Before I fall asleep, I usually think of my baby girl. I still do, even after the recent events. I think of her golden brown, almond-shaped eyes, her oval head, silky-swift brown hair. I think of the things that made her, her. She’s just like any other teen girl, a happy kid, except it’s only that way when she’s herself. She is what makes up my heart. She is my everything.
I think of all the things that make her unique.
You know it’s quite a fascination; this aspect of life. This type of entity I refuse to call a disorder, but instead I think of it more as a personality puzzle. Consider living a life where you think that you are someone new every once in a while without realizing it. Without communicating that you don’t know how to answer the very answerable question the same way, stating: Who are you? Who am I?
I gave every last minute to care for her, every moment to make sure that no matter who she was at any given moment, I was there for her. But it doesn’t always seem to work out does it? I’d know her voice anywhere, no matter what body she thought she was in. It’s where she collected the words used by her voice, that was the real key to the cupboard of thoughts. Her brain. I thought of what she was constantly thinking. In whose brain she thought she was constantly a part of, and how she stores all the information about everyone she encounters. She could even get a little out of control and messy sometimes and question the meaning of life but that’s what moms are here for. To clean up the mess, yet sometimes, there is nothing you can do to clean a permanent stain. I guess only a child could’ve understood the thoughts of another child who is forced to play pretend for most of their life. Acting as if you are someone else. I sometimes pictured myself as a child, opening her skull, unspooling her brain and sifting through it, trying to catch and pin down her thoughts. What are you thinking Alicia? Who’s next? Everyday was a new confusing puzzle and as the creator of the puzzle, it’s shameful to not be able to even solve what you have done.
December 11th, 2011 was when the patterns started to change.
With only two people in the house, it could get a little frightening sometimes. Although I am the only breadwinner of the family, somehow we were fortunate enough to live in such a nice house. Alicia's dad had a half time job of being a drunk, and the other half of hating me for a reason with no sense to it. It wasn’t always like that though. Life was happy once.  We had inherited so much money from Alicia’s grandfather dying the year before, that we decided to move into a bigger and better house for Alicia’s sake, without knowing what was coming down the road. We had gotten lucky, especially since living in North Dakota came with big houses for cheaper money, a lot of cows, and acres of desolate land.
It all started when she was 7 years old, and she would always wake me up in the middle of the night as herself at around 1 a.m. She’d say she had a dream about looking through the eyes of someone completely different and would tell me every detail about it. Soon these dreams started to become reality and my daily dose of 1 cup of coffee started to become 5. We would get notes from school, complaints about friends, and no remembrance of what went on half the day. I hired the best psychiatrist in town who we would visit every week. Then twice, then all five days. It had gotten out of control. She was 13 now and nothing had changed, everything had only gotten worse. Now instead of waking in the middle of the night to talk to me, she turned into different people that almost looked like they had possessed her. Once she had woken up reaching for the old cabernet her father had kept for special occasions, and poured it into a wine glass holding it traditionally poised between the pointer and middle finger, picking up the latest edition of Cosmopolitan on the counter and almost sipping the wine lest I stopped her. Then another night she woke up to use the bathroom and I watched as she pulled down her pants and was on the verge of peeing standing up. Soon, she started to give off signs showing she wanted to harm herself, and sometimes even me. Knives started to appear in her hand but not aiming at me. She was 13 for god sakes, and stuck in trances that could be pulled out right from a Stephen King horror story just before she goes on a serial killer rampage. She was leaving me and I didn’t know how to begin to grieve. As a mother you feel like you have a responsibility to do everything in your power to stop your daughter from suffering. When you can’t, it’s like you’re worthless and unhelpful.

October 15th: 3:57 am
  -The Day Of-
The days arrived in which I was sleeping in bed with her, holding her tight, exhausted from everything life had brought at my door. I was paralyzed in a confused state of mentality. One cloudy night, I drifted off into a sleep which made me feel as if I am unconscious. A sleep I will never forget. I had dreams that I will never remember. I didn’t know that I will never get to hold hands with my child again.
My eyes flipped open to the sound of Alicia’s laugh soon to realize it was a dream which turned into a screeching noise of the screen door that leads out to a patio. I quickly remembered that I had forgotten to lock the door as I was so deeply tired and she hadn’t gone outside or at least tried to do this before. As I ran down the stairs skipping over steps as if my life was on the line, I tripped and fell down the mahogany staircase and the whole world started to spin and the screen door starts to double as she vanishes from my sight. As I am unable to get up and do anything. I reach up to feel my forehead and blood is gushing over my eyelashes, dripping to the floor.  I noticed she wasn’t wearing her necklace. Next thing I know there are flashing red lights and a stretcher underneath my back. She was gone before the ambulance could arrive  for me and all the grief came flooding back. It was then that I realized that no pain was worse than a mother’s loss of her daughter.
Yet something in my gut was telling me she hadn’t left me yet. She’s still somewhere out    there, not herself, not dead, but lost in her own conundrum of personalities.

