“Does he not want to see me? The damage has already been done! I just—he owes me an explanation!” I hear footsteps approach, and I move back from the door.
“Lauren, please calm down,” I hear my mom say, and the footsteps stop.
“You know my name?” I hear the girl ask. She sounds as surprised as I am. She doesn’t know my parents.
“We know who you are. You’re Cal’s wife,” I hear my father say. My throat tightens. How do they know this “Cal” guy? My heart is beating faster and faster, but I know there is a reasonable explanation for this. There has to be.
“So he told you about me? Then, why does he act like he doesn’t know me? Is it because of that woman out there? I’m sorry I don’t know who … he never mentioned you. He-he…” her voice trails off, and I’m as close as I can be to the door without going through it.
“He doesn’t know who you are. The person you saw earlier wasn’t Cal,” my mom says, and I let out the breath I’ve been holding. The knots in my stomach release. I can’t help the wide smile that spreads across my face as a sense of relief courses through my system.
“I don’t understand. No, that was Cal. I know it. It has to be,” the girl says adamantly. She sounds so sure about it, I feel sorry for her. I don’t know who this Cal guy is, or how she could feel so strongly about a guy who seems like an asshole.
“Are you telling me that he is Cal’s brother? Is he Cal’s twin?”
Why didn’t Jenna and I come up with that? It would make so much sense. Maybe I have a twin, or a brother who looks like me. I don’t know anything about my birth parents. It’s entirely possible, but the message—it doesn’t fit, unless he’s screwing with me, but why?
“Yes,” my dad answers.
“William, no. No more lies. She deserves to know the truth. We agreed that we’d tell her,” my mom says sternly, and my stomach churns. My heart is beating in my ears.
You can't get married because you already are. Since no one gave two shits to inform you. I'm Cal.
I hear voices, but I can’t tell who’s saying what. I squeeze my temples together and make myself focus. The one thing Dr. Lyce told me to try to do to prevent blacking out. I’ve been getting better at it in the past year.
“I understand he used me…that he never loved me,” the girl states before she cries. I’ve missed something. I put my ear back to the door.
“Oh, no sweetheart, you have the wrong idea,” my mother says, and I don't know what I missed.
“Chris and Cal share the same body, but the person you met today is Chris, not Cal. That’s the reason why he reacted the way that he did. He truly doesn’t know who you are. Cal is a separate personality from Chris.”
I’m going to be sick. I’m going to throw up right here.
“Chris has what is called Dissociative Identity Disorder,” my mom says, and I’ve heard enough. I’m dizzy. I make my way over to the kitchen table. The room feels like it’s getting smaller. My chest constricts.
“You–you’re both lying for him. You’re covering for him!” the girl shouts.
“We’re telling you the truth. Chris doesn’t know who you are. He doesn’t know what Cal does,” I hear my mom say, and I can’t take anymore. No. No. No!
I burst out of the kitchen, onto the back porch. I lean over the railing and all the contents of whatever I last ate pour out of me. I’m outside, but I can’t get enough air.
I’m Cal.
I try to catch my breath and wipe away the hot tears escaping my eyes. All of this time. No clue. I thought I just had amnesia, an undiagnosed neurological disorder. It was all a lie. My life is a lie, or one of them is. How is this possible? How can something like this actually happen? Why would they lie to me? How could they do this? Two years! Two years I’ve gone without this happening. Well, aside from yesterday.
I’ve finally finished my bachelor’s degree, I’ve gotten engaged, landed a steady job, and they let me do all of it knowing that this freak is living inside of me. But really I’m the freak, I’m crazy. I’m the psycho!
I pull out my phone and listen to the message again, then throw my phone across the field. Who the hell is this guy? Why don’t I have a clue about any of this? Why does he know more than I do? I kick the dirt. I really need something to hit, or even break. I feel like I’m breaking, and now, without realizing it, I’m crying.
I haven’t cried since I found out my mom had cancer. I felt helpless then, and I feel the same way now. Everything I’ve worked for seems meaningless. I look back at the house and think of the girl inside. How could I be married to her? I don’t even know who she is. What do I say to her? To Jenna? I can’t marry her while I’m married to someone else, and if I’m not cured—is there even a cure for this? When will this Cal guy pop up next? I think back to yesterday, and shudder. It happened then. He came out, and he called me. He, who―he is me, right? No, that guy can’t be me. I’m nothing like that. I sit on the porch, my head between my knees. What am I going to do? How do I explain this to people? How do I, how can I live like this? My parents didn’t believe I could. They would have told me if they thought I could handle it.
Dissociative Identity Disorder. What the hell does that even mean? It might as well be freaking “living inside of you disease.” I take a deep breath and head back in the house. There’s still yelling coming from behind the door, but I ignore it. I head up the back stairs and into my room. I flip open my laptop, pull up the search engine, and then stare at it. I sit down and stuff my head in my hands. They’re shaking. Once I do this, there’s no going back. But really, there’s no going back now.
I type in Dissociative Identity Disorder, and hit enter. There are 1,080,000 results. Wow. I scroll down and click on what seems like the most official link.
Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID), previously referred to as multiple personality disorder, is a dissociative disorder involving a disturbance of identity in which two or more separate and distinct personality states (or identities) control an individual's behavior at different times. When under the control of one identity, a person is usually unable to remember the events that occurred while other personalities were in control. The different identities, referred to as alters, may exhibit differences in speech, mannerisms, attitudes, thoughts, and gender orientation. The alters may even present physical differences, such as allergies, right- or left-handedness, or the need for eyeglass prescriptions. These differences between alters are often quite striking.
I stare at the screen, taking in all of the information. You’d think this would be empowering, finally knowing what’s wrong with me. But it’s terrifying, because it makes this real. After reading about it for the past half hour, I haven’t seen that there is a cure. Treatment, therapy, something about integration, which makes no freakin’ sense. Apparently I’m lucky though, there’s only one “alter.” That’s what Cal is, an “alter.” I suppose it could be worse, Cal could be a woman, and my husband could have shown up today. I think of his message, and how he joked about it, knowing I had no clue what he was talking about. This guy is a prick. Hopefully he’s the only one, but who knows? I try not to think about what all this means. It’s kind of landed on my doorstep this morning, literally.