“Willow is always with me” I hear myself say, “She’s not an imaginary friend.” My arms cross over my chest in defiance.

Faces I barely recognize swim before me, taking a moment to come into focus. The young girl rolls her eyes, “No way you have a animal friend who talks to you,”

“I do!” I hear myself cry out. I try and stop the words, I try and tell my younger self not to say so much, that everything will change if they know. I feel the sting of tears in my eyes as the group starts to laugh.

“Don’t lie,” says another kid, my head turning to face them, their outline blurry with my unshed tears. “My mom says only naughty kids lie, and I can’t play with naughty kids.”

“Yeah, my mom says liars are the worst!”

“I’m not lying, she’s been with me since I’s a baby! We’ve always been together!”

One kid spoke up, “Playing Pretend isn’t lying” he said, matter of fact, his blue eyes firm.

“I’m not pretending!” I tried to move, I tried to stop it, but the sudden shove to my back still happened, knocking me down to one now bloody knee, and the whimper that dissolved into a keening cry scared the other children.

“Ew! She sounds like an animal!” one spat, the glob landing on my skirt.

“Maybe she’s part monster!” another kid said, laughing as I was pushed roughly again, falling to all fours. Arms shaking, nose inches from the cement.

“Make Willow come play with you!” the kids started feeding off each other and the bullying progressed past my comprehension, even now.

Things were being thrown at me and I was being pushed from too many hands, swirling faces, “Willow,” I whimpered weakly, and I felt her coil tighter around me, trying to keep me safe, but she was on the inside and the pain was on the outside.

“Stop! Stop! Stop!” I cried, turning inward to escape. I heard different yelling in the distance, but it was too far away, it wouldn’t help.

“She said stop!” my throat roared, painful and contorted, the voice wasn’t mine, every movement felt tight and shaped wrong, but the words came anyway, “Leave Lydia alone!” Willow cried, using every ounce of us to accomplish it. The bond felt too tight, like we had walked to the end of a leash, and we were trying to squeeze through a hole that was too small. “Stop,” came my own young voice, pleading with both parties. “-stop.”

The blur around me shifted the grey becoming blue, then red then white, and the chaos followed.

Willow became scared, pressing further and further into the hole at the end of her leash, outside something was holding onto her as she flailed about, attempting to escape.

It felt like an eternity being twisted, pulled, contorted, and shoved.

I was crying for my mom, Willow was trying to soothe me, but she was stuck half out of the hole, I could very faintly hear those other distant voices making very confused and urgent dialogue.

Finally, a recognizable voice could be heard, “Lydia!” and the leash snapped back, pulling Willow away from the edge and letting me turn to see my mother, for a moment she didn’t look like I expected. Her face too round and her hair too light, but the moment passed, and her warm embrace wrapped around me.

Suddenly the image rewound, she was pulled away again, her calls growing fainter and fainter. The laughing, mocking voices could be heard in a chaotic ensemble, overlaid by some devious composer.

“I can’t play with you anymore” “Multiple personalities” “You’re a liar” “Take this medication once a day” “This isn’t something you grow out of” “You already have friends-in your head” “Dissociative identity disorder” “Mum said I can’t play with you” “Willow isn’t real, you’re real, we need to adapt” “Possible trauma” “Ew! She touched you!” “Ahh, sorry but I can’t invite you too” “Why can’t you sit still?” “We need to make a medication change”

“ENOUGH!” I roar, but it dissolves into the dark cave around me, echoing back, mockingly rather than dissipating. I pretend not to hear the distant whimper, the rustling of her body against the walls, “You’re not the only one hurt here,” I sob, my voice still that of a child.

“But you can go out,” came the whisper soft voice. I can only hear it through practice, knowing its pitch and nuance better than my favorite song. It stands out clear to me through the thrum of white noise echoing around me.

I tried to ignore her, the shame, the guilt. But she wanted out. The pull was stronger. As if she was building up the last of her strength. But for what? For when? We both knew that the medicine has filled every gap, even if we remembered where the hole was, that taut leash would not let us out.

The images shifted again, and I was running through the woods barefoot. But there were shadows and pitfalls, and I couldn’t stay on two feet. I was being chased and hunted and I had a job. What was it? What was it?