*  *  *

  Alicia Davis
~February 29th, 2012~
  8 months Before
- Diary Entry -
Today marks the day of 13 years of living in the unknown. What sucks, like most things in life, is I don’t even remember what has happened for more than half the day (which can get incredibly frustrating). I have started getting visions sometimes. I get visions of what I see when I’m not me, for example a couple days ago I started “day dreaming” or going into a trance. I saw a hand, my hand with my newly purple painted nails, reaching for a drawer in the study of my house, I could tell from the rustic mahogany colored floor boards. When I opened it I realized I was staring at a pistol. It glared at me right in the eyes. I start to pick it up, but then reality comes back to me and I was back to watching Mrs. Lindenburg teach pre-algebra which I was now failing, thanks to all my “distractions.”
When I came home I raced to the drawer hiding in the corner of the room and the weapon of destruction was where I had envisioned it. Next to it were documents with Dad’s name embossed on them: Charles Davis. There were old bills and legal documents. Mom didn’t tell me a lot about dad, as he died when I was really little. She said that she didn’t want to crowd my mind with information that didn’t matter anymore. All I had to know was that he cared about me and was a good man (well, when he wanted to be that is). When I brought the drawer up to Mom she gave me this look of horror and disdain that frightened me. I immediately shut my mouth and knew it was best not to even think about it again. I still look at it though as I pass by, curiosity builds up but then something leads me to forget about it.
Today’s a special day “like a special someone”, says Mom every year on my birthday, but since it’s leap year it’s extra special. Veronica, my best and only friend in the entire world, comes over. Mom made me chocolate cake with strawberries and buttercream icing, my favorite. Everything that I could remember was absolutely amazing. Then mom asked why I wasn’t wearing the gift she woke me up with this morning. I had absolutely no idea what she was talking about and for some reason I start to lash out and make a big fuss out of not knowing what she was talking about. She tried to calm me down, Veronica tried to as well but it could get hard. Later I began to feel fine and mom gave me my gift for a second time and I started to cry. It was a monogram necklace that said Alicia on it. She said that It was so that I will always remember who I am and keep my identity close to my heart. I stay where I am for a few minutes, and then I take a breathe and wade into my mother’s arms and bury my face into the neck of the women that cares for me more than anyone will ever care for me in my entire life.I then croak out the four painstaking words “I’m sorry, for everything.” These words are something my mother will have to hold onto forever.

* * *

LAKESHORE PSYCHIATRICS
Dr. Louis Flemmings
23 Lincoln Avenue, North Dakota
June 11th, 2012
Patient: Alicia Davis (Dissociative Disorder)
Log: 307

