"That is not what was supposed to happen", I said, clutching the phone nervously. "He wasn't supposed to get sick in the head like that."
"Nobody is "supposed to" get sick in the head. Besides, that's not what he is. It's just a mild form of dissociative identity disorder."
"That's what he told me, too, but I have no idea what the hell that is."
"It was earlier known as multiple personality disorder- that is its more popular, but less technically correct name. Ring any bells?"
"Shit. You mean he's two different people."
"Well, in a lay person's words, yes, but more accurately, his personality has two distinct versions: The first one is his usual self- enthusiastic, funny and slightly overpowering- the way you said he has been ever since you've known him. The second version is the Dan you've been seeing more recently, every now and then- sensitive, silent and less hearty."
"Is he going to be two people for the rest of his life?"
"You keep saying "two people", but it's not that bad, you know. He isn't living his life as two separate human beings. He is well aware of what has been happening to him, which means his disorder is pretty subtle. People with severe DID have no idea about their- er- you can call them "alter egos"- their multiple personalities often have different names, different tastes... Heck, even different professions! Dan, on the other hand knows, feels, and most importantly, remembers his personality morph every time it does."
"But I've known him since forever! This "version" of him is not him. There has to be a way to turn him back into the person he was a year ago."
"How can you know for sure that he didn't have this disorder back then? I mean, some patients have DID for quite some time until their peers notice it, because they exhibit its symptoms only in solitude."
"Not in his case. Positive. We're together all. the. time. I would've noticed something unusual."
"Maybe you would've. Anyway. He can be brought back to his old self with therapy, because his symptoms are manageable. Besides, he already knows about his disorder and he's pretty cool about it, so trust me, he'll be fine."
I relaxed a little. "Thanks for giving me your time. I know it's not routine for you to talk to your patients' friends."
"Dan insisted I should. Said you'd calm down a bit if you heard his psychiatrist assure you that he's fine."
"He was right. I-"
The doorbell rang.
"Oops, I've gotta hang up. Someone at the door. Sorry for taking up your time, doc and thanks once again." I banged the receiver into place. I'm sure he must've thought me rude.
The doorbell rang. Again.
"Hey! What took you so long?" It was my wife.
"Nothing much. I was talking about Dan's dissociative identity disorder over the phone."
"Who's Dan?"
"My patient."
She sighed and flashed me a seemingly sad smile. "By the way, it's time for your pills."
