Dissociative Identity Disorder
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters

“As you can see,” said Dr Theobald, “We have had to put him in restraints again.”

Her face was up to the window, but she kept her eyes closed. She could not bear to look. She knew what she would see. Her precious son. The one that she had held to her breast, and nurtured, was insane.

“I want to discuss with you a therapy,” said Dr Theobald. “It is a longshot, but with your consent we could try something.”

She was shaking. She hated this place. She avoided it and felt guilty for that. She had abandoned her son.

“Darryl’s problem is his multiple personalities,” said Dr Theobald. “There are three sides to him. I suspect they are modelled on his experiences. This person is ‘Rillo’ who is extremely violent. I wonder if he might be modelled on your late husband. I understand that he had issues with mental health too, and with violence.”

“Yes”, she said. “He died a violent death. I don’t want to see Darryl go the same way.”

She walked with him down the corridor, away from her child. He continued: “The origins of the character ‘Dar’ are more difficult to ascertain, but in many ways, he is even more dangerous. He is cold and calculating. He is likely to conceal his motives. My staff are in more danger with him than with ‘Rillo’.”

He pushed the door to the interview room open and motioned her to sit. “And then there is ‘Debbie’,” he said. “I suspect that she is inspired by you. She is gentle and caring. While she is the dominant personality my staff find your son not only tolerable, but pleasant and helpful.”

“That’s nice”, she said, still in the state of shock that existed every moment she was in this place, looking at the son she loved, in his madness.

“Periods as Debbie can last for hours, but they are dispelled the moment that the myth is dispelled. She is about to sit on the toilet and comes to the realisation that there is a penis in her hand and she is Debbie no longer.”

He picked up her son’s file. It was thick with reports. She stared at him blankly, but with the pleasant half smile that face fell to naturally.

Dr Theobald recognised the expression. Debbie had the same look. He said: “I want Debbie to stay so I am going to suggest some surgical adjustments to your son. Nothing permanent. This is experimental. I just want to conceal his genitals so that his body is more recognizable as Debbie. If we keep him as Debbie he would be more manageable, and there may even be the hope of him living a close to normal life, in what is the most agreeable personality.”

She looked at him with a slightly confused look.

“Do you understand what I am suggesting,” said Dr Theobald.

“You want my son to become a woman?” she asked. “Is that possible?”

“Well, medically no,” he said. “There is gender reassignment surgery, of course, but I am not suggesting that. Just the concealment of his male gender. His testicles would be pushed up and his penis stitched back so that he looked female down there, and he would toilet as a woman would. His penis would not be there to trigger his return to either of these highly destructive male personalities.”

“Will it work?” she asked.

“To be honest, I don’t know,” he said. “But if you will sign the consent we will try it. Honestly, short of keeping your son in a stupor we have very few treatments available for Dissociative Identity Disorder, as we now call it. My suggestion is radical and expperimental, but if it works we have a person who can function in society, but as a woman, not a man. I have the papers right here …”.

***

It was a month before she went back to the Hospital. She had never met this ‘Debbie’ but Dr Theobald had told her that she was expecting her mother to visit, and that he had no reason to doubt that this personality would not accept her as her mother.

As he led her down the hall to the garden Dr Theobald seemed extremely pleased with himself.

“It’s going very well,” he said. “Better than we expected. Initially we had some small reversions to male personas, but we have encouraged some changes in appearance to reinforce the ‘Debbie’ aspect, and fitted mirrors in his room to make her visible. When you see him, or should I say her, you will understand why ‘Dar’ and ‘Rillo’ are difficult to reconcile. Please be sure to call her ‘Debbie’.”

They went out into the garden where there were private areas for patients to meet family. She had never been here before. Her son had never been allowed out here. He was too unstable. She felt optimistic for the first time since he was committed.

She was about to walk past the young woman in the peach colored dress before Dr Theobald took her by the arm and said: “Here she is. How are you today, Debbie?”

Darryl’s mother looked at the person as she stood and came towards her. There was her son’s face but smooth and bright. The eyebrows had been shaped and there might be a trace of eye makeup and a little color in the lips. The smile was heart-warming. She could not remember the last time she had seen him smile.

“Oh mother,” the young woman said. “I’m so glad you could come.”

They embraced and Darryl’s mother put her hands in the girl’s hair. It was now dyed blonde and was in a short but feminine style, with a few soft curls. It felt thick and it smelled of floral shampoo. She could not let go of her child. It seemed like the first embrace in 15 years. Tears welled up in her eyes.