~4 months before~
Patient Alicia Davis is getting increasingly worse. Cause of disorder is still thought to be trauma induced by death of father, unknown to patient for certain reasons. Seems that every identity has some correlation to father in some twisted way. Alicia talks about out-of-body experiences in which patient is unfamiliar of periods of time during the day. Patient was asked to analyze emotional responses to different situations and dive into different personality by means of hypnosis to find trigger:
As I reached for my fourth cup of coffee, trying to understand what was going on in Alicia’s mind while she lays on the red velvet sofa. I hand Alicia a small dixie cup of water and two soporific pills and ask her to close her eyes and picture what scares her the most. She starts to frantically itch her arm. I circle my thumb around the smooth surface of my pocket watch. “Alicia, I want you to picture your necklace and think that your entire identity is this necklace. Nothing else should be your focus, only the necklace. When I mention the necklace you will become yourself.” I walk around the room and watch as Alicia’s eyes are tightly squeezed shut, but as the drug nestles into her blood, she loosens the strain on her eyes and slips into her trance. “Now Alicia, I want you to step closer to your deepest fear, in the darkest place of the planet and embrace it. Go deep into a tunnel of the horror which makes you unique and think as if you can never come out.”
She starts to moan and her fingernails start to dig deeper into the palm of her pale hand. Any minute now, I believe she will wake up as another individual.
Alicia sits up and starts rubbing her eyes. “Where am I? Who are you?” Suddenly she starts looking at her hand. “Where’s my watch I’m late for the funeral, who are you?” she sputters.
“Hello, I’m a friend of yours, you may have forgotten me as it has been a while since we met. I am Louis.” My beliefs seem to be true, I may know whose funeral she is talking about.
“Uh, I’m Jen. I’m extremely sorry but I’m getting late for my father’s funeral.” Alicia walks to the door, quickly realizing it’s locked.
“Jen, I’m about to tell you something that may come as a surprise. You are not Jen, you are Alicia Davis who inherits a dissociative identity disorder in which you switch between various personalities.” Alicia starts to fidget with her hand and nods her head as if she doesn’t want to believe in what I am saying. “This is an exercise in which we trigger your different identities by exploiting your emotional responses to various situations.”
“But I,—”
“Shhhh.  The only way to train you to become your normal self again is to release your personalities and tell them the truth.  At least this is what we will try to do to see if it helps. Now I want you to look at your necklace.” I point to the shiny gold pendant resting across her neck. “Before you turned into Jen, I told you to focus and think that your entire identity lies in this neck lace. It is something that Alicia cares for deeply and it is the object that will bring her back.”
“Why should I listen to—” she slowly lowers her neck and feels her necklace, she holds her head and starts to get dizzy and collapses on the floor. The drugs wear off and she wakes up to be the 13 year old,  Alicia Davis. That silver necklace is now  the most valuable thing she owns. It is her metal identity.

*  *  *

     Alicia Davis
~September 26th, 2012~
   21 Days before
- Diary Entry -
I start to receive more violent thoughts and question what my purpose is in life. I don’t want to live like this anymore. I want to not be able to worry about not remembering blocks of my life or what I’m going to harm without not knowing it. I want to be able to whine about the smaller things in life. I don’t want to have to carry the burden of not knowing myself 100%. I can feel it getting worse with every molecule in my body, it’s like an invisible force that is eating away parts of my soul. See, I’m doing it again, I’m falling into the abyss. Stay positive Alicia, stay positive. I woke up to a scavenger hunt of notes around my bedroom that say “not to trust her”. For some reason I have a feeling that these faulty pieces of ripped paper are talking about Mom (there’s a reason). Lately I’ve been ignoring mom and telling her about what is going on because something is making me want to hurt her. I remembered of the gun I had envisioned a while ago and something told me to go check on it. It was gone, and with it my sense of safety.It’s as if a voice inside my head is blaming her for all my problems. Deep inside, there is no one that I trust, respect, and love more, but this hasn’t been the case and I’m deeply afraid.

