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Dissociative Identity Disorder

Short story By: Bash
True confessions



Dissociative identity disorder commonly known as multiple personality disorder


Submitted:Dec 4, 2012    Reads: 201    Comments: 0    Likes: 0   


4th September 2009

Dear me,

I hate you; you always want to talk at the most inappropriate times. You've gone away for a few hours now; I never know when you are going to return. You're never there when I need you, yet when I think I've finally got you out of my life, you come back to haunt me. You make me do such awful things, control me, until you get your sick way.

You've turned everyone against me, I have no one to turn to anymore, and everyone thinks I'm going mad, but I know different, it's all you. Having to watch you chain my beautiful puppy dog Bruce, upside down from the low beam of the ceiling, and then beating him repeatedly with a baseball bat, wrapped in barbed wire, until his maimed body was all that was left, hanging there. Swinging. His whimpering cry, every time he was struck with the bat, haunts me and I can't think of anything else. Makes me feel sick. It's all your doing. I loved Bruce more than anything, but I guess you already knew that. I buried him in the garden with the other pets.

I'm crying now, remembering poor Bruce. The last look of pure shock and betrayal crossing his soft brown face, before he cried out for the last time, and swung motionless. To and fro like the clock. A pendulum one that is. My poor knees still ache; they're all bruised and bloody, from when I fell suddenly to the floor, after I realized what you had made me do. Crimson blood blanketed the floor; all I could see was red. Red stains were spattered over my crisp white shirt. There was a thin river of blood, which flowed down my pale face, dripping from my chin. Drip drop drip. Puddles of red liquid pooled in the crevices of the wooden floorboards.

You've been gone a while now, I guess writing you these letters help keep you away from me. I'm glad to be rid of you for the time being. When it gets dark though, it'll be a different matter. I will be begging you to talk to me. At least I have you to talk to. Don't leave me forever, for I will be all alone then, lost in the darkness that engulfs me.

10th September 2009

I passed a mirror earlier; it was strange not seeing you. I haven't seen my own reflection without that devilish grin of yours for almost three years now. Three whole years you've tormented me, plagued me, every single day with thoughts that are not my own. Getting under my skin. Literally. I can't believe I trusted you, in a moment of sheer panic, one cry of help and you came. That's how this all started, then all of a sudden you kept hanging around, and I couldn't get rid of you.

I still can't go downstairs, not after what happened. She's still down there I think, stuck in the living room. Trapped. It'll do her good, to know how it feels, and then maybe she could have understood me better. You were right about her, she was lying; I know you're real. Stupid shrinks, they have no idea what they are even talking about. You made me do it, but I can't say I didn't get a sick short burst of emotion every time the hammer collided with her perfect oval shaped head. I hardly feel anything nowadays, I don't need to, and I have you to feel it for me. That's probably why you get so angry like you do, forcing me into things. I hardly remember the episode, just the smooth wood of the hilt of the hammer in my hand, the look of shock and fear crossing her frail old face as you raised my hand above her head, then brought it down. Crack. She whimpered, just like Bruce did.

You'll be back soon, I hope, I'm so scared I'll be taken away. To be labelled as 'psychotic'. Left to rot in that cushioned cell, again. I can't go back, I won't go back! We'll work it out, right? You and me? Clear my name and yours too? In fact, I'm starting to wonder where you are, I need you, and you need to read this letter.

Yet you've probably been here the whole time, haven't you?

Police sirens screech, piercing the silence surrounding the house. The thuds of bodies, throwing themselves against the door, continuously, determined to smash the door off its hinges. "This is an arrest, anything you do or say can harm your defence."

Medical note

Patient: Kevin Foster

Conviction: Murder

Plea: Innocent

Solicitor claims dimished responsibility due to medical condition of Dissociative identity disorder, this entails that he has multiple personalities.





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