DID

Chapter 1:         Kaylee

        My brain is no longer mine alone.  I’ve gotten used to this by now, but sometimes it’s one of those thoughts that hits you and you sit dazed for a few minutes before going back to whatever it was you were doing before.  I mean, it’s been months, but the concept is still strange in and of itself.  Usually though, it’s just something I, and everyone else, just deals with.  I’m 20, so my life is fairly simple: try and continue to pay rent, keep my job, and keep things relatively uncomplicated.  By relatively, I don’t really know what I mean.

        Last year The Plague hit.  It wasn’t exactly a traditional plague.  There weren’t peasants coughing up black tar in the street. No one had yellowing skin or blood coming out their tear ducts.  No, this was not a physical plague, but a mental one.  What is assumed at this point, although experts still don’t know anything concrete, is that The Plague was caused by a cocktail of radiation, air pollution, and processed food. But of course nothing was conclusive, it could have been anything. It started slowly enough, but the lack of physically manifested symptoms made people skeptical. “Is this even something I can really catch? I mean, I’m not touching their brain or anything.” Statements like this were usually followed by obnoxious laughter.  The more susceptible few were immediately infected, if infected is the proper term.  Then everything was quiet for a while.  People then didn’t take “mental health” seriously, so it was chalked up to being a minor bump on the medical road.  Those few had suffered, and now we can collectively go on and wonder what that weird jump in mental problems were that one time.

It was something we assumed was at least under control, despite having no leads on a cure. Then everything escalated, after weeks of quiet everyone else started showing symptoms.  Hysteria was rampant, hallucinations, bipolarity, memory loss.  Everyone was affected.  What caught doctors and the public as strange is that there continued to be no physical symptoms.  No vomiting, fever, anything.  And then everything appeared to go back to normal.  People, again, seemed to get better with no cure in sight.  However, eventually the permanent side effect of The Plague came to light.  Seems it rewired the human brain to hold more than one personality.  Much like what used to be Dissociative Identity Disorder, without the childhood trauma.  Some people woke up the next day as a different person, some didn’t change until months later.  Mine didn’t kick in for a few weeks.  It’s a little different for everyone, but you could say we’re all suffering together. Lucky us.

        Some people like to claim that The Plague made us better as a nation (I have a name for those people, and it’s assholes) because it wiped out those that can’t handle a little bit of mental instability.  Natural selection meets eugenics. It isn’t as if The Plague itself was fatal, but some people just couldn’t handle the anguish.  Suicide rates skyrocketed.  People jumped off buildings to escape the demons that could now possess them without warning.  Guns were put to the heads of those that couldn’t keep up with their rollercoaster of emotions.  The elderly population simply sat back and died of a heightened state of mental complexity.

        I personally don’t feel any stronger because of this, but who am I to complain.  I’m still alive, and living in a relative state of normalcy.  I, along with a wave of other 16-22 year olds, decided to drop out of school and make do with the situation we’ve been given.  It’s a bit hard to study when suddenly someone with the overwhelming urge to climb trees takes over your body for 3 hours.  That’s Evan, by the way, he comes around pretty often.  Doesn’t stay for too long, and keeps me fit I guess, but I digress.  Before this whole shebang I was studying to be a psychologist. Ironic?  It wasn’t so much a burning passion to cure mental diseases so much as a desire to continue learning something interesting and a lack of any other direction.  Maybe this was a blessing in disguise, gave me time to avoid choosing a career for a couple more years.  Right now everything is revolving around understanding who we are again.  How to share our bodies.

        Anyway, today I’m Kaylee. I’m me. The original me.  And I’m going to work.  With my mediocre knowledge on the human brain I’ve landed a job at a post-traumatic stress hotline.  I basically spend my days telling people that whatever is going on is normal and to keep calm and try to live life as if nothing has changed.  Most of it is a lie, the majority people working there have no experience in the field, or even necessarily an interest in psychology. It’s considered an entry level job.  I don’t mind it, it gets boring and repetitive at times, but it pays the bills and no one is getting immediately hurt.  

        I head out to work and check in with my boss, a woman named Julie.  She ran the place as a suicide hotline and converted it when it became obsolete.  I didn’t know her before The Plague hit but I can only assume she was the firm-but-fair type.  Motherly with no children to tend to.  Now she holds two others regularly.  One a middle-aged man who ends up snapping at most things people say to him, and another, a young woman who calls herself Angie, convinced she’s one of the employees. It would be easy to take advantage of it and have Angie pick up one of your shifts, but Julie is one who remembers nearly everything that goes on during her day regardless of who is in control.  I myself can remember most things too, but if I’m not myself it’s as if things I did were relayed to me.  Like I’d read them in a book or seen a movie about the events in first person. Sometimes it’s like I was dreaming, only able to grasp the most prevalent, interesting, or dangerous moments of the time I was away.

