Notes: Oi. This was, by far, the hardest chapter to write. *kicks writers block* But I got through it, and I'm actually sort of happy with the way it turned out. Maybe. Anyway, I guess by this point most of you know what's wrong with Roger. But some of the reviews I've gotten have upset me a bit, since I have friends who have this, and well, a variety of other reasons. So I asked permission from one of the multiples I know if I could post the links to her websites (which I found very helpful when I was reading up on this, researching so I could write this story), and she told me it was ok. Sooo, at the end of this chapter are some links on Roger's problem that I think you'd find pretty helpful, especially if you're one of the people who laugh when Roger refers to himself in the first person plural.

March Seventh, 2004. I'll remember this date for the rest of my life, however long – or short – that may be. The day it all came crashing down on me, the first time since my AIDS diagnoses in '96 that I let myself break down and cry.

"Dissociative Identity Disorder."

I look up, coming out of my trance, to stare at Angie's face, for once without that calm smile we've grown so used to over the past four months.

"Roger, I've been hesitant to use a diagnosis until now, but I think the time has come for that. I think that it will put both you and Mark at ease to know what's happening to you, and I think that I know you well enough now to make the call."

Don't switch, stay, this is important… Focus.

"I… I don't understand. Dissociative what?"

Angie settles down in her chair, folding her hands in her lap. "Dissociative Identity Disorder. It's the new name for Multiple Personality Disorder."

Ring around the rosie

"It's like this." She holds up a piece of yellow lined paper and holds it in front of her face. "A child is abused by someone they love, someone they trust – say a father – but the conscious mind cannot accept the fact that someone they love and trust could do that to them. So they dissociate, or space out, until the incident is over, so the child is protected, still safe. The conscious mind essentially removes itself, while the other part holds the memories of the abuse, the pain. When this happens repeatedly, this dissociated part begins to form its own personality." She rips the paper in half, holding the two pieces side by side. "And if the trauma continues, the dissociation is used again, and again, and again. Either the same part comes out, or, more likely, new ones are created." She rips the paper into thirds. "Eventually, these parts, the ones with the memories of trauma and abuse, begin to develop their own sets of characteristics, mannerisms, traits. Their own alter personalities."

Pockets full of posies

I swallow hard around the lump in my throat and try to blink against the burning sensation behind my eyelids.

"I… No, that's not possible. Not for me. I mean… No. I wasn't abused, I wasn't…"

"Roger." Her tone is wary. We've been over this, she knows it, I know it…on some level.

Ashes, ashes

"I wasn't! It's just a dream!"

Angie gets up then and moves to the couch so that she's sitting next to me, a comforting hand on my shoulder.

"Roger. You were abused."

We all fall down

h t t p:/ /www.livejournal . com / community /fragmentedminds / (a wonderful Livejournal community, you don't have to be multiple to join. They welcome anyone, as long as you're considerate, and they've answered many stupid questions that I've had, and have always been wonderful to me.)

h t t p:/ /www.dividedminds .com /home. htm l (the owner of the community's website. The most helpful website on DID that I've ever found, plus it gives insight into a multiple's mind, since the owner is one herself.)

h t t p:/ /www .livejournal .com /community /squirtsnsprites / (created by the same person, this LJ community is for the "littles" [child alters] and it definitely would be a good thing to check out if you're at all confused, curious, or amused, by how the child alters behave, talk, or write.)

Another helpful resource is the book, First Person Plural, by Cameron West. It's a fucking amazingly powerful book, it's what convinced me to change my major in college from theatre to psychology. Definitely worth a read.

(note: take out the spaces in the above links. Ff.net wouldn't let me post the links without it.)