by Dr. Olivia Maxx

Clinical Neurologist

Antoine Michael looked quite unremarkable as he walked into my office five years ago. A man of about forty, of average height and stature, he appeared pleasant and affable beneath his white coat anxiety, which he gained as he came through the door. At my invitation, he took a seat across from my desk.

He had left only a short message with my receptionist, which did not communicate what he might be needing of me. I sought to ease his apparent anxieties with an open smile. I usually prefer my clients to launch dialogue, so I waited. He sat and said nothing. A moment passed. Apprehension shrouded his face.

Behind my continuing smile, I attempted to start, “Just how might I help you today, Mr. Michael?” I inclined my head slightly to the left, to further remove any fear of authority and to coax him along.

“No! Michael is not my last name, Mam,” he said with such a finality that for a moment I thought I might already have come to the end of the session.

“Michael is the other first name. I am Michael, but I go by Mike,” said the man. “And I am Antoine,” said this man in a second voice, “I am glad to meet you.” This was the voice of an altogether different timbre and parlance, quite a bit lighter.

“I see, and how would you have me address you?”

“That depends on who you are speaking to, of course.” Antoine said with such a conviction that I actually felt a bit abashed at my oversight.

“Then how might I identify the two of you, Antoine and Mike?”

“This is Antoine speaking now, please look at me over here. You are looking at Michael now, and it is very disconcerting to have your eyes on him while you are addressing me,” said he man in his alter voice.

I turned my eyes slightly to the left, into space, and said, “Is that better?”

“Of course that’s better,” said the man before me.

My wildly excited mind was splashing through unknown waters, throwing up great quantities of confusing wash. Behind my placid face, I was actually verging on delirium. This might become my first case of DID. In all my years of practice, I had before me, evidentially, the manifestation, the delicious manifestation, of an extraordinarily concise case of split personality. Dissociative Identity Disorder, they call it. Furthermore, it is extremely unusual to have both personalities, the principal and the alter, present at one time. And further, furthermore, I was addressing an explicit physical manifestation of the graphic split this man was facing, for it might appear that he is convinced that he has two heads and each has its own persona. Now, I was racing ahead trying to determine the direction and the approach to be taken. How will this case be traveled, hypnotherapy? DID is easy to identify, but very difficult to treat.

As I swung back in my chair and rolled my eyes up to the ceiling in a dramatic show of engrossed thought, the man spoke in Antoine’s voice.

“We know what you’re thinking, never mind all that analysis, it is just an expensive waste of your time and money. And please don’t try to convince us of what you think you see. We know just what our body has above its shoulders. To speak the obvious, one neck leaves the body between two collar bones and travels upward. One inch above the shoulders,” the man gestured with his left hand on his neck, “it forks into a split limb, like a branching tree, each side of the branching is slightly diminished in diameter. The divided necks, with two esophagi and four jugular veins, then travels another two inches to join with each respective head, Antoine’s cranium and Michael’s cranium. We do not look anything alike. Wouldn’t you agree? Our heads are approximately the same size, but there it stops. If you look carefully, you will see four ears, two mouths, two chins, four eyes and eyebrows, and four cheekbones. These are all very dissimilar. If you look closely, you will see that his hair and mine are slightly different shades, lengths, and of course are combed and dressed in different ways. As a matter of fact, I can’t stand the way he does his.”

“What we say here is not otherwise,” continued Antoine. “This you must understand, and attempt to see that which sits before you. If not, this association will end now.”

“Damn, damn, damn, I just lost my remarkable catch,” I murmured to myself. He shook my hook loose and fled. Maybe I never had it in the first place. Too damn bad!

But still, before me is quite an amazing phenomenon, there certainly is more to this. Let’s continue, and we’ll see.

Well then, what is it that brings you here?”, I said with more assurance than I actually had. It was Mike who spoke this time. “We don’t get along very well. It has always been this way, but now it’s getting bad.”