        I walk into my small and cramped cubicle after saying hello to Kevin.  He’s my neighbor, so to speak.  We like to joke around when neither of us has a call.  I think he may have gone to my school because when I met him he already seemed familiar.  Either way we’re in the same boat, he’s my age and dropped out to help with his parents who didn’t respond to the mental shift as well as he had.  After they seemed ok he started looking for work.  From what I can tell he only has a secondary personality, and it’s not too much unlike his own.  I find it hard to differentiate between the two, especially since his other personality refuses to give itself a name.  So he’s just Kevin.  It’s nice to have something be simple.

        I log onto my computer and check any official looking emails with glazed eyes.  Nothing important, as usual, just a recap of yesterday’s calls. Legally, we have to make calls anonymous, but we have the ability to know when the same phone has called us, in case of an emergency.  We also like to get down information that may help an employee when a someone has called in the past, so we can give more accurate advice.  There is even a place where we can write down if they’ve asked us to call them by anything.  From what I can tell, this is usually their real first name. From the email it looks as though the majority of our regulars gave us a rang, along with a few people that just needed some comfort.  Only one new member has been added to the “On Watch” list.  It’s the list of people that have called in a near suicidal or hysterical panic.  Sometimes it’s due to an attack where more than one personality tries to come out at once, and sometimes one personality moved their keys, they can’t remember and have a “straw-that-broke-the-camel’s-back” melt down because of it.  This one seems to be because of the later, except this time it wasn’t keys, but a journal or diary of some kind that had been found in the toilet.  We never truly know who has called in, but we get a pretty good synopsis of what happens to them.  

Sometimes I wish I could go talk to these people in person, see how they live when they aren’t in hysterics.  I find it a little fascinating, this new means of everyday life.  How some people have decided to cope.  Some people just try to ignore it, accept that sometimes things feel like a dream and sometimes you don’t have control.  A lot of people were able to embrace it.  They like the company of always having someone around.  Usually these people hold personalities not too unlike their own.  I wonder how they’d change if one of their personalities hid the house keys or threw dinner out the window.  Would they be as willing to make everything work or would they crack like the people who call in every day?  Do the people who call us in frenzy have a calm life otherwise? Is it just a moment of panic or is this reality for them now? Unfortunately I only have the opportunity to hear them at their worst.  What I do know is that I’m coping.  I haven’t had to call into work on my day off.  Then again I don’t know if I would.  People would undoubtedly recognize my voice.  I don’t know how much I would rely on advice when I can guess who I’m getting it from.

“Hey Kevin, how’s life treating you?”

        “Life’s been better, Kaylee, it’s been better.” He says with mock severity.

This is our usual back and forth.  

        “Seems like things might be looking up.  Only one new member added to the Hitlist yesterday.”

I really shouldn’t call it that.  Politically incorrect, but it’s only an inside joke.  Julie hasn’t heard any of us use it yet.

        “This is the truth, but we’ve had days where no one made the list and a huge jump the next…. No pun intended.”

Kevin isn’t a dark person, but around here it’s hard not to pick up that sense of humor.  

        “It’s ok, I haven’t seen Julie patrolling.  So she’s probably herself today.”

        “Right.  How you been lately?”

        “Good, actually.  No episodes or anything I guess. You?”

        “You know me, I’m usually good.”

Then my phone rang.

        “Hello this is the Multiple Personality Transition Helpline, is this an emergency?”

        “N-n-no, I don’t think so.”

She sounded frail, but I couldn’t tell if it was because she was old or because she was afraid.

        “Ok ma’am. Just so you know, you’re identity will remain completely anonymous. How can I help you?

        “Well earlier today I blacked out and when I woke up all my furniture had been moved around and disheveled.”

        “Ok ma’am, have you ever blacked out prior to an episode before?”

        “I’m not sure, I feel like maybe it’s happened before.  But nothing was ever different like this.”

        “Do you remember what you were doing before you blacked out ma’am?

        “I was organizing some old tax receipts.  I couldn’t find a couple and got a little distracted thinking about my late husband.  He was usually the one to take care of all our financial work.”

        “Ma’am it’s possible that some of the memories you had about your husband upset you so another personality may have emerged.  Do you know much about your other personalities?

        “I thought they must be a lot like me.”

        “It’s always hard to tell. Everything is going to be ok ma’am.  I have some advice for you, whether you choose to follow it is your choice.  I suggest setting out a letter or journal in a common space in your home, maybe in the living room, saying hello to your other personalities. Ask them who they are, if they have a name, what they like to do, how old they are.  Learning as much as possible about them may make you more able to remember what happens when they take over, so you don’t blackout. It may also make them less likely to be destructive.”

        “Do you really think it’s more than one?”

        “From what you told me, it might just be one. Or it could be that a destructive one might just have come out for the first time today.  It never hurts to try and find out.”

