Sybil (50 page)

"Yes," Vicky replied, "we are ready."

"We are going to start now," the doctor announced decisively. "All of you are going to grow. You are going to keep right on growing.

Fifteen minutes from now you will be thirty-seven and three months--Sybil's age."

"Thirty-seven is awfully old," Nancy Lou Ann demurred. "That's too old for anything."

"No, that's not too old to do anything," the doctor insisted. "I do lots of things, and I'm older than that." Then proceeding to the attempt at suggestion as part of the cure, Dr. Wilbur iterated and reiterated, her voice assuming the cadence of hypnotic incantation, "You are getting older, older, older; you are growing, growing, growing: 25, 28, 31, 33. In six minutes you will all be thirty-seven and three months."

Seconds ticking. Minutes passing. Waiting, Dr. Wilbur could not know that there was sudden rapture flowing swiftly through the senses that belonged to the fifteen selves of her patient. In every vein and fiber of Sybil there was a quickening newness, as she and her other selves moved to a new phase of healing. Still in their hypnotic sleep they could feel a fluctuant wave, buoying them with new strength.

The patient seemed relaxed.

Finally the doctor proclaimed, "You are all thirty-seven and three months and will never again be any younger. When you wake up, you will know that now you are all thirty-seven and three months. You will all be the same age as the others."

Then the fear of losing out crept in. "Will you love us now that we're old?" Peggy Lou asked willy.

"I will always love all of you," was the answer. "And be our friend as you were in the past?" asked Marcia.

"Just as much your friend."

"Things will be quite different," Vanessa remarked apprehensively.

"Whenever you have a difference of opinion," the doctor pointed out, "you will be able to discuss it with each other within yourself. You won't have to fight about it."

"Or run away," Peggy Lou added. "You'll have more in common and will be able to share some of the things you enjoy," the doctor explained. "One of the reasons for conflict and the lack of communication among you has been the vast differences in your ages. If Marcia feels depressed, the rest of you will be able to cheer her up. If Sybil Ann is listless, the others will give her energy."

Marcia asked, "Does this mean we can't call you if we don't feel well?"

"No," the doctor replied earnestly, "it does not mean that." She knew that the underlying fear Marcia had expressed for all of them was: Will I be rejected if I get well? The end of treatment to these troubled selves implied loss of the doctor, who had also become a friend.

"Now you are going to wake up," the doctor began in hypnotic cadences. "One--stretch. You are waking up. Two--stretch, stretch, stretch. Now you may wake up. Three."

Sybil opened her eyes. She and the doctor looked at each other intently--their eyes mirroring the other's hopes. Finally, the doctor spoke: "How do you feel, dear?"

"Quieter," Sybil murmured. Then she added, "I will have more time to use, and everybody can use it."

"That's exactly right," the doctor replied with expectation. "Now you will go home, and you will have a good day. I'll see you in the morning." With added reassurance she remarked, "There are no little girls around now to keep you from getting here on time."

Through hypnotic age progression, Dr. Wilbur had metamorphosed what had been fixations in the past into viable parts of the present. The hope was that this would become the bedrock on which to erect the superstructure of integration, a way to open the pathways to the original Sybil--and to restore her.

The next morning--April 22, 1960-- Dr. Wilbur asked: "Sybil, would you like to meet the others?"

"If you want me to," was the acquiescent reply.

"I'll introduce you to Ruthie first," the doctor said when Sybil was in a deep hypnotic sleep. "Until a few months ago she was just two years old. When I touch your right elbow, I will ask for Ruthie."

Ruthie was summoned: silence. The doctor waited. Then Sybil's voice said quietly, "I see her."

The moment was loaded with meaning because this was the very first time that Sybil had had a visual impression of any of her other selves, the first time that they had existed for her within her own consciousness. The way Sybil "saw," moreover, was a reminder of Sybil's freedom from psychosis; for Ruthie had been perceived not as floating in space, not as the projected image of a hallucination but only in the mind's eye.

