Sybil (41 page)

The doctor's eyes held Sybil's as she said, "Sick, yes, but not schizophrenic. Your mother was schizophrenic. Her perception was totally different from yours. You told me once that she could not see the whole of a building but only a part; that when you heard the opera Hansel and Gretel, she could only see the candy canes on the door, not the door itself or the set as a whole. You see wholes. Yes, you are fragmented, but yours is not the fragmentation of a schizophrenic. Your kind of fragmentation is the result not of perception but of dissociation. Don't ever call yourself crazy again. You are sane, sane enough to have survived the torture chamber in which your mother trapped you and to have made so much of yourself with the terrible childhood you had to hold you back. Now tell me about your experiences in Philadelphia. Talking will help."

When Sybil told the January 2 to 7, 1958, Philadelphia story from her point of view, the doctor wished she could also talk to Peggy Ann and Peggy Lou to get their side of the story. There was at this stage of the analysis no way, however, of summoning the Peggys. The doctor just had to wait for them to appear spontaneously. That did not occur until a month later.

Meantime, Sybil returned to school. But she continued to live in terror about what might have or perhaps actually had happened in Philadelphia. She did not and could not accept Dr. Wilbur's assurance that these creatures within her were incapable of evil. Since the inception of the analysis, they had taken her, not only to Philadelphia but also to Elizabeth, Trenton, Altoona, and even San Francisco. Where they had taken her before the analysis began she often did not know. These others controlled her purse, transported her body, acted without her will. She always learned only after the event what the others had wrought. And always there was the fear that what had been wrought was worse, far worse, than what Dr. Wilbur had told her.

Even if these others did nothing wrong in a legal or criminal sense, the chiaroscuro of their actions was causing experience to be so constantly changing and recomposing that--whatever the apparent intention of any action she herself initiated or proposed to take--these others were the victors, acting in the limelight of her despair.

Then came the day, a month after the return from Philadelphia, when the doctor said, "I have Peggy Lou and Peggy Ann on tape. When you hear what they did in Philadelphia, you will be greatly relieved." The doctor was deliberately casual but had grave doubts that, after the persistent, intense refusal to listen, Sybil would now agree. Just getting her to listen was the prime problem.

Sybil's irises became dilated with fear. "Well?" the doctor asked.

Sybil did not reply.

"Sybil, this can be a turning point in the analysis."

"I don't see how," Sybil replied. Her words were muted, her throat obviously constricted.

"It is only by getting to know the others that you can make them part of you--that you can make their experiences your experiences, their memories, your memories."

"I don't want any part of it. Doctor, why are you torturing me?"

"If this were a physical illness," the doctor explained, "you would not tear up the prescription for a medicine that could tide you over a crisis, help to make you well."

"I don't really think the analogy is apt," Sybil replied doggedly.

"It is more apt than you realize," the doctor insisted. "These other selves are not your illness but the symptoms of your illness. They possess you, overwhelm you, subvert your intentions and desires. It is only by coming closer to these others that you can move toward a more normal life."

Sybil's lips curled in an ironic smile. "It sounds so easy," she said. "But, Doctor, you and I know that easy is just what it is not."

"Nobody ever said it was easy," the doctor replied. "But I can assure you that getting well will be infinitely more difficult if you don't get to know--and accept--these others."

"Philadelphia proved to me that I'll never get well," Sybil answered darkly. She rose from her chair and went to look out the window, abstracted.

"Sybil," the doctor called, "resistance is doing you no good."

"That nasty word again," Sybil replied as she turned to face the doctor.

"All patients put up resistance," the doctor assured her.

"But," Sybil replied, with a twisted curve of her lip, "I'm not just a patient. I'm patients." The stress on the s carried a terrifying overtone. "At least that's what you tell me. And I'm supposed to listen and face the fact that I'm a freak."

"Sybil, Sybil," the doctor urged, "you're distorting the truth. The others are part of you. We all have different parts of our personalities. The abnormality lies not in the division, but in the dissociation, the amnesia, and the terrible traumas that gave rise to the others."

