Degraded

Chapter 2-Sam

"Beatrice, are you happy?" My counselor questiones, concerned yet again, for my well being.

"I don't know," I answer, starting to doubt my statement that I knew was a straight out lie.

"Are you okay, Beatrice?" He repeats and I knew he is getting to something.

"No." The truth slipped from my lips like a fresh, new penny falling out of a coin slot.

"Is Sam happy?" He says, getting agitated with my answers, which were always short and simple.

"Yes." I reply.

I am Sam. A joyful, run-of-the-norm girl you would find in high school. I am also Beatrice, a articulate; intelligent girl, who periodically gets on Sam's nerves.

I like to call my mind Beatrice and the way I interact with people, Sam. They have completely different personalities, so I keep them apart by giving them different names.

I live two separate lives that I make sure to not imbricate and try to make sure they don't interact. The only person aware of this is my counselor, Mr. Elke, and I need to keep it that way.

When the officials decided I needed treatment, they wanted me to go to a trauma specialist. However, I refused.

Since I wouldn't go to a trauma specialist, they offered counseling with our school counselor. He had to get special training to be able to teach me, but later I agreed.

What they didn't do, was make a specific time for counseling to be over. So now, I am stuck there until he lets me go.

Mr. Elke is always concerned about me.
Since there is no scheduled time for me to leave, he dismisses me as he pleases. That means he doesn't let me go until he sees me (my way of saying) "crack," or (his way of saying it) "show emotion." It's time for the waterworks, Beatrice states.

Usually, I force myself to cry so he will let me leave, but something comes over me, and I am crying for real.

Overwhelm washes over me like a sea. I fight to stay above the waves as they come crashing over me, leaving me struggling for air. I try to stay quiet, though, which is nearly impossible when you are uncontrollably crying.

I feel helpless and lonely, no one will ever understand. I miss him so much. Stop, you don't think like that anymore, Beatrice corrects me, stopping me in my tracks. It's been a year, you need to get over this. She's right. I need to move on.

~~~

The doctors believe that I have multiple personality disorder. They say it was caused by the stress from the worst day of my life, blah blah blah. I have no reason to believe them.

Denial, Beatrice claims. She's in my thoughts, yet again. If I could, I would strangle her, but then again she is me.