"You see her?" the doctor asked. "Now tell me: why did you leave her behind?"

"Because she had ideas of her own. She wouldn't do what I said." It was a curious concept, the expression of the yawning chasm between the directives of the conscious mind and their execution by the unconscious.

"What do you think about that now?" the doctor asked.

"I don't think that's right," Sybil replied, "because things change all the time." Then she added, "Ruthie has her arms out, and I think she wants me."

"What do you think of her?" The doctor's voice was low. "Do you like her? Would you like to have Ruthie with you now?"

A breathing stillness, then Sybil's saying, "Yes, I want her. She belongs to me."

"Ruthie will be with you," the doctor replied, conferring connection.

"I want her," Sybil iterated.

"She is as old as you and can help you," the doctor explained.

"I want her help," Sybil admitted. "Now, how do you feel?" the doctor asked.

Sybil, in scarcely more than a whisper, replied, "Happier!"

"Now, Sybil," the doctor continued, "the others are right here, and you'll have to choose the next one you want to meet."

"That would be Vicky," Sybil said without hesitation. "She has taught me some things even though I haven't met her."

"She has helped us a great deal, too," the doctor explained, "by telling us what the others didn't know or couldn't tell."

Then Sybil asked, "Is Vicky my friend?"

There was strong conviction in the doctor's answer: "Very much your friend. Now I'm going to ask Vicky to come. Vicky."

"Hi," said Vicky.

The introduction of sleeping selves, now jointly sharing the unconscious, was simple. "Vicky," the doctor said, "this is Sybil."

Silence, awkwardness. "Does she want to be friends?" Sybil asked.

The doctor put the question to Vicky, and from Vicky came the gracious reply: "I should like to very much."

The conferral of friendship: "There are no obstacles. Now you two girls go right ahead and be friends."

Suddenly tears flowed copiously. Sybil's tears. This depleted girl was crying now at the prospect of having a friend within her. Over the tears came the doctor's affirmation: "Vicky is part of you." Then the question: "Why, Sybil, did you leave Vicky behind?"

Sybil insisted, "I didn't.

When I couldn't do something, Vicky did it for me. I didn't leave her."

More affirmation from the doctor: "Vicky's a part of you that is very likable."

"I have these two friends now," Sybil said. "They came toward me willingly." Then the avowal, the declaration of acceptance: "They are me, too."

More silence. Then Sybil said, "I would like to go home. That's what I wish."

"Very well," the doctor agreed. "I will explain to the others that you will meet them another time. And we will do no more today."

"Yes," Sybil agreed, "I would like to meet them just a little later." Instinctively Sybil knew that meeting each of the selves involved facing the conflicts and traumas that each defended. Quite wisely Sybil decided that meeting two selves was enough for one day.

"Turn aside, Sybil, and rest. I want to make some explanation to the others, and then you can go home."

"Peggy Ann," the doctor called. "Yes," from Peggy Ann.

"Does everybody understand why Sybil isn't meeting you today?" Unhesitatingly Peggy Ann replied: "We certainly do. It's all right with us. We have no special claims on Sybil. We did some things to hurt her. Peggy Lou and I took her to Philadelphia, Elizabeth, other places. We did some things."

"Do the others understand?" Dr. Wilbur asked. "The boys are laughing," Peggy Ann replied. "They think it's funny."

"What?"

"All this about getting older and meeting Sybil. And I think it's funny, that the boys are men now. Thirty-seven is a man."

"In their case, no," said the doctor. "I would hope that they will become a woman."

Puzzled, Peggy Ann responded only with an "Oh."

Then, returning to the original theme, the doctor said, "We will wait a little while and let Sybil become adjusted to the idea of meeting all of you. Is that okay?"

"It's okay," Peggy Ann replied.

"That's very kind of you, very good of you," the doctor said. "Sybil will understand how good you are when she gets to know you better."

"Oh, Doctor," Peggy Ann blurted.