"A euphemism," Sybil answered sadly. "By others you mean other people. I don't want to meet them. Why should I?"

"I've already told you why," the doctor asserted.

"I'll tell you again. Because listening will really do some good. It is a crucial step in getting well."

Sybil was silent, and the doctor realized that it was going to be even harder than she had anticipated. "It's going to have to take place eventually," the doctor urged. "Why not now? After all, you gave me permission to do the taping. It's not just for me."

"I'm afraid," Sybil said. A chill ran through her body.

"Listening will lessen the fear."

"But will my listening stop the blackouts?" Sybil asked desperately.

"Ultimately, yes," the doctor replied decisively. "The better you get to know the other selves, the closer we will come to making you one."

Sybil slumped into a chair and looked at the doctor warily. The irises of her eyes were even more dilated than before. She clutched the chair and, fully aware of the possible consequences, murmured, "All right."

The doctor rose from the chair at the head of the couch, reached into a desk drawer, and, with a tape in one hand and the other hand on the recorder, looked directly at Sybil. "Shall I start the tape?" the doctor asked. There was momentary silence. Then Sybil nodded.

The doctor's hands were on the recorder. The wheels turned. Sybil, who was now huddled in a corner of the couch, thought: The wheels that turn against me.

The voice on tape was saying, "I heard the crash of glass in the chemistry lab. It reminded me of Lulu and the pickle dish. I jist had to run to the door with Sybil ..."

"My mother's voice," Sybil screamed. "How did you get my mother's voice?" Sybil rushed to the window. For a moment the doctor thought Sybil had become Peggy Lou, but as the voice on the tape was saying, "I rushed to the door with Sybil, walked with her to the elevator," Sybil, in a voice clearly hers and without the physical changes accompanying Peggy Lou's presence, repeated, "It's my mother's voice. Turn it off, I can't stand it. You'll drive me crazy. I'm not ready."

The doctor snapped off the recorder. Sybil turned from the window, seated herself on the chair, and stared into space.

"It's not your mother's voice," the doctor said quietly. "It's the voice of Peggy Lou. Shall I play more to reassure you?" And even though Sybil did not reply, the doctor once again set the tape in motion.

Peggy Lou's voice was saying, "I could feel Sybil clutching our zipper folder. She was mad because the elevator didn't come. I took over. I was the one who stepped into the elevator. Yes, I was!"

"What does this mean?" Sybil asked frantically. "Turn that thing off." The doctor did as she had been instructed. "Our zipper folder," Sybil murmured as she began to pace the room. "She thinks she has joint possession with me. Oh, Dr. Wilbur, Dr. Wilbur, what shall I do?"

"Let's just listen," the doctor urged as the wheels again began to move, now assuming the frightening motion of revelation as Peggy Lou's words flooded the room.

"I left the lab," Peggy Lou was saying, "because I didn't want to be scolded for breaking the glass. I hadn't broken it. No I hadn't. But I didn't break it when Lulu said I did neither. That time I was punished. Yes, I was. It wasn't fair."

"Turn it off, turn that thing off," Sybil pleaded. Then in the silence that followed, Sybil, who was overwhelmed by feelings of uncanniness, began to reminisce softly. "I haven't thought of that pickle dish in years and years. But I remember now. Mother did punish me even though Lulu broke it. But how does this Peggy Lou know about it?"

"Peggy Lou is part of you. She defended you against the anger you felt at being unjustly punished," the doctor replied.

"I don't want her to defend me. I don't want to have anything to do with her," Sybil replied bitterly.

"Sybil," the doctor cautioned, "you're setting up all sorts of resistances that will do you no good."

"That nasty word again." Sybil made an effort to smile, but the attempt froze.

"It's because of the pickle dish," Dr. Wilbur explained, "that Peggy Lou goes around breaking glass."

"Well, I wish she'd stop," Sybil replied with irritation. "I have to pay for the glass Peggy Lou breaks. I can't afford Peggy Lou."