When she broke the embrace she could see that there were tears in her child’s eyes as well. They looked big and beautiful. The face was surprisingly pretty.

“Oh Debbie,” she said. Somehow the name just came. This person was easily recognizable. But this was not Darryl - this was Debbie, her daughter.

***

“I want to talk to you about the possibility of Debbie being released,” said Dr Theobald. “We feel very confident that she can function in the world, but perhaps with one last surgical adjustment.

Debbie’s mother settled into the seat in his office. It was now a place she felt so much better in. Things had changed so much. Dr Theobald was clearly the best psychiatrist ever.

“Whatever you think is right,” she said. “Getting her home is all that I could have hoped for.” She now used on the feminine pronoun. It was as if her son Darryl had been a bad dream.

“Debbie is aware that her genitals are non-conforming,” he continued. “And the hormones, while they have been very effective in promoting male female characteristics, have not promoted the breast growth commensurate with her physique. Her treatment is still entirely in your hands. I have prepared a consent for a full sex-reassignment procedure.”

He pushed the papers towards her. He was a miracle worker and she would have signed anything.

“There will be some discomfort for her,” he added. “We will provide an explanation which is in accord with her view of herself. After a brief assessment I would hope that Debbie can be released, into your care, fairly soon afterwards.

Her mother was already signing.

“Let’s go to see her,” said Dr Theobald, rising and holding the door open. “As you know, for the last year she has been working as a nurse aid on a voluntary basis. She has proved to be excellent in that role. But she has also been studying for a diploma in psychiatric nursing. I think that she could sit and pass the exams before she is discharged.”

They walked down to the station in the East Wing where Debbie could be seen looking through some reports. She now wore the hospital uniform worn by unqualified staff. Her blonde hair was pulled into a loose but smart bun. She wore a little more makeup these days, but only enough to appear presentable at work.

“Hi Mom,” she called out. With familiarity now, as they saw one another more than 3 times a month these days. “Good morning Dr Theobald.”

Good morning Debbie,” he replied. “Can we slip into here for a private conversation, the three of us?” He opened the door to a room where they could talk privately.

“Sure,” she said. “Maddy, can you take over…”. She handed over the papers to another one of the staff and followed Dr Theobald and her mother into the room.

“I have just been discussing with your mother, your gynaecological problem,” he said. “We have surgery planned for you…”.

Debbie’s face betrayed concern, which Dr Theobald was quick to dispel.

“It is a very common procedure,” he said. “Low risk. Extremely positive outcomes. I am sure that you be very happy once it is done. We only want the best for you. Once your health is restored we are all hoping that you can be out of here. What do you say?”

“I like working here,” Debbie said. “I think that I am very good at my job. I am only a nurse-aide but I think that I have some good nursing skills. I would like to continue with the work, and my studies towards a nursing diploma. But of course, I would like the freedom to come and go as well.

“I think that is a possibility,” the doctor said. “Just one adjustment to confirm who you are. That’s all that is required.”

***

Max had not met Debbie. He had been Debbie’s mother’s partner for over a year, having met her well after Darryl was committed. In fact, by the time he met her it was Debbie she spoke about, her daughter recovering in a mental hospital. And they had chosen to time their wedding until after Debbie was released, so that she could be her mother’s bridesmaid and witness.

He thought when he first met her, that it was hard to believe that this young woman had ever been a man. She just looked and behaved so completely as a woman. But then when a week later she appeared dressed as her mother’s bridesmaid at the wedding, he should have recognised what he felt.

Of course, his bride looked incredible, but Debbie was something else again. She wore pink and her hair was up in a complex hairdo woven with fragrant pink roses. A more sensible man would have recognised that the feelings he was having were wrong and could spell the doom of this marriage. A man cannot fall for the bridesmaid on his wedding day, let alone when the bridesmaid was the child of his bride, so many years younger than him.

But the truth is he found himself thinking about Debbie all through the honeymoon. When he made love to his new wife he was thinking about Debbie. He was imagining he was inside Debbie not her mother.

And the crazy thing is that Max knew that his wife was a real woman, and that Debbie had been born a boy. He was aware that she had gone through a sex change surgical procedure recently, but it did not change the fact hers was a male body modified to appear female. Was it the fact that Debbie was different this way that was the source of his fascination? Was this his first gay experience? He wanted to shake it off. He wanted to be a good husband. These thoughts were wrong is so many ways.

