment I realize just how much I’ve filtered myself when it comes to Chris.
I’ve done it since I’ve known him.
Ever since our disastrous introduction, I’ve been trying to keep my emotional outbursts on lock down. But, in reality, thanks to Cal, my tongue has become pretty sharp when I’m upset. I usually say things without thinking about them. I tried to be pre-Cal Lauren. I wanted him to see that I’m not psychotic. Maybe, in the back of my head, I’ve sort of shown him what I imagined he wanted me to be. I haven’t been dishonest about who I am, but he certainly hasn’t seen me in my full glory, which is laughable since his fiancé is a complete... I won’t even go there but what he’s just said triggers something in me and the tight rope that’s been holding me together and keeping the old Lauren, Cal’s Lauren, from rearing her head just snaps. I don’t know if it’s the city, the fact that I’m hungry and tired from sitting in a waiting room for three hours or the fact that what he just said is so out of character from the man I used to know that the kids gloves come off.