* * *

October 21st: 8:42 pm
    - 6 Days After-

I had made a decision: to make a decision. If she won’t come back I will grieve, but I will not stop until mothers around the world know how lucky they are to have a child. But will she come back? I guess time will only tell the truth. It may as well be the palpable truth, like a sour taste on the tongue tip.
It’s been 6 horrid days living alone, while the police do their “hide-and-seek game” they call an investigation in this small town of Lakeshore, North Dakota. I’ve been doing all I can to help, but there is only so much you can handle when you are observing your daughter’s life and death disappearance for a week. It was a moist and windy evening and I had had enough failed attempts at finding my angel. So I had decided to give a visit to my late husband’s grave, wondering what it would be like if our life maybe hadn’t turned into a devastating mess, and instead he was at my side, giving me his shoulder to rest my head on and take a break from reality. We’d met at a writing convention 15 years ago. I, being an english teacher and him writing his never finished novel. He was a man with warm blue eyes and bright pink smile. A firework indeed with a humorous personality. We had both laid our eyes on the same novel that had truly sparked our relationship that starry night in the winter. It was ironically a novel of love and care: Great Expectations. When asked our favorite quote we spoke in harmony, “You are part my existence, part of myself. You have been in every line I have ever read, since I first came here, the rough common boy whose poor heart you wounded even then.” It was unreal and ecstatic. I knew I liked him then, really liked him, this boy with a heart of gold.
There’s something disturbing about recalling a warm memory and feeling utterly cold.
Soon we had fell in love, got married and had the flower of our life. Only to find out that when she was 6 she was diagnosed with a multi-personality disorder. According to Charlie she wasn’t our perfect little girl anymore and the blame was put on the mother of the child. Our beautiful life was now spiraling into a hole of regret and resentment. He didn’t even talk to her let alone look at her. Days of “working at the office” turned to nights of drinking at Richie’s Bar. He had even been sent to jail once. At the rare times he was home, he would lash out on the tiniest occasions with no reason to back up his actions. Soon Officer Windham came knocking with the news and he was gone. There was a small feeling of sadness which was then overtaken by a wave of relief. Thankfully it had all happened so fast, Alicia was too young to understand.
I gleamingly grimace at his gravestone, marked: Charlie Davis from 1971-2005, Father, Husband, trying to hold back my throat choking tears. I slowly bend over to put down the sunflower I had picked from my garden when I see a small rustic shine peaking out from under the dirt. I quickly dig it out to find Alicia’s necklace. My dirt covered hand goes right to my mouth as I put the pieces together. She must have come here the night she disappeared. I try to rub all the dirt specks off the piece of jewelry that is tightly gripped in my hand and I resist the urge of sobbing into the night. Please come back to me, please, you’re the only thing I have. I love you.
I look up to wipe my eyes, obliviously getting dirt in them again when I hear the crackling of a branch. I turn around and there was someone there. A dark silhouette of a shadowed figure. I creep closer.
“Hello? Anyone there? Alicia, honey, is that you baby?” I keep the pendent tightly hugged to my scarf covered chest. In a slow instance I see a face but not only that, the body is holding a gun pointed straight at me. It’s Alicia with a look of the demon in her eyes. With the look of her father in her eyes. My heart jumps with joy and happiness to see her standing before me, yet my brain tells me to take caution and is terrified to have a gun that could end my life this very moment. My excitement soon ushers into ashes of terror and fright.
“Alicia? Baby what are you doing? What is all this? I’m so happy to see you but—” I immediately remembered that she is absolutely not herself, and she will do anything to hurt me.
“Stop it, it’s all your fault, why did you do this to me?” She was gone, Alicia wasn’t in there. It was Charles all over again. She was now on the verge to kill me.
I put my hands in the air and take a closer look at the gun. It was the pistol kept in the drawer hidden in the study, engraved were initials C.D. for Charles Davis. But how?
“Alicia, honey I know you’re in there, listen to me, this is not you. You don’t have to do this. This is your enemy taking over, not you. I need you to fight it. Look at me, I’m your mom, your name is Alicia Davis and this isn’t what you believe. It’s the voices in your head.” She looks at me with confusion and terror filled eyes.
“Wait mom? I—” She grips her head as if something had fused inside of it. She’s fighting it but the voices are winning. She again points the gun at my face. Of course! The necklace.
“Alicia look at this necklace, look! Remember? It’s you? I know you’re in there baby, please.”
“Shut up, this is all your fault, you deserve to die for all that you have done to me.” She grips her head again and falls to the ground.
“MOM?!”
“Yes I’m right here! Please, it’ll be okay.”
“Mom? I can’t take it anymore.”
“Alicia, It’s okay I’m right here, you don’t have to do this. Everything will be fine.” I try to come closer to her yet she points the barrel straight at me again
“Stop, don’t come any closer or I swear.” She squirms on the ground and starts to cry, now ripping her her hair to shreds. I start to sob, and nothing is ever going to be okay.

* * *

October 24th: 2:47 pm
     -9 Days After-

It’s an open-casket funeral. I want the world to see what can happen in this small world with complicated problems. At least now I know she rests in peace. I was able to do what most aren’t when someone close to them is about to leave. I was able to tell her I loved her while I squeezed her tight in my arms. I got to see my Alicia again and look her in her sweet almond-shaped eyes while she warmly smirked at me and said thank you for the best life she could have received. I got to dive my face into her rosy cheeks and kiss her one last time. I got to do what most people long for when they’re beloved one is passing away.
It’s the day my daughter gets freedom from all the voices that kept her hostage. The Lakeshore press is here to get their news on the most fascinating thing that has happened in a month in this small town. I, personally, support it.
It’s time for me to speak and I say the truth. I was lucky to have a daughter, one like Alicia, and I will always be happy for her. After I speak, Veronica comes and hugs me tight, “thank you” she says. The presence of Alicia is felt through her and I hug her for what feels like centuries as I try to inhale every passing moment of this love and care that Alicia had. She goes back and sits back down. I go to look at Alicia one last time. I gripped her necklace in my hand feeling every nook and cranny of the instrument that kept her going. I rose it up to my lips, gave it a heart-felt kiss and placed it underneath her hands, taking one last breath. Without knowing it a warm salty tear drips onto her lifeless hand. I realize this grief will overtake me and that being happy is all an illusion. My baby is gone and so is half my heart, yet deep down I have a surreal feeling that Alicia is now home where she rests.