Cracks in My Reflection in the Mirror

So, have you ever looked into a mirror and say to your reflection, “We are just too different?” 

Well, that’s where I am at right now. I can’t describe it, but something gets into my head and just like that I am no longer in control.

That’s what I’m going to tell them when my lawyer comes in with some social worker to find out why I killed my boss, Mr. Saunders.   There are things we cannot explain.  

This social worker will try to claim it was a fit of rage, but I know better.  Yes sir, I know better.  

I know that mirror is not really a mirror and there are police officers and detectives watching me and my every move, hoping I’ll do something to incriminate myself.  Maybe I’ll flip them off.  That will give them something to use against me.  If I remain silent…if I remain silent.

Probably by now you are wondering what the heck is going on.  I don’t blame you, I’d be saying the same thing if I were in your place.  Anyway, my name is Ivan Sticovich.  I am an immigrant from Slovenia.  I came to New York on an application for political asylum.  It was under complicated circumstances, but necessary for my survival at the time. 

Ivan isn't real.

He's just one of the manifestations of my Dissociative Identity Disorder.  He happens to be the violent one.  He has unresolved anger issues.  

There are others all vying for domination.

Leo is a fun loving player, a rogue by any other name.  He is here now, smiling at what he believes is his knockout reflection and has no idea the mirror is a two way glass.  It doesn't matter as he inspects his reflection.

I am telling you these things so you understand about my daily trials and tribulations.  It’s hard living with these multiple personalities that reside inside my mind. I am on medications, but sometimes it's better to let them have free range.  If any of them sense a hint of restrictive restraint, they will rebel.  And when they rebel it gives me a headache where my nose bleeds uncontrollably with the overwhelming sensation of a sharp spike being driven through my skull.  The rest of the day becomes a wash of pain and agony.

Ivan was there last night. Ivan does not like him either and has made comments about his violent intentions.  Ivan was A spy in Slovenia where such matters were handled with extreme prejudice, as he calls it.

I work as an armed night watchman in an apartment complex.  Mr. Saunders drives to each location where he has watchmen posted.  He does not like me, never has, but I show up for all my shifts and do my rounds like I'm supposed to.  

We're just so different.

Same with me and Leo.  I am very shy around women.  I get tongue tied and say stupid things. I like Leo, because when he's there, the anxiety disappears and I am glib and witty.  The party never ends.

These handcuffs are beginning to chafe my skin.  I have sensitive skin and when I sweat as something rubs against my moist skin, I tend to get A rash. It is so irritating.  But that's what they want.  They want to see me sweat and get irritated.  I will not give them the satisfaction.

Rene is here.  He speaks French sometimes.  I don't speak it, so I do not understand most of what he says.  He told me he's from Montreal.  He is very proud of who he is and where he's from. He claims to be A chess master, but he has A short fuse.  His fuse is burning as he realizes what is taking place.

"I am innocent." He declares, raising A finger above his head to emphasize his outrage at his present situation.  After his outburst, he sits in the folding chair, mustering as much dignity as he can muster and crosses his leg at the knee, "Why must I suffer for something I have not done." 

Rene is A pain in the ass.  

When I was sent to the psychiatric hospital A couple years ago, Dr. Ventury was my mental health provider. He explained how A dissociative identity is a manifestation of past trauma.  He said, "The brain is like A tape recorder that is never completely shut off, always recording our life experiences.  Blah, blah, blah."

I want to know what causes these different people who live inside my skull from taking over my controls.  I did not invite them to do so.  Some of them aren't so bad.  Just like Lenny who is innocent and well meaning.  He appeared after I read John Steinbeck's Of Mice and Men.   Last night, after I killed Mr. Saunders, he said to me, "Oh no, what are we going to do now? You shouldn't have shot him like that when he wasn't looking.  What are we going to do now, Fagan?"   

Lenny helped me get his body into the dumpster.  The police found the body anyway a few hours later.  Since I could not account for the three bullets I put into his body, I became a person of intense  interest. They knocked at my door, waking me from my sleep.  Groggy as I was, I didn't resist as they read me my rights.  I held out my arms on my own accord so they could put the cuffs on. 

I've been in this room for over five hours.  I've lost track of time since there are no windows.  It could be past twilight for all I know.  

All that is in this closet of a room is the stale odor of coffee and cigarettes, this cheap folding card table and chair and this mirror. 

