17. The Complexities of a Shattered Mind
Chapter seventeen
The Complexities of a Shattered Mind
Emily
We entered another room. I was immediately struck by the stark contrast to the cozy office we had just left.
This new space was like stepping into the heart of a police investigation. The room was large and somewhat stark, its walls almost entirely covered with chalkboards and there was a massive whiteboard that dominated one end.
The chalkboards were filled with writings, diagrams, and symbols, some clear and others more cryptic, all interconnected with lines and notes. There were pictures of me as well as others that looked like me.
The room, with its labyrinth of information, suddenly felt like a fucked-up metaphor for the inner workings of my mind—complex, confusing, yet inherently ordered.
At the top of the whiteboard, in bold, unmistakable letters, was the question: Where is she?
It seemed to echo in the room, a silent yet screaming demand for an answer.
“This,” M held his hands out and slowly turned around in the room, gesturing to each wall, “This. . .is where we unravel the threads of our shared consciousness. It’s symbolic, a physical representation of our journey inward, our quest for healing and understanding.”
“What?”
Lunita wandered towards one of the boards, studying the scribbles and lines with a frown. “So boring. No fun at all.”
The little girl stood close to me.
I looked at all the walls. “This is all about us?”
M nodded. “Each part of this room represents a part of Emily—of us. Our memories, our fears, our hopes. It’s all here, waiting to be understood.”
I stepped closer to the whiteboard, drawn to the central question. “Where is she?”
“Yes.” M sighed.
I looked at him. “Who are you looking for?”
M’s eyes met mine. “We are looking for the part of us that got lost along the way, the part that holds the key to our wholeness . Finding her is the first step to healing.”
“How do you know that?”
M rubbed his beard. “You know, during my time in India, I learned a great deal about the journey of self-discovery.”
Confused, I glanced at Lunita. “We went to India?”
She shook her head. “M isn’t okay either.”
M waved her away and walked over to the chalkboard that was in the back of the room. “It’s a fascinating process, delving into the depths of one’s own psyche, exploring the various facets that make up our being.”
I listened, yet with all this craziness the concept of self-discovery seemed like a distant idea, more abstract than real.
“I even wrote a book about my experiences and the philosophies I encountered,” M continued with a hint of pride in his tone. “It was well-received, even became a New York Times bestseller.”
I eyed Lunita.
Lunita made a twirling motion next to her temple with her finger and then whispered, “Crazy.”
I looked back at M. “So. . .who do you think is the original? Or the host?”
Lunita let out a long breath. “Here we go again. She just won’t let it go.”
M chuckled softly. “Have patience. She is the last to know. It took you some time too.”
“You talked about some girl being lost, but what if she isn’t lost? What if she is right here?” I took a step forward. “And if I’m wrong, then are you. . .the original? The host?”
M’s expression turned thoughtful. “The concept of original or host is more complex than you might think.”
“How?”
“We are all facets of the same being, Emily. Each of us represents a different aspect, a different path taken.” M paused for a moment and swept his gaze over the diagram on the board.
I tried to read it, but none of the letters or words made any sense.
Still, M pointed as if it wasn’t all garbled. “From my understanding, we have split into five distinct personalities—”
“Wait.” I held up my hands. “Hold on. That can’t be right.”
I counted the little girl, Lunita, him, and me. “No. We are only four in here.”
The little girl chuckled. “There’s the Whore.”
I blinked. “The what?”
M wagged his finger at me. “Do not jump ahead. If you do, your head will begin to spin.”
“Too late. It’s already spinning.” I backed up.
“Calm down.” M held his hands up in front of him. “Just breathe.”
“I-I don’t want five people. It was bad enough to have Lunita in my head—”
“No one is in your head.” M lowered his voice. “You are in her head.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“I-I am the original.”
Lunita sighed behind me.
“Listen. I will explain, but you must let me.” M pointed at the garbled words on the board. “What occurred to Emily, to us. . .it shattered our mind. And perhaps, if the physical and sexual abuse had not continued for so long, there would not be all of us.”
I hugged myself.
He continued, “We each represent one of the five F’s of trauma response.”
“What the fuck does that mean?”
M gestured towards a section of the chalkboard. “Fight, flight, freeze, flop, and fawn.”
I shook my head. “I. . .I don’t think those are right. It’s just fight or flight or something.”
“Trust me. It’s these five.” M went over to the chalkboard and traced one of the odd words. “These five are hardwired responses to trauma. Fight, flight, freeze, flop, and fawn.”
I turned around to see what Lunita and the little girl thought of this, but they had left.
M kept on talking. “You see. When a normal human faces danger, these responses happen instinctively to keep us safe.”
I looked back at him. “How does this relate to us?”
“In our case, each of these responses has manifested into a separate personality within Emily.” He made a big show of drawing a circle in the air. “We were each formed to protect us , to cope with experiences and traumas we’ve encountered.”
