I start to say that she’s wrong, but is that what I want? Do I only want her to be happy with me and miserable with them? No, I don’t want that for her or Caylen. But what does that mean? Is she saying that it doesn’t matter if it’s with me or not? I feel my jaw flinch.
“That’s what I thought,” she says quietly, but she looks more disappointed than angry, and that hurts more than anything because I can’t help her. Hell, I can’t even help myself.
“Your appointment with Helen is in an hour.”
I used to hear the word integration and just hoped for that to mean I’d be fixed. Now when I hear it, it makes my blood go cold.
Before this guy appeared I always thought if integration ever happened, it’d be me in the end. Now I’m terrified because if this guy knows so much, isn’t against integration, and wants this to happen—what if it’s not me—what if I’m an alter?
No, that’s ridiculous.
I know one thing. I’m the hero, and the hero always wins.
“It’s good to see you, Christopher.” Helen saunters into the office. It’s different from the one I used to see her in. This one is bigger, more modern, large picture windows overlooking the backdrop of the city. It’s also on the nineteenth floor, which didn’t help things. I try to push down the seething resentment I have when I see her and Dexter. I thought I’d gotten over it, but each time I see them it starts to peek through.
“I wish I could say the same thing,” I tell her adjusting my position in the chair I’m in. It’s more like a sofa than a chair, and it’s too comfortable. Maybe it’s here to make you think you’re having a simple conversation with a friend than a visit with a doctor—or in my case a doctor that deliberately keeps things from you.
“Yes, I can imagine I’m not on the list of your first people to see.” She doesn’t look the least bit offended at my statement. She settles into the chair behind her desk. I remember her other desk being bigger, there was more of a separation between us.
“Why did you come?”
“Because Lauren said I have an appointment,” I tell her tightly. My plan to make friends with Helen is off to a terrible start. I’m not a pretender or an opportunist. How do I do this?
“But that doesn’t mean that you had to come does it?”
And just like that, I’m already annoyed at the questions she’s asking.
“You’re angry with me,” she says pointedly. My initial reaction is to tell her I’m not, but if I’m being honest, I am.
“It’s okay, Chris. You can tell me that.”
Of course I could tell her that, but it doesn’t really matter how I feel towards her. I need her if I want to get better. I have to talk to her.
“You seem to be in deep thought. You do know this is a safe space. Nothing you say will offend me, and I won’t use it against you.”
“I don’t understand why you didn’t tell me about my condition. It seems like if you’re on anyone’s side, it’s Cal’s or… this Collin guy for all I know,” I tell her pointedly.
“It was a decision made by several parties who all share your best interest. You weren’t ready to know at that point. It was a very difficult decision to make, but one that was ultimately decided for your benefit.”
“Who were the several parties? My parents, Dexter or Cal and Collin?” I ask her pointedly. “And how do you think I can trust you after hiding something like that from me?”
“I understand that you feel you can’t trust me. It was a risk I knew would have consequences when the decision was made. However, I do promise you, from this day going forward if you choose to continue to see me that I won’t keep anything from you.” Her voice is even, calming almost. If I didn’t know her, it could possibly lull me into believing her. What use is the promise of a liar?
“Regardless of how you feel about what happened, I can help you. I am highly qualified and I do my job extremely well. Things have changed since we used to meet. You are aware of your condition and have a foundation that I can build on. I can help you.” Her tone is more direct instead of the pacifying one she used earlier.
I fold my arms across my chest. “And what exactly does helping me mean?” I ask her coldly.
She smiles as if my attitude doesn’t bother her. “What do you think helping you means?”
“Integration. That’s what the solution is right?” I ask.
“Is that what you would want?” Her question catches me off guard.
“What do you mean?” I ask her, sitting up in my chair. What does it matter what I want, it’s the plan, the solution I thought.
“I always thought that that was the answer, that’s what all of the websites say.”
“The majority of people who suffer from your disorder find peace with what integration is. Do you know what integration is?”
“It’s when all of us come together.”
“Do you understand what that means?’ She asks, and I’m quiet. I don’t really understand what that means, and that’s the scary part about it.
“We’ll be one, all of us…” I clear my throat. Just the thought of being one with them terrifies me.
“And how do you feel about that?”
“Honestly,” I laugh coldly.
“There is no point to these sessions if you’re not honest.”
“I don’t want to be one with them. I want to be me. I want to know what’s going on in my life without being filled in on it after waking up with no clue of what’s going on. I don’t want to share it with them. If you told me there was a way to get rid of them, that’s what I’d want. If integration means getting rid of them and shutting them up, then that’s what I’d like to work on.” I let out a deep breath when I finish. She doesn’t look surprised by my outburst at all, but I guess my response is normal.
“Them is you, Christopher.” She says this as if it’s so simple, and I roll my eyes.
“Well, it doesn’t feel like it.”
“Let’s start from the beginning.” She pulls out an iPad and a stylus, and I groan. If we’re starting from the beginning, I’m doomed because that means this will take a long time. How far off is integration if we’re only at the beginning?
“Dissociative identity disorder is—”
“I know what it is Helen,” I say not hiding my frustration.
“Chris, since you’ve never seen me in regards to your condition, I don’t know where your information comes from or if it’s even accurate. Without an appropriate understanding of what you’re dealing with, no treatment that we’ll undergo will be beneficial to you so please if you will…”
“Fine,” I say quietly.
“As I was saying…” she grins at me.
“Dissociation isn’t abnormal. Everyone does it.” She says and I scoff. I don’t remember my parents running around calling themselves by different names and not remembering it.
“It may sound strange, but daydreaming is a prime example. Drifting off into another state of consciousness is dissociating. The issue is when it becomes disruptive, as yours has become. When it interferes with your daily life. When a traumatic event happens to someone and they use it as a form of coping or blocking out the event, it falls into the category of becoming dysfunctional. There are several conditions that involve dissociation. I have ruled them out in your case. Initially I thought that you could have a borderline personality disorder, but I ruled that out when I realized your egos were more compartmentalized.”