And here I sit staring at this mirror, wondering if they can see the cracks of my reflection in the mirror. I can see these cracks in the mirror in my peripheral vision.  Most of my life is lived there anyway.

“Mr. Kent.” I hear someone call my name.  The door opens and two men walk in carrying folding chairs.

“Who are-?” My voice is scratchy.

“I am your lawyer Sam Hutton.” He unfolds the chair and sits.

“And I am Dr. Della Opalmeyer.” She smiles like most of the doctors at the hospital as if they have been a friend of mine from way back.  She sits in the chair and extends her hand for me to shake, but I just look at it as if it is a snake ready to strike me.  

Mr. Hutton opens his briefcase and pulls out a pen and pad. “Shall we get started?”

“Started?  What are we going to start?” I ask with a hard edge to my voice.  Ivan is back.

“We need to plan a defense.” He coughs.  He is visibly uncomfortable.  Dr. Opalmeyer just peers at me through her thick glasses.  She has a plain face that offers no hint of her feelings or emotions. 

“Defense?  I figured the evidence speaks for itself.” Ivan growls.

“Do you want to go away with a murder one rap?  The death penalty is on the table.” Mr. Hutton drums his fingers on the table.

“I thought they already had an airtight case.” Ivan smiles as the cracks in the mirror widen a bit.  Pretty soon we can see them in the next room huddled together, plotting and planning against me. 

“I am here to find cracks in their prosecution on the murder one charges.” He shakes his head and glances at Dr. Opalmeyer seated silently next to him. “We have reason to believe that Mr. Saunders had hostilely approached you without any warning.” 

I can hear Ivan yell out, “It’s true.” 

Rene nods in agreement, “He did.” 

Mr. Hutton writes down Rene’s statement.  Putting his hand to his chin, Mr. Hutton inquires, “Did he threaten you?”  

Rene blinks several times, “Oui.” 

“He did then?” Mr. Hutton writes something on his pad as Dr. Opalmeyer looks on.  

“It says in your records that you have a dissociative identity disorder.” The doctor speaks in a clinical voice that can be heard clearly over the buzz of the air conditioning unit set deep in the walls of the building. 

“As long as I can remember.” I sit back in my chair, readying myself for the game we are now playing. 

“You were hospitalized two years ago after you attacked a meterman.” She says this as if she was reading the newspaper.

“He was planting surveillance equipment in my apartment.” I shake my head.

“He claims he was just reading the meters in the apartment units.” She tilts her head.  She does not believe me.  Dr. Ventury did not believe me either.  My father did not believe me either.  Ivan shot and killed him when I turned eighteen.  Together we sank his body in the lagoon.  To my knowledge, no one has ever found his remains.  RIP dad, you made my life hell until I took care of it.  

“What people say and what they are doing can be two completely different things, can’t they?” I smile like a cat who has eaten the canary.  

“Yes, that is true.” She admits.  For the first time, her distress with my caustic reply has unsettled her.  “Do you always take pleasure in making people feel uncomfortable?” 

“It is my defense mechanism.” I nod.

“So.” Mr. Hutton interjects, “It is clear that you used your weapon to shoot Mr. Saunders.” 

“If you say so.” I put my hands behind my head.  It takes a lot of effort with the handcuffs, but I want to convey some sense of control.  Ivan loves to take charge. Leo sees something he likes in Dr. Opalmeyer’s Mona Lisa smile as my hands slide behind my head. “So, Dr. Opalmeyer, what prestigious university did you get your degree from?”

“Columbia University.” She answers with a slight hesitation in her response. 

“Ooo, that’s pretty high standards.” Leo wiggles his eyebrows. 

“Yes, but I’m interested in your current mental state.” She tries to smile, but fails.

“My state?  I’d have to say New York. Yes, I am in a New York State of mind.” Leo is doing his best to flirt with her.  She shakes her head, flustered. 

Leo smiles, a direct hit.  He figures as soon as the cuffs come off, so does her smock and skirt. 

“You seem to be taking all of this very lightly.” Mr. Hutton is frustrated by my outlandish behavior. “You are in a very precarious situation and I don’t believe you understand just how dire it is.” 

