‘So,’ he says. ‘How are things?’
‘I’m good,’ I say. ‘The pills are good. Only, I run low real fast. I was thinking maybe I could have a prescription I could refill, instead of getting them from you.’
‘We can talk about increasing the dosage. But I would rather you continue to get the pills from me. And you would have to pay to fill a prescription. You don’t want that, do you?’
‘I guess not,’ I say.
‘Have you been keeping your feelings diary?’ he asks.
‘Sure,’ I say politely. ‘All that is great. Your suggestions have been very helpful.’
‘Has the diary helped you to identify some triggers?’
‘Well,’ I say. ‘I am very worried about my cat.’
‘Your gay cat.’
‘Yes. She shakes her head all the time, and she claws at her ears like there’s something in them. Nothing seems to help her.’
‘So,’ the bug man says, ‘that makes you feel powerless?’
‘Yes,’ I say. ‘I don’t want her to be in pain.’
‘Is there any action you can take? Could you take her to the veterinarian, for instance?’
‘Oh,’ I say. ‘No. I don’t think they would understand her at the animal clinic. Not at all. She’s a very particular kind of cat.’
‘Well,’ he says. ‘You’ll never know if you don’t try, hmm?’
‘Actually,’ I say, ‘I have been wondering about something else.’
‘Yes?’ He looks expectant. I almost feel bad. He’s been waiting so long for me to give him something.
‘Do you remember the TV show I was telling you about – with the mother and daughter?’
He nods. His pen is still. His eyes are flat blue circles, fixed on me.
‘I am still watching it. The plot has been getting more complicated. The angry girl, you know, the one who keeps trying to kill her mother – well, it turns out she has another … nature, kind of?’
The bug man doesn’t stir. His eyes are fixed on me. ‘That can happen,’ he says slowly. ‘It’s rare … and it doesn’t work like it does in the movies.’
‘This movie wasn’t like those other movies,’ I say.
‘I thought you said it was a TV show.’
‘That’s what I meant, a TV show. So in this show, sometimes the daughter is a young girl – but at certain times she seems completely ... different.’
‘As if another personality takes over?’ he asks.
‘Yes,’ I say. ‘Like there are two people inside her.’ Two different species, actually, but I think I’ve told him enough.
The bug man says, ‘I think you’re talking about dissociative identity disorder, or DID.’
Dissociative identity disorder. It sounds like something that goes wrong with a TV or a stereo. It doesn’t sound like anything to do with Lauren.
The bug man is watching me closely, and I realise that I am murmuring to myself. Being weird. I fix him with a firm gaze. ‘That’s very interesting.’
‘It used to be known as multiple personality disorder,’ he says. ‘DID is a new term – but we still don’t really understand it. I deal with it extensively in my book. In fact, you might say the whole thesis—’
‘So what do we understand?’ I say, keeping him to the point. I know from experience that if I don’t he’ll just talk about his book for ever.
‘The girl in your TV show would probably have been subject to systematic abuse, physical or emotional,’ he says. ‘So her mind fragmented. It formed a new personality to deal with the trauma. It’s rather beautiful. An intelligent child’s elegant solution to suffering.’ He leans forward. His eyes are bright behind his glasses. ‘Is that what you saw, on the show? Abuse?’
‘I don’t know,’ I say. ‘Maybe I missed that part while I was getting popcorn. Anyway the mother doesn’t know what to do about it. What should she do? In your professional opinion.’
‘There are two schools of thought on this,’ he says. ‘The first sets as its goal a state known as co-consciousness.’ He sees my look, and says, ‘A therapist would try to help the alternate personalities, or alters, to find a way to live harmoniously with one another.’
I almost laugh out loud. Lauren could never live harmoniously with anyone. ‘That wouldn’t work,’ I say. ‘On the show the two people don’t know that they’re one person.’
‘Her imagination could be made to work for her,’ he says. ‘She doesn’t have to be at its mercy. She should construct a place inside herself. A real structure. A lot of children use castles, or mansions. But it can be anything. A room, a barn. Big, with enough room for everyone. Then she can invite the different parts to congregate there safely. They can get to know one another.’
‘They really don’t like each other,’ I say.
‘I can recommend some reading,’ he says. ‘That could help you understand this approach better.’
‘What’s the other school of thought?’
‘Integration. The alters are subsumed into the primary personality. Effectively, they disappear.’
‘Like dying.’ Like murder.
He looks at me carefully over his glasses. ‘In a way,’ he says. ‘It’s a long therapeutic process, which can take years. Some practitioners think it is the best solution. I don’t know. To merge fully evolved personalities into one another might be difficult – inadvisable. Some practitioners consider these personalities, these alters, to be people in their own right. They have lives, thoughts. For want of a better word, they have souls. It would be like trying to merge you and me.’
‘But it can be done,’ I say.
‘Ted,’ he says. ‘If you know – someone – with this condition, they are going to need help with this. A lot of help. I could guide her …’
His left hand rests in his lap. His right hand lies palm down on the small table at his side, an inch or so from his mobile phone. I pick up a pen from the table and play with it, watching his right hand, the one near the phone, very carefully. I wait for him to make the next mental leap. I wait
