Seeing Yourself versus Knowing Yourself

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I am embarrassed. I am alone. I am exiled.

I don’t know where to start. I still can’t wrap my mind around it. I’m speechless—and I’ve never been before. It is so unlike me. I would never have thought this before. One question lies on my mind: Why? If you had asked me if this would have happened a year ago—no, even a month ago—, I would have responded with perplexity and cachinnation…

Me. I am that small town girl. My parents are heavily Christian. We go to church every weekend. I go to an all-girls Catholic school. I have read the Old and New Testaments three times. I love my religion. Most girls at my school loathe having to enter the hallowed halls that are St. Victoria’s while I adore it. The history, the strength, the endurance; it’s all just so alluring. I even went as far as to decide to dedicate my life to my faith. Most people think I am mentally insane for doing so, but for me, it’s oh so simple. It’s just scary that my future may be permanently corrupted after….

The ivy-covered walls seemed to be drawing in closer. The blue sky above the gaping building seemed ever so slightly covered by a thin layer of dust. No one would quite notice that. The breeze made me succumb to my knees, although I was already down praying. Everyone was walking around me, staring at my golden colored hair contrasting my darkened honey eyes. I know I’m spiritual, but I never quite do this. Something had come over me, almost like I knew this would be my last request. The question “Why?” is drawn over me again.

Eventually, I rose up and regained my strength. The students stared at me like I had three heads in my classes, in the halls, on the bus ride home, even at the convent I volunteered at. They weren’t even there! How did they know I did something erratic and that some considers worthy of thorough psychological evaluation? This was only the commencement of my infamy.

Dana Christian. Some call her the she-devil. The only reason she’s even here is because her parents see her as a saint. They are obviously naïve. She has never said anything derogatory towards me, but I have heard the stories, the “incantations” as they are now known as because of Dana’s rep as being a “witch”. When she confronted me about what I did to her, I was astonished. I—I began to literally shake. I had no idea what she was talking about and that frightened me. I felt like I was loosing chunks of time and I don’t know why. I just wanted to curl up and sleep for days, and that’s what I did.

The rush. I remember running—running fast. I was looking behind me, constantly. I needed to get away, but I didn’t know why. I felt as though I was on a high. The leaves surrounding me on the ground were uplifted by the swaying air beneath my feet. The blackness groped the moon so that there was hardly any light. I heard whispers—no, screams way behind me. I began to run faster. How did I even run this fast? I hate running. I was scared again. I’m so sick of feeling this way. Then, I woke up. It must have all been just a dream. The problem was it felt so real.

The setback. I still refused to leave my room. I was having massive headaches caused by my intense hysteria. The past few occurrences just didn’t make sense. That could not have been me. My parents began freaking out that I refused to come out. In a way, they didn’t want me to because they began hearing strange sounds in the middle of the night. It’s all just getting worse. I just sat in my room and cried.

The next day, my parents entered my room and said we were going to the doctor. They just didn’t tell me which type until I got there. They had sent me to a psychologist for severe depression. I didn’t understand that. First of all my parents usually solve everything with faith. Am I really deteriorating that badly?

The next few moments were all just a blur. I can’t really recall them. Faint light glows in my memories of what happened that day. Whenever I feel frightened, I get this way. Why? Well the doctor now knows what I didn’t—and still don’t. He is in there talking with my parents about it. I’ve heard my mother’s cries; my father wanting answers. I sat there getting so fearful again—and I blacked out. My next memory is that my mother and father descended from the office to me—with my new psychologist. Oh no, they were going to tell me what was wrong! I had to put my fear behind me; I can’t let it get a hold of me now because I need to hear this.

As the doctor started to explain, I couldn’t control my fear. I sunk into a psychological coma in which my mind is the only thing I could hear. I didn’t even hear what was wrong with me. All I heard is that I need help and that… Then I blacked out again. Thoughts streamed around my head: “You’re crazy!” “Loony toon!” “Muhahahah!” I just had to make it: “STOP,” I must have screamed that aloud. A woman in a nurse’s outfit walked in. I looked around. I was in a different room. I was lying in a bed of floral sheets and blankets. My head was resting on a soft pillow that my head seemed to fit perfectly in. Around me, no TV, none of my stuff, and no people, at least that I knew. There was something around my wrists. It didn’t feel like bracelets or anything like that. I finally regained my sight and saw that I was being restrained! I felt constricted! The woman walked closer to me; I cowered back. She told me not to be scared; that everything would be okay now. I needed to know what was going on.

It all makes sense…unfortunately. The nurse left without a word. Fear took over me again, but there was something different this time. It didn’t feel the same! Finally, the nurse returned with the doctor I saw earlier and my parents. This was getting so creepy. They told me to sit down and it will all be okay. I was sick of hearing that! I told them to just tell me what was happening…and so they did. I’m crazy! I’m literally crazy! I have something called Dissociative Identity Disorder. They kept telling me it’s not my fault, but whose is it? They said this only happens to those who have some trauma. What trauma? They kept telling me that I don’t remember it because I was so scared that I projected another—another person to deal with it for me! I need to know why…why…WHY! They said the only way to figure it out was to bring her out. My other half. I wouldn’t remember anything, but this was the first step. They said I needed to be “integrated”, but I will be fine. “I’m not crazy, I’m not crazy.” I’m not crazy.

My future! Ruined! The next thing I knew my dad was being dragged out of my room…in handcuffs. I cried for them to stop, but they refused! I asked them why. They refused! They said eventually they will know, but not yet…it’s too soon. How is this supposed to help me? Everything I know is gone. My dad’s a good Christian, or at least that’s what I thought. I’m a good Christian, or maybe not? What did I do when she was out? My bright future. It’s gone.





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