“Mr. Hutton, I get it.” I leaned forward, “What you don’t seem to get is I wake up each day wondering who or what will be going on inside my skull.”  I glance over at Dr. Opalmeyer.  Once again her face is emotionless and blank, “My state of mind has been disrupted…unbalanced. No one has any answers to my condition.  The pills they give me to take turn me into a walking zombie at times. So when Mr. Saunders came to fire me for being asleep on the job, I had no choice.  His verbal attack on me warranted a response. My father used to box my ears, as he called it, but it was abuse by any other name.  When I fight back, they use my diagnosis as a weapon against me.” 

“I don’t see any of that in your records.” Dr. Opalmeyer shrugged.  I closed my eyes as Ivan came roaring back.  He called her some very abrasive names which made her face turn red. 

“You won’t.” I managed to push him back, but my nose began to bleed. “You professionals never do.  Everything must be phrased in clinical language.  Solid without cracks anywhere. There are no words to express what I go through nearly everyday.  My treatment is designed so you feel better, not the patient.” 

“How can you say that?” Dr. Opalmeyer indignantly snaps back. 

“I am like that mirror.” I point, “Crack beyond repair.” 

“The mirror isn’t cracked.” Mr. Hutton chuckles.

“You don’t see it, because you have no idea what torment people like me encounter.  Pressure from the inside.  Pressure from the outside.” I shake my head, “Neither of you could endure what I go through every day.”

“We all have our burdens to bear.” Mr. Hutton straightens his tie.

“When I look at my reflection, I see the cracks, the flaws, the imperfections.  My mental state has an unrepairable crack through the center. Just like an old dog when the vet puts in a lethal dose of Phenytoin/pentobarbital.” I sighed.

“I would advise you not to make such a reference again.” Mr. Hutton replied in a professional tone.  When he leaves here, he will go home to a loving wife and children.  I don’t need to ask, I know this much is true. He will go to the sink and wash his hands of me.  He will kiss his wife and sit in his chair in front of the television and forget all about this conversation.  Meanwhile Dr. Opalmeyer will go home to her husband and not say a word about the time we shared together. 

“If the shoe fits…” I let that dangle in the air, watching his face get red again.

“I have to have you on our team.” He lets the air out between clenched teeth. 

“Go team.” I raise my arm.

“I cannot let you walk to your execution.” He raises an eyebrow, “You must be willing to do what I feel is the best for your defense.” 

Once again I am on a team I did not choose, listening to things I do not believe in, and being okay with it.  He went over the stratagem he wanted to use.  I just nodded my head as if I was in agreement.  All I kept thinking about was how I wanted this nightmare to finally come to the end.  I watched Dr. Opalmeyer nod her head occasionally, but her eyes, like her facial expressions, were blank.

We would use my past psychiatric records as the main weapon in our arsonal.  The court would hear testimony of what it was like to live with dissociative identity disorder with seven distinct personalities.  We would blame Ivan for Mr. Saunder’s murder. As Mr. Hutton described it, our case was a slam-dunk.  Dr. Opalmeyer was quick to agree.  With our defense worked out, Mr. Hutton decided to adjourn until the arraignment hearing the following week.  Meanwhile, I would sit in the Fourth Street jail waiting for that hearing. Offering a wide grin, I bid them farewell.  A few minutes later a couple of uniformed guards led me to the cell that was to be my home until my arraignment.  I offered no resistance.  Ivan was safely tucked away in my mind.

Before dinner, the medical officer came in to give me my medications.  When his head was turned, I pocket the contents of my antipsychotic olanzapine aka Zyprexa.  There were enough of them to do what I intended them to do. Once he had departed, still unaware I had pocketed the entire bottle of medications, I waited until they brought me dinner with a glass of water.   Not interested in the undercooked stew, I put a handful of Zyprexa into my mouth and chased them with a glass of water. 

 I leaned back in my bunk and waited.  It did not take long.

“Hey boss.” Lenny ambled toward me.

“Lenny, good to see you.” I smiled at him as he approached.  Lenny was always so friendly that you couldn’t help but smile when you saw him coming. 

This mirror had shattered.  A thousand shards of glass glittered on the ground all around me. I had spent my life staring at the cracks of my reflection in the mirror, but now the mirror had disintegrated and I was finally free.

“The others have gone ahead, but I wanted to wait for you.” Lenny said as we began down the path ahead of us.

“I can’t think of anyone I would want to accompany me on this journey.” I put my arm around his broad shoulders as we began to walk the path ahead of us.