“I don’t sleep,” said Antoine. “He wants to provoke me late in the evening with his ideas.”

“Yes, and what are those ideas?”

“You see, we are two completely different minds. We see life, I might say western life, in utterly different ways. Michael relishes things that I don’t really like. Don’t misunderstand me, I like him and respect him as a person, but his thoughts and the way he does things is repugnant to me.”

“Just a minute here my dear friend,” said an angry Mike, “It is you who are repugnant in your stupid, faggoty ways.” The man’s mouth was working very fast in an attempt to keep the dual stream of conversation moving.

Like it or not, I was being swept up in a family spat. He, they, have rejected my legitimate calling as a clinical neurologist. In its place, they seem to be asking me to become their therapist. I should probably send them down the road to my friend’s business. Would I be practicing without a license, should I continue? Should I hustle them out of here?

Or, go with it? I would probably learn something worthwhile. Yes, OK, it might be interesting.

“Alright, you both made my point. Now, I could handle this in several ways,” I told them, “I could have you both describe the other in detail or simply ask you both some questions in order to bring out these harsh disagreements. But, please, let’s start with a little history. Does that seem like a reasonable start to you two?”

“Yes, I would accept that,” said Antoine.

“OK.”, said Mike.

“Good,” I said a little louder than intended. “The obvious question is, who came first? Or who is the original person?”

“We are not ignorant, Dr. Maxx,” interrupted Antoine. “We have examined countless journals and white papers on our supposed ‘condition’ of split personality and know all about the primary-personality and the sub-personality, the alter. We do not have an alter or sub-personality, we are equals,” continue Antoine. “We know about difficult childhoods, overbearing parents, deprivations and dysfunctions of the brain. All the abnormal occurrences and developments that lead to this syndrome. None of this is relevant. Our body was born with two heads. Our parents, liberal parents that they were, never said anything about it, they never made references to this condition, even as children. This silence doubtlessly came out of fear of planting a stigma on us. We grew up comfortably assimilating our situation. We have moved through life without making any fuss or speaking of the existence of the two of us. That is, we had no problem until recently when we began to realize that we were less and less in harmony. We have had endless disagreements the last few years, which is taking a toll on us now.”

“I do see. Well,” I said again, as my eyes wandered the room, searching. Maybe I should abandon all this now and keep my sanity and my office.

But then, it still might have promise, and I do have a professional obligation, and an immense curiosity. But, where to go now?

I though aloud, “Who would like to speak first? And what one thing would come to mind that could be a definitive starting point? Something simple. Let’s start with an uncomplicated matter.”

It was Antoine. “OK, that’s fine, I will start and keep it fairly straightforward.”

“About seven years ago, Michael wanted to go out and buy a gun. ‘Why in God’s name would you want that thing,’ I said. ‘You don’t hunt, we live in a safe neighborhood, we don’t have gangs around? We don’t have anything worth stealing in the house. Certainly not worth killing someone for. Where would you keep it? What if it discharged accidentally?’ I can’t stand guns, they are loud and unattractive and offensive, and they carry a powerful negative stigma. But, to keep peace in the family, I consented and he got it. It now stands in the closet behind the clothes, never fired for seven years. Not only that, he bought seven more guns, one a year, big ones with two barrels and little ones you could put in your pocket. The pistols are in drawers around the place. He wants to take them out to a firing range and carry them around, but I put my food down on that one. I couldn’t take that!”

“OK,” I said, “Michael, or Mike, how do you respond?”

“There is not much to say,” he said curtly, “I did all those horrible things that he accused me of. Yes, like buying a firearm for our mutual protection, like any American would. I see nothing so absolutely intolerable about that. A firearm is a good thing to have in the house these days, it’s just been stigmatized. It gives security and freedom from fear. Who would not want that? And it is not just for local protection, it is for the greater protection. You know, if our crazy world goes ballistic and starts seizing property and our personal freedoms, as it already has in many a place! And please don’t tell me that will not happen, it can and it could, for sure. It’s only logic to have a firearm in the house during these dangerous times. I also have made some friends online who share some of my interests in firearms, good friends, close, understanding, loyal friends. Friends who share my beliefs. I would like to take it to rallies and even shopping. What the hell, it’s legal! Yes, and maybe even to church!”