“Hold on.” I tried to keep myself calm. “Okay, so. . .for example the response, fight . Instead of it being just a response for me. . .umm. . .for Emily. It became a personality instead?”
M nodded. “Precisely. Fight manifested into a personality that confronts challenges head-on, often aggressively.”
He picked up a piece of chalk and scribbled nonsense on top of already written words. “ Flight became the personality that avoids confrontation and seeks escape.”
“O-kay.”
“Then, we have freeze. That personality tends to fall into a state of paralysis or inaction in the face of difficulties.” He stopped writing on the board and gazed over his shoulder. “Do you understand so far?”
“Uh. . .kind of.”
“Just keep walking down this road with me. I promise we will get to our destination.” He returned to writing on the chalkboard, his hand moving rapidly, leaving behind lines and symbols that were incomprehensible. It wasn’t any language I recognized—just a series of chaotic, meaningless scribbles.
“I think I will be scared to see what the destination is. . .”
“Self-discovery can be a scary journey. When it comes to trauma, remembering the truth can be agonizing, but if you don’t face it, you will never heal from it.” He went over to the other side of the chalkboard and wrote over more words. “ Flop . . .well. . .that personality tends to have a sense of helplessness or submission.”
“And what about Fawn ? I never heard of this type of trauma response.”
M turned back around and gave me a sad smile. “ Fawn is interesting. When this personality faces danger, they seek to appease, please, and befriend the danger. Instead of fight or run.”
I blinked.
“Do you understand?”
“A little.”
“Good.” He rubbed his beard getting chalk dust on it. “Now let’s get to the hard stuff.”
“Alright.”
“As I said, each personality represents a response—fight, flight, freeze, flop, and fawn.”
I didn’t know why, but I started to tremble.
M tilted his head to the side. “Surely by now you know which personality is fight .”
I touched my chest. “Me?”
“No.” A low chuckle left him. “You call her Lunita. We named her the Monster.”
“Lunita is fight ?”
M bobbed his head. “She’s the protector of us all.”
“No.” I frowned. “I feel like I’m the protector.”
He shrugged. “We all think that in the beginning.”
I deepened my frown. “Well, I’m not freeze. I always act when danger comes.”
“Very true.” M went back to the board and put the chalk by it. “The little girl is freeze. Unfortunately. . .she was the second person to be. . .born. That’s what I’m calling it, but the true concept is split.”
“Oh.” I thought about her and my heart broke. “That’s why she remembers so much about our mom.”
“That is why.” M touched his chest. “And. . .I am a bit embarrassed to admit this, but I am flop .”
“You are flop?”
“Yes.” He looked down at the floor. “It took time to admit, but my travels through India helped me understand.”
I considered the list. “That leaves two—flight and fawn.”
M bobbed his head. “Amber is flight .”
My bottom lip quivered. “A-amber?”
“Yes. Due to the nature of her response, it will be hard for you to meet her. She is always hiding, always running away. She likes to hide in the sewers under this building.”
I backed up. “Did X know about Amber?”
M shook his head. “She never wants to come out and would rather stay hidden.”
I tried to wrap my head around all of this. “You said the little girl was the second of us, so Amber was the first? Or was it Lunita?”
“Amber was the first to be born. That means she had it rough.”
“The little girl called her the Whore.”
“That is what Amber calls herself.” M began twisting his fingers. “It makes me. . .uncomfortable, but. . .I try to. . .respect that. However, I gave her the name Amber.”
“Why did you pick that name?”
“Amber is a healing agent in folk medicine. I hoped the name would give her positive thoughts of herself.”
“Did it work?”
“I have not seen her in sometime.”
“Could she be the original?”
“No. She is what you would call an alter. The first one.”
I returned to the list of trauma responses. “So. . .you think I’m fawn ?”
“You are.”
“How could I be that?”
“When the Lion came, you did not run, hide, freeze, or pass out. You made him your friend, then your lover, and now. . .”
I shivered.
“We have been safe because of you.” M gave me a half-bow. “Thank you because throughout our life, you have befriended even the most dangerous people. The Butcher is another example.”
I parted my lips.
“It’s how we survived. It is why you are the Boss. The one we keep in control.”
I hugged myself tighter.
“ Fawn is about appeasement. Fawn is keeping the peace at any cost.”
A wave of dizziness washed over me.
“Therefore, I would say that there is a strong argument that you are the Host. No one can do what you can do, so we sit back and watch the TV as Lunita would say it.” He tilted his head to the side. “Does this make you feel better?”
“I just. . .want to be one person.”
“May you find peace in the fact that we all just wanted to be one person.”
“That doesn’t give me peace. It just makes me sad and horrified.” I let go of myself and held out my hands. “If I’m not the original, then I’m not—”
“You are what we are—”
“I have sons. Are those mine or—”
“They are our sons.”