Claws dug into my back. I couldn’t cry out, I couldn’t escape. Another pitfall, Another sharp rock. Too many trees to see far ahead. She is clawing in my mind and suddenly there is only a slight amber glow to my left and the ringing of my pulse in my ears. My whole body thrumming with it as I gasp to bring in enough air. A heavy weight lay across my chest. I can’t move. Can’t breathe. Can’t see.

But then my brain catches up and I am in my bed. The blanket had twisted around me during my thrashing, pinning me down. My pillow somehow over my head. Remnants of the glow were spotted coming from under my door, just the hall light leaking in through its crack.

No matter how many times Lydia has the dream, she can’t change it or dampen it. The fear still feels just as novel as the first time, just as overwhelming and confusing.

She crawls out of bed and into her old rocking chair, hugging the softness of her pillow to her face and rocks herself back to sleep. The gentle sounds from the rocker drowning out loose thoughts.

~~

“Mom,” Lydia called gently to her mother who was reading as she ate.

“Mmm?” she responded, finishing her sentence and turning off the phone to look at her daughter.

“I-uh, had one of those dreams again,”

“You’ve taken your medication properly?” Robin asked, sending a cursory glance at the pill container on the counter.

“Yes, haven’t missed any this month. But- but when’s my next appointment? I am having a harder time with it lately.” Lydia stirred her cereal sheepishly.

“I have noticed you’ve been out running more lately, is that not quite helping enough?” her mother inquired as she reached for the family calendar on the counter, she flipped through a few pages, it’s still 5 weeks out, I’ll call today and see if they have anything sooner.

Lydia checked her phone between 1^st and 2^nd period and saw a text message from her mother stating that she would be picking her up at 1pm, that was about 15 minutes into the period after lunch, so Lydia decided to go straight to the office to wait after lunch.

As expected, she was intercepted at her locker by Darryl, “Sorry, I am heading home early today, I won’t be in class with you,” Lydia said, packing her bag with the things she would need for the weekend.

“Where are you going?” came his expected response.

“I just have a checkup with the Doctor. Nothing unusual.” She replied as scripted, but her eyes darkened a shade anyway as her inner self squirmed.

Darryl was unusually thoughtful but surprisingly didn’t press her. She had a few responses ready but was grateful she didn’t have to lie further.

He silently walked her to the office and gave her a wave as she entered.

Lydia ignored the question in his eyes and let the lady behind the attendance desk know that her mother would be coming for her in a few minutes and sat down in a chair to wait.

Lydia’s mother attended her appointment with her. Though her mother let her do all the talking to get her used to managing her own health since this issue would be with her the entirety of her life.

“With everything under consideration,” her doctor said after careful consideration, “I think that we should switch the medication that you are on, upping your dose is not proven to work, so an alternate medication would be best since the tolerance to this one is growing.”

Lydia took a deep breath, looked at her mother for moral support then asked, “How do we do this?”

“Well, much like other medications that effect mental function, we cannot just switch overnight. We will have to slowly ween you off this one and work into the other much like we did with dosing you originally. You will not spend time with no medications in your system this time,” he said quickly, seeing the confused panic cross her face. “We will be monitoring you closely to try and reduce some withdrawal symptoms and avoid a relapse.”

“Is it worth it?” Lydia asked, shakily.

“Lydia, The Doctor wouldn’t suggest it if he did not believe it is worth it,”

The Doctor cut in, “It is of course up to you, but yes, I do feel it is the best choice. We will be doing what is called a cross titration switch, where you will begin the second medication slowly as your first one is dropped. If we notice you begin to rebound, we will alter our tactic slightly. I will have you in weekly for blood draws and have both you and your mother fill out a questionnaire to monitor your progress at each lab visit.” He scribbled down a list of notes and medication instruction for the pharmacist. He looked at the two women seriously. “And please, do not hesitate to call if you have any questions or worries, Anti-psychotics are very touchy to the individual, and with your history being sensitive to them I want to stay with you every step of the way.”

He handed Lydia the informational paperwork, but her mother the sheet to give to the receptionist.

The wild part of herself was turning circles in her mind, whimpering helplessly. Lydia shook her head vigorously and clutched at her paperwork as firmly as she would a lifeline. The next few weeks would be interesting. ‘Yeah,’ she thought firmly ‘interesting,’ ‘More like torture’ whispered her other voice sadly. Lydia tried to ignore the pain in her heart and followed her mother out to the car.

~~