“And another thing,” he continued, “I like almost everything about firearms. Particularly, I like the way they look and feel. I like the pressure of the stock up against my cheek, it’s thrilling. I come to life when I have a beautiful Savage Bolt Action in my arms! I love its firepower. Its recoil shows me it’s alive and that life adds to my own strength. Most firearms are solid and finely built, dependable machines. I like to clean them and to move their action. I like their weight. They are a complete pleasure to have in my hands. I’d hang them on the wall or put them over the fireplace if I could, just to show them off. A firearm, of any caliber, inspires confidence to the bearer. I would like to take one or two with me everywhere I go, to let people know just who I am. But, of course, he puts up of a fuss.”

“I understand, Mike,” I interrupted, “Let’s let that one go for now.”

“Antoine, do you want to balance this grievance Mike has?”

“Sure I do. To keep it simple at the start here, don’t want to get too heavy, but this does really irritate me, a lot. I must tell you this; we needed a new car…”

“Oh, boy!”, Mike interrupted, “Nothing simple here. Antoine wanted this squirrely little thing about the size of a carpet cleaner, with these bitty, little wheels that would disappear into any self-respecting pothole coming along. It was hardly a car. I could barely squeeze into it. You would be sitting in that little play thing in the traffic and be looking around. All you could see is hubcaps and rubber tires. You pay big for fifty miles per gallon. But I owed him one, so I consented, and we got that stupid, little thing. It sits outside your door now.”

“Antoine, any response?”

“Yes, I do have a response. Obviously, Michael could not tolerate my choice of the car, he would rather walk on his hands than ride in it. So, guess what? He bought himself a truck. On time payments, I might add. Not just any truck, mind you, this monster sits seven feet high, and is shiny black. To get in it, is to climb up a set of steps. Incidentally, you have to measure gallons per mile here. It has a whole string of what look likes Klieg lights mounted on the front, giant tires and a cargo box in back that is so high, a contractor would have to use a step ladder to load it with 2×4’s. I am absolutely chagrined to be behind the wheel of that freaky thing. Every time we go somewhere, I’m hoping we don’t see anybody we know. It also makes big rumbling noise. You couldn’t miss that big, ugly machine wherever you went.”

“Mike, a response? Why did you feel the need to get this truck?”

“I’ll tell you. I have thought about this myself, for some time. Since we are direct and honest here today, I’ll tell you, I’d never talked this kind of shit before. But to be honest, this vehicle demands respect, and the guy up there driving this vehicle receives respect. Heads turn. It speaks power. Simple as that. I like it that way. It tells everybody who I am. It does me proud to be up there behind its high function instrument panel, and to have my hands on that wheel. To put it in your terms, I identify with that big truck, that truck is me!”

“Ok, I’m getting the picture. Now, though there is much disparity here, I see a will to recognize one another’s needs, a basic cooperation. That’s a big start. Good. Let’s now move into a more conceptual realm. Antoine, are there any social circumstances that have become issues?”

“Well, oh boy, where do I start” Okay, Michael seems to suddenly shoot off in anger at almost anything these days. Whether it is on the computer, his phone, or the television news. I tell him not to watch so much, but he can’t pull himself away, and of course, I have to see it all too. And he watches news programs that I can’t stand. Now, you have to realize this, I have a front row seat to his spectacle, his show. He has big time emotions, you see, they are always bursting out, bubbling over. He easily gets carried away when the news turns the slightest bit controversial. He swears at the television set. One time he bashed it with my frozen baguette.”

“What does he want to watch?”, I asked.

“There are many shows. He is obsessed with people from other countries coming into the US and changing it.”