“No.” I shook my head over and over. “Those are my sons, and Kaz is mine, and Max is mine and—”
“Calm down.” M held his hand up. “Breathe. Please.”
I fisted my hands in took in a long breath.
“I am giving you pieces of the puzzle.”
“But. . .can we heal?”
M shrugged. “Perhaps.”
“What the fuck?”
“I didn’t think you could come in here and talk to me, but here you are.”
“Delphine did it.”
“Or she gave you something that made you finally walk into the dark places of your subconscious, the places you have been avoiding.”
My eyes watered.
“You have the puzzle pieces. I gave them to you, so that you can help us .” M went over to the white board and pointed. “So that maybe. . .you, we, can find her .”
I looked at that sentence. They were the only words in the room that made any sense.
Where is she?
I put my view on him. “She is the original?”
“I believe so.”
“Then how do you know Amber isn’t the original?”
“Because Amber only remembers what that man did to us. That is it. She was the one in the bed when he. . .” M cleared his throat. “That is her life. Those are all her memories. That evil man. She knows nothing else. Not Max, Daryl, or Xavier. Not our mother or father. I believe that the original stored all the pain and. . .sexual abuse inside of Amber’s heart.”
My stomach twisted. I felt close to throwing up. “But the little girl knows people too. Are we sure she is the second? Maybe she is the original.”
“The little girl has many memories of our family. The only problem is, she came after Amber. Remember. Amber saw her be born. The little girl saw Amber already standing there.”
“Then, Lunita came?”
“Correct.” M folded his arms over his chest. “Lunita’s memories deal with abuse. She took a lot of our beatings. She talks of switches, extension cords, and slippers. Back hands, punches, and even being kicked in the stomach by our mother a few times.”
Raw pain filled my chest. “Goddamn it.”
“Lunita is fight because she killed our mom. She killed. . . him . She killed. . .many.” M stirred. “She is the rage in us. The brutal violence. I say this because I know that you are angry with Lunita’s past actions. I was too when I discovered her murder of Olga. I rather enjoyed talking to Olga at night. Her knowledge of African proverbs were—”
“You talked to Olga?” I trembled.
“Yes. You were stressed and left the doorway open. I didn’t want Lunita to go through so I took over a few times in between your feedings of Emilio, trying to get you back to bed, but. . .then Olga would smile, and we would talk.”
I thought about how Kaz told me that Lunita hated Olga because she could tell us apart. Now I knew why. My damned personalities were interacting with her. She must have thought I was beyond crazy.
M placed his hands in his pockets. “Lunita is a pain in the ass, but she is not bad. Forgive her because she does not understand.”
“She has taken my body over and caused chaos—”
“And now we can figure out a way to stop her from doing that.”
“I don’t want to figure out a way, I want to heal us completely. I want to make us one.”
He leaned his head to the side. “And what will we be, when we are one?”
I widened my eyes.
“Will we be the same or someone else? Is it even possible?”
“I don’t know.”
“You must know, before you do it.”
A cold shiver ran through me.
“Until then, you must regulate your stress. Lunita comes because you call. Stop ignoring yourself and ask for help. Go to the Lion or even Blue. Tell them what you need. Take a break. Hug the boys. Meditate. Eat healthy. Get all of your sleep.”
“And that would keep her out?”
“I believe so. Anyway, let’s return to the bigger mystery.” M went over to yet another chalkboard. At least this one was mostly empty. There, he began writing on the chalkboard in that made up language of his. “As you can see, I’m explaining. . .”
I squinted at the board, trying to make sense of it. “I can’t read any of that.”
“We must find her . The original.” M kept on writing. “I have searched our mind, but she is not there. Perhaps, she is in other parts of the body.”
“Other parts? I don’t understand.”
“We store our trauma in other places. Could she have gone there?”
I shrugged. “I don’t even. . .know what you’re saying?”
He ignored me and wrote odd things over and over. “Where could she be?”
“W-what about me?”
He stopped writing and turned around. “What do you mean?”
“When was I. . .” My eyes watered. “When was I born?”
“You were born after the fire.”
“The fire?”
“The day when Lunita killed. . . him. The day Xavier’s girls and our father and others died in the fire. That was the day you showed up. You came up out of the basement.”
Tears left my eyes. “I don’t remember anything before the fire.”
“Because you didn’t exist before then.”
I sobbed and my head began to spin, and the room swirled around me in this overwhelming dizzying dance.
And I wasn’t sure what had triggered it.
Maybe it was the fact that I was not the original, that the very essence of who I thought I was. . .was a facade.
More tears fell down my cheeks.
Then, darkness bled through the light.
It just appeared around me.
Shadows and splotches of black sprouting in pockets of the air and spinning around my body in a whirlpool of black.
Then suddenly, Delphine’s voice whispered in my ear, “Come on back, child. Come on.”
I trembled.
“Come on.”
And the darkness swallowed me whole.