"I hope Sybil won't go around saying "We" instead of "I.""

"Now," Dr. Wilbur said, changing the subject, "I'm going to touch your right elbow and ask to speak to Sybil."

"Yes?" from Sybil.

"I'd like to wake you up now," said the doctor. "When you are awake, you will know that you, Vicky, and Ruthie are together, that you will always be together, and that you will never need to be apart. Now you are going to wake up. One--stretch; you are waking up. Two-- stretch, stretch, stretch. Now you may wake up. Three."

In all analyses periods of improvement tend to be followed by periods of regression; for every step forward there is at least one step backward. After Sybil had established an entente with Vicky and Ruthie, she continued to resist meeting the other selves. In July, 1960, a month after the entente, that meeting still had not taken place. Moreover, as Peggy Lou made clear to Dr. Wilbur, many of the old conflicts had returned to plague Sybil, who once again was suicidal.

A woman now, Peggy Lou began the session with, "I'm afraid I'll do something foolish. I worry about that."

"Yes?" Dr. Wilbur asked thoughtfully. "I was a little girl for so long, and now I'm a woman. Some of my old ways are no longer appropriate."

"I wouldn't worry about that," the doctor replied. "From what I can see you're doing fine. Now I'd like to ask you a question."

"Yes?"

"Sybil felt happier when she met Ruthie and Vicky. But what has happened to the happiness?"

"All the old feelings," Peggy Lou replied knowingly, "have come back. I thought it wasn't going to be like that anymore."

"She called me," the doctor confided.

"I know," Peggy Lou replied.

"I never really know whether to go or not when she calls," the doctor explained. "I sometimes think she feels guilty about having me come."

"She does," Peggy Lou agreed.

"I don't want to undermine her feeling about herself any more than I want to weaken your feeling about yourself. Have the old suicidal feelings come back?"

"Even more strongly than before," Peggy replied with concern. "Her fears drive her to it. The greatest fears she has now are facing religion and school. She tried to tell you yesterday but couldn't."

The fears were so powerful that they led to retrogression, even after the entente with Vicky and Ruthie.

"Sybil feels that is a lot to face," Peggy Lou explained. "I heard Vicky say to Sybil: "Well, you take it one day at a time." But Sybil dreads that things will get like they were in the time of tension."

"What is it about religion that terrifies Sybil so, especially when Mary is still defending Sybil against the most serious religious conflicts?"

"It's a terrible fear of finding out that there's nothing to it," Peggy Lou replied thoughtfully.

"Could she be afraid of finding out that she doesn't want to be in her religion?" the doctor asked.

"She'd fear that," Peggy Lou reported, "if it occurred to her."

"This would frighten her?" the doctor asked. "There's a reason why she's afraid," Peggy Lou explained.

"Yes?"

"Well, you see," Peggy Lou continued, "she believes in God and that the Commandments are true. They say, "Thou shalt not kill." That makes it wrong for her to kill herself. Her life isn't her own."

"Yes?"

"And that's an inhibition, the last thing in the way of self-destruction. If that were taken away ... well, I don't know, Doctor, I really don't."

"Aren't there other things that keep her from doing it?"

"There are several things," Peggy Lou replied with conviction. "We are one reason. You see, now that she has gotten to like us, she feels a responsibility toward us and doesn't want to destroy us."

Peggy Lou had always exerted strong pressures to let Sybil live. But she did it in a new way now. She did it, too, in concert with the other selves. Now the life force resided less in the actions of the others than in Sybil's new reaction toward them.

"So," Peggy Lou went on, "the evidence piles up. Sybil's afraid to kill herself because of God, because of us, and also because of you. She doesn't want to hurt you. She can't hurt you, and she can't do what God doesn't want. But you see, if she found out there wasn't any God, there would be one restraint gone. She's not afraid of the punishment in itself. Sometimes she thinks that would be over quickly--that you can't burn forever. But she's afraid to find out that there is no God and there's nobody to stop her but you and us."