“How about that, Mike?”

“That’s right. There are many things about our country that I hold sacred, my friends hold sacred. The way this country has formed over the years, and the wars we fought to keep it that way, the lives lost on the battle ground. I am not just about to throw all of that solid history out for a bunch of ragged people coming across our borders and trying to change what is here and what is good. Not to mention grabbing our jobs!”

“I have nothing against these folks, they may be God fearing people, but this is my country, and I do not want it pushed around and distorted. I don’t want to walk into the little neighborhood’s gas station, as I have, and find the great little couple who ran it for about fifty years, gone. ‘We bought it,’ says the guy from Afghanistan.”

‍ ”I have nothing against him, but he is not American, even if he has that little piece of paper that says he’s an American. Sorry to say, but he’s not an American. He is from the Middle-East, and he looks it, and he speaks with an accent. He may be a wonderful man, but why can’t he be a wonderful man in his own country. Excuse me, but I don’t want to walk out my door and see only foreign faces. There are so many foreigners now running our country, they are in Congress, the state government. Jesus, they are even the cop on the beat. The other day, we got this clothing catalog in the mail, and what do you think, there was this good-looking white gal all dressed up in smart clothes sitting there in a beautiful park with her arm around this mocha dude from God knows where. I want to see people like me, in my own country, hell, in my own neighborhood, next-door, for Christ sake. Now, I want you to know that I am not a bigot, I’ll say it again, I’m not a bigot. I love and respect all kinds of people. I admire all kinds of people. It is that - I shouldn’t even have to say this - I like the way our country is now, or was, I like the leafy streets and the old couple making their way down the sidewalk talking about going together to a church supper, in a language I can understand. The guy from Afghanistan or Algeria, where it may be, can walk down his own streets and be at home in his own country and family. That’s fine, that’s wonderful. Now look, I could swear that if I were to walk down the streets of Trabzon or Cairo or wherever it may be, they would look at me funny too, you bet.”

“And that is all I have to say about that.”

“Thank you, Mike, for being honest about your thoughts. What do you have to say about that, Antoine?”

“Hold on,” interrupted Mike again, “I want to tell you that many times I quietly sat through hours and hours of PBS’s little, white-haired ladies sitting around doily-covered tables drinking gallons of tea and talking about, just appalling marital affairs! All without a word from me. I am trying to work with him. Right Antoine?”

“I can’t tell you how much all this really pains me,” said Antoine. “Yes, I understand what Michael is saying. What he says is understandable, yes it is. We all want to cling to the past; it is secure and dependable, reliable, something you know you can trust on. When all that changes, suddenly everything you have known, all of a sudden is different. That can be uncomfortable, even fearful and threatening, even menacing. I sympathize with Michael, but I react to the same circumstances in my own way.”

“Can you explain that, Antoine?”

“Well, we all, meaning the people I would rather associate with, are more secure living in, and dealing with, change than his kind of people are. Yes, of course, we take comfort in things that are familiar also. One of the most scary things for me happened recently; I was driving in the dark in an unfamiliar city. I couldn’t see a thing, it was raining hard, the roadway was under construction, and most of all, I was in foreign territory, another city. I had a hell of a time, went over onto the berm several times. If I had driven that road before, half the burden would be lifted. Familiarity breeds confidence. And why shouldn’t it, it is comfort to know you stand on familiar territory. Habit, regularity and intimacy are all comforting.”

“The difference between us,” Antoine went on, “is that I seem to be able to absorb the changes more easily than Michael. These things don’t seem to bother me so much. I am more ready for change. You know, everyone knows, don’t they? That change, for good or bad, will come, no matter where you stand. Most people get by with denial working for them. They say, ‘Don’t think about it, and it won’t happen.’ Michael takes outside events very seriously and very personally; he gets emotional. I may seem more the lightweight within our context, but it is Michael who is really the more fearful of us. I think he really wants someone, an authority figure, to tell him just how to act, what to do.

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