The Greatest Mind I Ever Knew

Chapter 1: What I Don't Understand

Everyone thinks it must be great to be the daughter of a famous author. People often say to me, 'Wow, you're so lucky, Olivia! You must have such a privileged life!' - but this is not at all the case for me. In truth, I feel stuck and icky most of the time, because everyone wants me to follow in my mum's footsteps (either as a writer, or perhaps as an advocate for people with poor mental health), and because I am a 19 year old girl who knows the very ins and outs of her mother's mad mind. I know she was raped as a child. I know she has attempted to commit suicide multiple times. I know that my dad helped her out of the jaws of death, the claws of despair, and the woes of addiction. I know all that. But I wish I didn't have a clue.
               You see, a mother is supposed to be a rock: a safety net: a strong, high tower, which her children can take refuge in when the world becomes too much. And how can she be that when her children know where every crack is in that tower? How can anyone have full confidence in a flawed fortress?
               Well, that's how I feel anyway. My mum may be famous for her books and humanitarianism, but the source of that fame is the very thing which stops me from having any faith in her: she has DID.
               It stands for Dissociative Identity Disorder, and it means that she has multiple personalities living inside her body. Sometimes she's my quirky, happy-go-lucky mum, - and don't misunderstand me, I love those times, - but sometimes her brain suddenly shifts and she becomes a 3 year old girl, or a middle aged German doctor, or a damaged 40 year old man with a slit in one of his eyebrows and more on his wrists. Sometimes she's not who I want her to be and that's... That's really hard.
               Leonardo struggles with it less. He's my 13 year old brother, and despite being a boxer in training and macho mini-version of our dad, he can be such a goody two shoes. I'm not jealous, but I do sometimes wish I could understand Mum and make Dad proud like Leonardo does. Why is it that he can sympathise with Mum's every pain, while I can just about understand what she's saying half the time? Why does he love her alternate personalities so much while I detest their intrusions on our family? And how come, despite these differences, everyone we meet marvels at how alike Leonardo and I are?

I guess there's a lot I don't know, even if I do like to pretend I've got it all figured out. I wish I understood life better. I wish I didn't have a scowl on my face every time I saw my mum dissociating. I wish I didn't feel disgusted by my parents for having such an intense, unconditional love. I wish I didn't hate what I didn't understand.

My story begins on a dark evening in September. Mum and I had just had a big argument that eventually drew in Dad and Leonardo too, as our fights often did. I can't even remember why we had that fight now - I only know that I must have started it, because nobody else in the house ever did. And I remember storming out of the house in a fury, swearing under my breath as I grabbed my jacket, thudded outside in my socks, and slammed the door shut behind me.
               I couldn't wander very far into the dark streets of London so late, and with no shoes, so instead I trudged around the corner of the house, sat down behind our dustbins and pulled my phone out of my jacket pocket.
               'Hi.' I said to my best friend when she answered my call.
'Hey, Olivia!' Andy replied. Andy was short for Andrea: she was a fun girl with a shy spirit, but a hilarious sense of humour and infallible loyalty. She lived two hours away, back in Winchester, but we'd remained as close as two friends can over the fourteen years since my family had moved to London. And best of all, she never failed to answer her phone.
               'You're calling after ten o'clock,' Andy added, 'which means you've either had a very long day or you're planning on having a very fun night. Which is it?'
'Oh, Andy,' I began to cry, 'I just had another fight with Mum.'
'Oh no! What about?'
               I took a few deep breaths, wiped my cheeks on my sleeve and replied,
'I, just, I can't stand it anymore! Blaze,' (my mother's troublemaking, scarred, criminally-inclined alter), 'keeps getting on my nerves lately, and every time I try to talk to Mum about her alters Dad jumps in like she can't speak for herself! He acts like I'm trying to attack her! He never leaves her side and he always, always thinks she's right. Don't you remember how she missed my opening show last season because Charity wanted to go to church instead - at half nine on a Thursday!? And Dad took her side! And he always says the same thing: 'Olivia, DID is worse for her. Don't be selfish'.'
               I swore and rubbed my face. 'Mamma Mia, Andy, nobody listens to me. As soon as I get upset about something Mum's done, Leonardo and Dad tell me I'm picking on her! How can I pick on her if she's never bloody inside her own body!?'
               Andy was quiet for a moment. She could tell I was in one of my hormonal moods from 80 miles away.
               Eventually, after I'd shuddered into my phone for a while, partly due to crying and partly due to the cold night air, she said gently,
'Are you on your period, Olivia?'
'Yes.' I confessed. 'I got it this morning. But that's besides the point! - A bit. I just want a normal mum, Andy. You don't understand! Your mum's normal!'
'What!' my friend laughed loudly. 'Olivia, my mum sat me down this evening to give me 'the talk'! I'll be nineteen in a few weeks! I had to listen to her say the word 'penetration'. Brrr.' She shuddered. 'She even gave me some condoms and a banana to practise with, Olivia. So, no, I don't think she's normal. I don't think any mums are normal!'
                I lowered my head and sighed.
'Maybe you're right.' I murmured after a while. 'I'm too harsh with her sometimes, But it's so hard, Andy. When I get myself all worked up I can't stop!'
               My best friend sighed too.
'I know, Olivia. I know. But maybe you should try not to start next time, hm?'
               I snorted a little and nodded.
'Fine, Mum. Thanks for talking me down.'
'My pleasure. Now are you going out tonight? It's still early!'
'No, no.' I chuckled. 'I've got work in the morning. Besides, I can't put any shoes on my feet tonight.'
'Oof.' Andy groaned. 'How are your toes?'
'Um,' I looked down at my feet, which were bleeding red and yellow fluid into my white socks, 'not so good. Madame Favreau barely gave us a break today!'
'Oof.' she said again. 'I could not live your life - because you're a ballerina, I mean. Not because of your mum.'
               I chuckled and shook my head.
'I guess I'd better go back inside soon. Before Dad sends out a search party.'
'Alright. Just be civil with your parents, Olivia, alright? Tell them how you're really feeling - in a calm voice. I'm sure they'll understand.'
'Yeah, right. We'll see. Love you, Andy.'
'Love you, Liv.'