Loving the comments. This chapter is a little shorter cause the next is getting really long. Trying to get as much written and published for you guys in case I get crazy busy in life or hit a writers block. Lemma know if you like where it's going...I'm sure you will :) Blessings.
Chapter 10
'She sees, she hears, she speaks...but she is six and a half years old.'
I never leave her side just like I promised her.
I stay holding her hand when the nurses come in.
I fixed my hair and got dressed in her room and I ate lunch while she slept.
She looks peaceful except for the occasional worried frown.
She snores a little. Her breathing is even almost all the time.
Dr. Hofstede came in a bit later and talked to the nurses about medications for Jane.
They discuss it without me and I don't mind. It is too much right now anyway.
It all seems so simple but yet so complicated.
And when Amy wakes up she is hungry and the sticky lollipop vanishes immediately.
She is six and a half and can do absolutely everything all by herself.
She takes herself to the bathroom.
She brushes her own teeth.
She dresses herself.
She tries to fix her own hair. I help just a little because she 'can do it without help'.
She is only allowed small meals as her stomach had shrunk while on a fluid diet.
She loves jello and cookies.
She hates needles which may be a new fear or an old phobia.
She is extremely introverted when she isn't being obnoxiously loud.
She draws, she skips and she wants to play with every toy at least once.
She asks me to read her one of Chelsea's books.
She knows exactly 14 big words in the whole book. She points out every one.
She tells me there should be more pictures in it and the ending is wrong.
She names her teddybear Bass without prompting. I wonder if a subconscious part of her somehow remembers my tortoise.
She stares at the pictures on the ceiling when she isn't playing.
She calls me Mara because it's easier.
She is a regular six and a half year old. Except she isn't.
She cannot stay this way forever I plead silently to nobody.
She hides behind me when anyone enters the room and peeks over my shoulder.
She squeezes my hand or arm when she is scared which is often in the beginning.
Like when the nurses get too close too quickly.
Like when any male enters the room.
Like when a tray is dropped in the hallway.
Like when a bird flies into the window.
When she feels cooped up we go outside.
She walks beside me, then in front. She skips a little when we are away from prying eyes.
We looks at the birds. She holds out her arms to the fantails when they fly close.
We smell the flowers. She thinks the pink magnolias smell the prettiest.
She takes off her shoes and won't put them back on.
She tells me I should do too because it feels nice.
I discover she is right. It is like a spongy warm moss under my toes.
She runs in the long grass.
She watches the clouds.
She sings made-up songs to herself.
She tries to make a daisy chain and she gives it to me to wear.
She puts the soles of her bare feet against mine and throws her head back and laughs.
I watch her feed the ducks and call to them when then dive under the surface.
She sniffles when she stands on a sharpish stone. She doesn't cry.
I brace myself to hug her in case she doesn't know her own strength.
She mostly observed in the beginning and then, when she feels braver, she asks me questions about nothing and everything.
"Do you go to work? What do flowers eat? Can I walk on clouds? Do you have kids? Do you like pink? Why is water sometimes cold? Are you sad? Did that bird go home? Do like to eat mud pies? Does everyone have 10 toes?"
She tells me my answers are wrong a lot.
I am exhausted.
Then she sits beside me on the park bench where I used to take Jane.
She rests her head against my shoulder and lets me put my arm around her.
She snuggles closer and sighs in contentment.
I asked her questions too. I asked her what school she goes to, about her friends, if she has brothers and sisters, where her mum and dad are, where she lives.
She can't pronounce the name of her school but she tries anyway. Her teacher has white hair. She has a pink backpack and a special place at school with her name on to hang it up. Her lunchbox has a my little pony on it with a rainbow tail. Her friends are Jenny who likes barbie dolls, Mikey who has a red bike and no mummy and Susan whose big brown dog named Bob loves to eat tennis balls. She has a tabby cat named Molly. A yellow bird named Polly. And a sister named Cindy. She wants a horse that she would name Princess Buttercup. There is a monster in her closet her dad named 'Beansilly'. She has a giraffe nightlight because she is scared of the dark. She lives in a big white house with a red front door in California. She doesn't know where her mum and dad are all the time but that is ok. She is not scared when she is not home. She visits lots of places but only for a little while. She is scared when she wakes up in a strange place alone but mostly she is scared of bad men in white coats.
She fidgets a lot when she talks about herself and doesn't make a lot of eye contact.
She reacts to my feelings. She is very perceptive. She frowns when she thinks I am sad and smiles when I appear happy. So I hide my feelings from her, so save her from worrying.
When the sun begins to get low in the sky and we head back.
She lets go of my hand and then lags too far behind me and I call to her, "Jane, come on."
She stops and stares at me.
A blank stare.
I hold my breath. I realize my mistake.
She doesn't move.
My brain jumps to the word Catatonia. My heart says not again.
"Amy?"
She blinks twice. Then twice again. She frowns. Then she looks at me and she smiles with recognition. Amy skips towards me and takes my hand. We walk back hand in hand, side by side, shoulder to shoulder.
She sleepily eats her dinner, takes her medication and falls asleep playing with Bass her pink bear.
THE BRAVE ONE
Dr. Cisco Hofstede comes in later to talk to me. I tell him about our outing, about Amy's life and memories, about her freezing and blank look when I called her Jane.
