Shattered Glass

1

"Miss Sterling, from what I am understanding in this file here, you are currently being treated for Dissociative identity disorder, is that correct?'
Across from me, a tan folder, with those multi colored dividers, is placed down on the slick, black marble coffee table standing a few feet in front of me, by a long fingered hand, accompanied with a gold wedding band, which screamed married. The navy blue sleeve of his shirt rolled back to reveal a white Rolex. His job sure does pay well.
'That's correct Dr..?'
'Greenfeld. Dr. Greenfeld.' A wave of comfort washes over me as I politely grasp his warm right hand he extended over, chasing away any of the previous anxiety jittering around my skin.
"I'm sorry. excuse me, where are my manners. Would you like a cup of tea?" Not waiting for my answer, I watched the back of his blonde head as he retreated from the black leather chair, over to the mini kitchen.
'Chai, please."
Nodding in acknowledgment, he grabbed two red cups from a cupboard and began filling them with hot water.
   His office is quite big, holding a modern kitchen with dark grey cupboards and silver handles, a microwave and sink, and basically a living room based on this rooms size.
     'Tell me something about yourself.'
   My god I hate this part. Could they be anymore blunt? Get straight to the point instead; ask the question you're really dying to know.
'What would you like to know?' I ask playing dumb. I sit straighter and shifted into a more comfortable position, anticipating his next words.
He handed me my steamy cup, whilst cautioning me to be careful. Upon Returning to his seat, he took a careful sip of his tea, Earl Green if I'm not mistaken, before placing it down on the table, beside that tan file. The file about me. Containing my birth date, parents, personal information, all of my past diagnoses and therapists.
Yeah, thats right. I'm seeing a shrink. For those of you who haven't gotten it yet. It is not like I want to, it's mandatory. Strict, high-level, mandatory. Every Monday, Wednesday and Friday, I'm scheduled to see a therapist at five o'clock on the dot. No excuses.
My eyes snapped back to his, away from the file as he began speaking, narrowing accusingly to what he said next. "Tell me what you're childhood was like."
'You read my file.' I gestured towards the tan paper.
'Yes. But, I have to hear it in your words.' Dr. Greenfeld insisted.
'I don't remember my childhood. Simple as that.' I replied. It is really annoying that they ask the same questions. Don't they know by know it is not going to change? That the memories are not going to magically pop into my head one morning and answer all of our questions?
My answer hadn't seemed to be a surprise to him. Instead of answering right away, he took another sip of tea and placed it back down. His grey eyes peered above his glass and studied me for a moment before speaking, 'I don't think that is true. I'm thinking somebody in that head of yours knows. You need to let that one out.'
   The way he says it, makes him sound so sure of himself. Frustration started simmering within me. They all believe that there's more than one me inside me, that I'm not always the one in control of myself. That there are other me's, not like me, in control of me. Maybe this will make more sense to you; my personality is like shattered glass. There's one shard that's me, then fragments of different shards. Each fragmented shard being a different personality. They all take control of my body at different intervals, and I have no memory of it. Convenient right? The first time I was diagnosed, I thought it was complete bullshit. According to the internet, no. Different cases and stories popped up after I entered it into the search bar. Everyone with a different experience.
The point to these sessions, is to unlock the memory to my childhood, in hopes it glues the pieces of myself back together.
   Unfortunately, I've gone through lots of different shrinks, all with their own theories. Not one stuck, most abruptly canceled my sessions and sent me to another they recommended. I never knew why they all seemed to fear me.
'I still don't get why all of you think I have different personalities. So, how am I supposed to get this other me to come out and reveal this, 'lost memory.' '
Dr. Greenfeld let out a small sigh of frustration. 'We wouldn't be sitting here if we didn't have any proof of these other personalities. Accept it. Move on. It's the only way you are going to get better.'
I was taken aback by his harshness. All my other shrinks tiptoed around me, coddled me. But not this guy, he has other plans.
'This is enough for today. Think all of this over.' As easily as that, he dismissed me.
He picked up my now cold cup of untouched tea, and with a wag of his finger, the steal, dead-bolted door was opened to let in the nurse that would escort me to my padded room. When she entered, the echoing screams in the hall beyond could be heard.
   Didn't I mention? I'm locked up in a place for the crazy.