But the truth is that it was only weeks after the wedding that he found himself alone with Debbie and he has gagging to have sex with her. Only a few more weeks after that those desires were realized. He was in her room, thrusting into her lubricated artificial vagina. She was whimpering and moaning in a feminine voice, but in the moment of orgasm he could swear it was a male cry that mixed with his. But somehow that made his feel even better – somehow more potent.

His wife was asleep down the hall. He had just fucked his trans-stepdaughter. Nothing could ever change that. Nothing could be the same after that.

***

Men are simple creatures, and transparent to the more discerning female mind. Debbie’s mother was suspicious after less than a year of marriage.

“Your mother is very angry with me,” Max told Debbie. “She thinks that I am having an affair.”

“Don’t call it that,” scolded Debbie. “You make it sound cheap and casual. Tell me it is more than that.” She took his arm and looked at him in that pleading way that both of them knew melted his heart. “She said: “The last thing that I want to do is to see my mother unhappy, but neither of us can deny how we feel about one another.”

She pushed him onto his back and felt his penis. It was showing the first swelling flow of blood. He would be ready again soon. She knew what to do.

She swept her hair to one side so that he could see her go down on him. She licked to get a rise and then took his penis into her mouth. She bobbed up and down, making the slurping noises that she knew from experience in his position, was a turn on. That, and she needed to ensure that he was well lubricated for what was to follow.

She straddled him, shaking her long curls about her shoulders, and smiling down at him. She lowered herself down upon his pole, whimpering his sweet delight. She would have happily pretended for his benefit, but the truth is that she adored having a pussy, and nothing about having it was better that having a real penis, hard and hot, inside it.

She began to move up and down. She was on top, the way it used to be, but this was better. She could twist and wriggle. There was much more going on. More control. More sensitivity. She could quicken the pace. And then she could feel his hips rising off the bed to meet her. She had produced plenty of saliva, and it made a wonderful sound, between the banging of his hips on her inside thighs.

“Easy baby,” she whispered. There would be no pretence this time. It was rising in her. It was close. And then it was on her. Ohhhh. And him too. She welcomed his sperm. It was messy as it ran out of her, with nowhere to go. But it was power. Her power over him.

She collapsed beside him.

After a while nestling in the moment, she whispered: “She has to know. I will tell her.”

“No. It is all my fault,” said Max. “You did nothing to egg me on. The consequences are down to me. I will tell her”. Somehow, she knew that she would have to do it.

She said nothing. But she agreed with him. She placed a reassuring kiss on his lips.

***

Max burst into the room.

“What has happened?” said Max looking at his wife’s lifeless body. “Did you do this?”

“God no, my darling,” sobbed Debbie. “I could never hurt anybody, let alone my mother.”

She seemed to be distraught. There was blood on her hands and the tips of her long blonde hair were tinged with blood. She could see him staring at her.

“I tried to stop the bleeding,” she said. “But I knew it was too late even before I started. She died in my arms. I didn’t do it, but it is my fault.”

Max mind was racing. What should he do? His beloved Debbie. And his wife – dead. What was she saying? Did it matter? She was upset. He took Debbie into his arms. Her blood-soaked hands clasped his back.

“Who did it?” he said softly but firmly. “How is it your fault?”

“It was Dee,” she said tearfully. “I invited Dee to visit and have lunch. Then mother turned up, and they got in an argument, and Dee just went crazy.”

“Who is Dee?”

“She was a patient at the hospital,” she said. “Somebody I thought I was close to. Mom was trying to protect me, I think, in her own misguided way. I never should have let her in. Now look what has happened.” She was sobbing into Max’s shoulder.

“Where is this person, Dee? When did they leave? We need to call the police.”

“She has gone now,” said Debbie.

“You invited this person here?” asked Max. “You’ve never spoken about her before. Who is she? She has killed somebody. She is dangerous.” He was trying to free himself from Debbie’s embrace, but she was not letting go, and she was deceptively strong.

“Who is this Dee?”

“I am sure I have told you about her. I met her in hospital. Dee is a male to female transsexual,” she explained. “She had a sex change only recently. Before that she was Darryl.”

Max was suddenly confused. He asked her: “But that was your name? Before your operation?”

“That’s right,” Debbie appeared confused, and the she suddenly appeared to realise. There was suddenly a very cold look in her eye that made Max feel very uncomfortable - very, very uncomfortable.

“So it was.” Debbie’s voice sounded different. Not like her at all.

The End

© Maryanne Peters 2020