That was a lie.  Sometimes a personality just wants to be left alone and gets agitated with contact.  This is pretty rare, but one of the more dangerous side effects of trying to “get to know your new self.”

        “It’s possible you do have another personality that’s a lot like you that’s been around for months.  The important thing is not to be afraid and to try and become as informed as possible.”

        “Thanks you.  I’ll try and do that…. Take care.”

        “Take care, good bye.”

The important thing with this job is making people feel comfortable.  Obviously this whole epidemic is highly complex and mysterious, but we can’t convey all that in a phone conversation.  Much less to people who are hysterical because of it.  As long as we aren’t advising anything illegal or immediately dangerous we can pretty much get away with anything.  Someone having a panic attack? About to go on a rampage? Commit suicide? I’ve heard every piece of advice from make a drawing to express your feeling to go take a warm shower.  No one really knows how to deal with these people, I don’t know why anyone would think a bunch of college dropouts would.  When this place was a mental health hotline, we had a script to read off of.  It worked like a flow chart, based on how the caller sounded, what they said the problem was, and what we felt they needed, someone could just read off a certain paragraph if they didn’t feel like applying themselves.  That’s not really an option anymore. Instead, we had a workshop where we got some basics down and are now encouraged to “try new things” and “promote innovative ideas.”

        The next couple hours pass by in relatively the same way.  The regulars call in.  I’ve actually become a little attached to them.  They’re familiar, almost like friends.  It’s easy to talk to them.  It’s not as if I get nervous anymore.  When this all started I was hesitant to give advice, mostly giving “there there, everything will be alright” clichés.  That quickly got old and I started using my psychological intuition.  The closest thing to experts we have are specialists in the field of Dissociative Identity Disorder, but what we have now isn’t quite the same. Even those people are scarce with all the uncertainty.  I liked watching the conferences they held just to find out how they were studying everyone.  I picked up a decent amount of information and suggestions for coping with depression, hysteria, and anxiety onset by a secondary personality.  The transition from secondary to tertiary wasn’t a big leap.  It was the general idea that people had a problem with.  

        “Hello this is the Multiple Personality Transition Helpline, is this an emergency?”

        “Fuck man. I don’t know how to do it”

I hate when people don’t answer the prompt. Either you can never get them to admit when it’s an emergency or they think everything is an emergency.  If it is an emergency we have to immediately transfer them to 911, but with indistinguishable calls I take a little more time than I probably should.  Doctors have enough to deal with.

        “Sir? Can you tell me if this is an emergency?”

        “Goddammit….”

He sounds far away, like he called and then dropped the phone on the floor before I could pick up.

        “Hello? Hello? Sir?”

 I can hear some rustling.

        “Sir? Is this an emergency?”

        “No it’s not a fucking emergency.”

I’m still skeptical.  

        “Just so you know, you’re identity will remain completely anonymous. Can you tell me what’s going on?”

        “Ugh. I just… ok, so… Ok so I was just at work, boring office shit, right? So I’m just sitting around not doing anything and I start thinking.  And then I realize that there is a whole person.  Like a whole fucking person in my head…and I flipped.  I started punching the wall and pulling my hair.  They sent me home, but I was still tweakin’ ya no? And there’s no one here with me and… I fucking hate this!”

        “Ok sir, everything’s going to be fine.  You aren’t alone.  Everyone is going through this with you. Now I have to ask if you’ve consumed any drugs in the last few hours, prior to the episode.”

        “No, I’m not some asshole who gets fucked up before work.”

        “Of course.  Now sir…”

        “Will you cut it with the ‘sir’ shit? My name is Brian.”

Because of the confidentiality, using names so quickly is frowned upon.

        “Brian. I want to make sure you know that there isn’t an actual person living inside your body.  It’s just some re-wiring that was done in your brain.  It’s all just a side effect, you are still you.”

        “See, how can people say that I’m still me when some ‘person’ can just use my face and my legs and my arms and do whatever they want to?”

        “The important thing to remember is that that person isn’t real.  They don’t have memories or a body.  If you feel like things are getting too hard, maybe try thinking about your childhood, your first love.  Some undeniable memory that is only yours.  It might help you keep a sense of self.

        “Yeah, sure, fine.  I can try that.”

        “And I know you said you hadn’t ingested anything dangerous prior to the episode, so I can only suggest you continue with that.  I know getting plastered can sound tempting right now, but it will most likely only throw you into a deeper spiral of confusion and anger.”

He sounded like he was calming down.  He had been panting, but now he was taking slow, deep breaths. A good sign.  No one will admit to this, but it’s not really the advice that stops them from spiraling, it’s the calm voice.  It’s having someone to throw your problems at that won’t just start freaking out with you.  I feel like that might be why this job hasn’t gotten to me yet.  After a couple months some people get a call that just breaks them and they choose not to come back. Doesn’t mean it won’t happen to me, but my track record has been pretty good so far.