I tell him I am afraid and that I can't even describe why exactly. He nods slowly. I think he might feel the same but he doesn't say. I have drawn off his strength so he stays strong for me. He is a good friend and one I am sure I don't deserve.
I ask him why...Why is Jane like this?.
He gives me the gentle safe protective answer.
"Different aspects of a traumatized persons personality compartmentalized individually to handle different things."
He doesn't really need to tell me because I already knew. I also know the hair-raising, blood-curdling, disconcerting version of the answer. I know that the alters, or soul fragments, are segregated and compartmentalized within the victim's mind by the repeated use of torture, many of which are inhumane, which isolates the memories of their experiences. And that the alters sometimes create a safe pretend place they imagine they are in while undergoing extreme torture because the reality is literally just too unbearable. I wonder if that is what happened to Jane. If that is why there is an Amy. If that is why she has a fantasy family and friends but is afraid of bad men she can't name in long white coats.
Cisco tells me about other people in the facility, that multiple personality disorder is not uncommon here.
"Some survivors know they live out of other parts inside but many do not. Some can switch to other parts at will but others are passively triggered and have little control over alters. Fragmented parts of a person can look different in facial expressions, can sound different, and act differently than each other and they also can hold different beliefs."
He tells me about a patient he had here with 14 personalities a few years ago and that the man had recovered completely. He tells me a little about the famous cases of Truddi Chase with 92 personalities and also Chris Sizemore whose alter almost killed her own child. He tells me each personality may have a separate autobiographical memory, independent initiative and a sense of ownership over individual behavior. That all the personalities will be different when it comes to attitude, age, sex, and even weight.
He tells me just as much as I can cope with and no more.
Doctors studying patients with multiple personality disorder have discovered something strange. One of the personalities possessed by a certain patient needs glasses for their eyes. But, another of the same patient's personalities does not need glasses for their eyes. Or, one of the patient's personalities is diabetic and another of the same patient's personalities is not diabetic. When the patient switches from one personality to another, their body actually goes through real changes, such as differences in blood sugar levels. And brain imaging shows different parts of the brain are more active with different personalities especially the areas with memories.
I had put my feelings aside. I had chosen not to dwell on things or think too hard. I had focused on only the present. On getting to know and understand Amy. To figure out how to find Jane. Now everything comes to the surface. Now I cry, I shake as I sob. It is cathartic and I feel better.
Cisco tells me it will take time. He tells me there is hope. He tells me it will get better. He tells me we will make it right. He helps me to smile again.
I spend almost three full days with Amy and I grow to love and care about her. She is gentle and sweet most of the time, cautious and timid the rest of the time. She tells me she is the happiest she can ever remember being. She talks less about her pretend family memories and more about what's around her. She shuts down whenever we talk about what she fears. And she physically shies away from sudden or large movements. I don't need the child psychologist to tell me that they are classic signs of abuse but he does anyway.
As the days pass she becomes fearlessly inquisitive yet I can tell she is still holding back. She gains confidence around the nurses who sometimes cannot wait till she sleeps to check on her.
I phone Angela and ask what Jane was like as a little girl. She describes child Jane, there are some similarities but not enough. From the description Amy is more reserved and yet more trusting than Jane was as a child. Jane hated pink yet Amy loves it. I tell Angela not to come up tomorrow as planned. She is disappointed but agrees not to come if that's what is best. I did not tell her the exact details of why.
I do tell Angela that things are improving, that she likes the yellow pajamas after all. I also tell her that Jane is off the IV fluids and is on new medication that may help. Angela calls out the news excitedly to whomever is in the background.
During breakfast I accidentally call her Jane again and this time she looks confused.
"Who is Jane?"
"She is a dear friend of mine."
"Oh" She swirls her porridge around the bowl with the back of her spoon and swings her legs under the chair, deep in thought.
"An imme-image-imaginary friend?"
I chuckle and she smiles. She always smiles when I laugh.
"No sweetheart, she is very real."
Amy looks around the room slightly perplexed "Where is she then?"
"Well..."
I point towards her heart
"...I suppose she is sort of inside there with you."
She looks down and blinks a few times. And when she looks up at me again her eyes suddenly go wide and she stares at me in surprise.
"I remember you." She points at me and squints as if she is trying to remember something. Her voice has changed dramatically. It is deep and growly, almost angry. It is an older voice. Closer to Jane's voice in depth but nothing like Amy's.
I know I jumped. And I know she knows she scared me. She sits back quickly and pulls her pointed finger back to herself mumbling a sorry that does not sound genuine in the slightest.
I clear my throat, "You remember me?"
I can see her thinking, recalling something, "You were lying on a bed, maybe it was in a hospital. And you were tied up. A man with a scarred face and a sharp blade was going to kill you. He cut your neck a little bit."
She looks at my neck and in a monotone voice she adds "I killed him."
Her words are void of infliction. There is no emotion in it, or in her eyes that study my neck for a mark, for evidence of her statement.
I swallow heavily and she looks from my throat to my eyes, my face.
"I..."
She raises her eyebrows at me questioning, waiting.
"Jane?" I ask. I know it isn't Amy because the voice isn't as high and childish, and the eyes are more intense and less trusting.
She laughed like I was being silly, like it was a joke. It was a short laugh. It was a laugh much like Frankie's.
She shakes her head at me still smirking, "No."
To be continued...