"As we remove the trauma connected with the pickle dish," the doctor insisted, "Peggy Lou will stop. When you are able to get angry in your own right, Peggy Lou will become one with you. Ready for more?" The doctor turned on the recorder. Peggy Lou's voice resumed.

"The chemistry lab smelled funny. It made me think of the old drugstore in Willow Corners, where I live. That's where Sybil's mother found us just after we came home from the farm. I was awful mad. I jist had to get away."

"Stop it. Please, please." The entreaty was frantic.

The doctor did as she was bidden, and in the silence that ensued Sybil murmured, "The old drugstore. I remember it. Old Dr. Taylor. Music. Wonderful music." Momentarily lost in recollection, Sybil grew calmer.

Seizing the moment of calm, the doctor explained, "You see, Peggy Lou shares your memories. She also has memories about which you know nothing, for which you are amnesic. When all of these memories return, we shall have made progress toward making you one."

The doctor turned on the recorder, and Peggy Lou resumed, "When I was in the subway and on the train to Philadelphia, I kept thinkin' that Sybil wouldn't do the things I wanted her to do. I wanted money for art supplies. She said we needed it for laboratory fees. I like the chemistry all right, but it makes me mad because Sybil works so hard on the formulas. She wouldn't have to work so hard if I helped with the multiplication. I learned it in school, but she didn't. I could help her if I felt like it. But I don't. I want to do the things I enjoy. That's what I thought on the way to Philadelphia. We hadn't been any place in quite a while. And I'm mad about that. Real mad. You see, I love to travel, but that Sybil will never go anyplace. So I went to Philadelphia to get even."

This time the doctor herself brought the tape to a halt.

"Is that all?" Sybil asked.

"No, but let's rest a minute," the doctor replied.

Sybil seemed calmer, capable for the first time during this session of responding not with her emotions but with her mind.

"There's so much to absorb," she said quietly. "What was that about the formulas?"

"You know, Sybil," the doctor explained, "that it was Peggy Lou who took over from the third to the fifth grade. I've told you that she learned the multiplication tables. When you have trouble with them, that's the reason. If we can get Peggy Lou and you to the point where she will let you have the knowledge that she has and you don't, you'll no longer have difficulty. We must break down the wall between you. That is what I mean by moving toward integration."

"Yes, I see," Sybil agreed. "This brings what you've been saying into sharper focus."

Once again the recorder was turned on, and Sybil was listening to Peggy Lou's voice, saying, "So I thought I'd go to the Broadwood and draw and sketch and enjoy myself. But when I got there, I looked at what I had with me and all I had was our zipper folder. I told them at the desk that my luggage would be coming along the next day, and they believed me. So I went with the bellboy up to room 1113. I liked the room because it had real high ceilings and cream-colored walls and there was a wonderful view out the window, and the room was very warm and very quiet. I locked the door after the bellboy left, put the zipper folder, my mittens, and my scarf on the dresser. But I didn't take off my coat. I stood by the window a long time. Then I realized that I didn't have any pajamas. That was great because I could go out and shop and have lots of fun. I wanted to get the wildest pair of pajamas I could find--the kind that would keep Sybil awake at night and that would make her mother say, "You have no taste. Cultured, refined people dress quietly."

"Well, I got into the subway and went to a department store I like real well, got pajamas with bold stripes, and that was really great. Peggy Ann went with me."

"The pajamas. The mittens. The red scarf. The zipper folder," Sybil echoed, her expression growing taut with the terrifying recollection.

Peggy Lou's voice continued. "I went back to the hotel and up to my room," Peggy Lou was saying, "washed my clothes, took a bath, washed my hair, got into my beautiful pajamas, turned on TV and sang along with the TV set. Television is company. Then I went to bed. Later in the night the people in the next room turned on the radio so loud I woke up and couldn't sleep no more. Boy was I mad! So I got up and looked out the window. Across the street was the Roman Catholic High School for Boys and an old building that used to be the Philadelphia Morning Record. The subway station was outside the hotel. In the distance I could see the red and green lights on the bridge. I looked out the window a long time and finally didn't hear the radio going anymore, so I went back to bed.