        “I’m really glad you called, Brian.  I hope you feel better.”

        “Thanks.”

He hung up, and that’s really all I could do.  Then I saw Julie walk up to my desk out of the corner of my eye.

        “Hey Kaylee.”

She was using her maternal voice, it was like how some people talk to a child that has been left out of the group, or a pet that has to get it’s shots.  The voice meant that she was probably herself.

        “I could hear that last caller though your receiver, but I noticed you didn’t transfer them to emergency. Is everything alright?”

        “Yes Julie.  He was just in a bit of a manic state, but he didn’t seem in danger of harming himself or anyone else and he had calmed down considerably once I’d be talking to him for a minimal amount of time.”

I don’t normally speak so professionally, but it causes Julie to see me as a kind of prodigal child, rather than just a child.  She leaves me alone more than everyone else.  She wasn’t quite so attentive until employees started freaking out at the people calling in.  Usually they left voluntarily, but sometimes she had to let them go.  She blamed herself a little, like her job as supervisor was inadequate because her employees were freaking out on a weekly basis.

        “Well alright then, honey.  It’s always up to your judgment.”

She gave my shoulder an unnecessary reassuring squeeze and went over to check up on someone across the room who had their hand on their temple.  

        “What are you a dictionary?” Kevin teased.

        “Ha ha” I mock laugh, “like you haven’t used that one every day for the past two weeks.”

        “What can I say? If a joke works, keep with it.”

        “Have you even gotten any calls today? I swear I haven’t seen you on the phone once.

        “I’m just so good I say hello and people are instantly chill.”

Kevin leans back in his chair with his arms up behind his head like he’s a bro who just got laid.  I can’t deny that he has some very “bro” characteristics at times, but for the most part he’s not a bad guy.

        “Uh-huh, sure Kevin.  Or maybe as soon as they hear your voice then immediately hang up due to…” I clear my throat like a scholar and put on my snooty face “a heightened state of hysteria due to your horrendous ‘hello’.”

        “I have no idea how to respond to that.”

        “That means I’m winning.”

Kevin draws an imaginary tally in the air.  There is 30 seconds of silence while we wait for one of our phones to ring.

        “So, Kevin.  Enough with all this tension.  When are we gonna get ourselves hitched?”

        “Soon as I save up enough for your dowry Kaylee-May. How much are you going for now-a-days? Three chickens and a large hog?”

I gasp in mock surprise.

        “Three chickens? I had been told it was three hogs! Three chickens indeed.”

        “You know I can’t afford three hogs with this job.”

And we’re back to the real world.  As if prompted by this, Kevin’s phone rings. I hear the familiar speech.  No emergency, I can’t even hear the voice on the other end.  Maybe Kevin’s right.  Maybe there is something more calming in his voice than in mine.  Maybe he just gets lucky.  Wouldn’t be the first time.  He had an easy life pre-Plague from what he tells me, ended up not needing to support his family, found a job.  All the while he only has one personality that I know of, one that’s essentially no different than him.  I start to daydream about the possibility of having someone just like me in my head.  Would I talk to them?  Would anyone be able to tell the difference if she took over?  It’d be a change, that’s for sure.  Usually when I change its strikingly obvious, I make quite a spectacle.  Then again, what if I couldn’t tell the difference myself? The two personalities merged because they were too similar and I was just always both…all the time. I glance at Kevin in suspicion of this theory.  He’s still talking, animatedly, to whoever called to interrupt the barter for my hand in marriage.  He seems content, happy even, like he’s talking to a friend that just wanted to catch up. I forget that I’m staring and he turns to me and makes a “what are you doing?” face.  I make some shapes with my mouth like they’re supposed to be words, hoping he’ll just think I was observing, or looking at a bug above his head.  

I go back to my thoughts.  Considering I have at least two other personalities already occupying my skull, I think having another me might balance the odds a little bit.  It’s not as though they are all “awake” at once. For a lot of people they never even hear anyone else in their head, even if they have more than one. I on the other hand, can sometimes hold conversations with them without having them take over.  For a chunk of time back in high school I was very into the idea of lucid dreaming: the ability to know when you were asleep, then have the ability to change and direct whatever was happening in your dream.  The idea was to have cues for yourself and to be aware of when something was amiss.  Then to take that amiss-ness and use it to understand that the world you’re experiencing is in your mind and that you have control of it.  I never fully mastered it, but I was usually able to recognize when I was dreaming.  I could never make any events happen or people to appear, unfortunately.  Maybe that skill stuck around and now I have a better grasp on myself in an amiss world.  Or at least a better sense of keeping myself mentally stable.  How different is life from dreaming anyway? Fuck it, maybe I’m dreaming right now.

“You really shouldn’t say that.  It’s a bad word.”