“Something happened to Penny before she came to us, didn’t it, Dr. McHugh? Something Rachel did to her that caused Penny to develop DID. That’s usually the case with the condition, isn’t it? Maybe there was something in Penny’s memory, in her subconscious, and when she saw Rachel—” Grace didn’t bother finishing the thought.
“Yes, that’s right,” Dr. McHugh said. “Childhood trauma is a leading theory on the causes of dissociative identity disorder. The condition is thought to be an elaborate coping mechanism. Do you think Rachel hurt Penny?”
“The doctors who examined Penny at the hospital after she was found noted two long, narrow burn scars on her forearms that could have come from a curling iron,” Grace said. “But Penny never talked about any abuse.”
Grace often had to bury thoughts of Penny’s childhood trauma, because it was far easier to believe that her daughter’s formative first few years were filled with love, not pain, and that Rachel’s actions were a personal sacrifice born of desperation rather than the continuation of a long pattern of abuse.
“Dr. Cross, who gave us the DID diagnosis, said that we all start out with multiple personalities when we’re young. Is that something you believe?”
“I do,” said McHugh, nodding. “It’s like learning about life through committee. Those disparate voices in our young minds help us figure out the world and how different environments and stimuli affect us. Do we like things sweet or sour; what’s funny to us; what scares us? By age nine, our experiences tend to mold us into the person we become, and all those likes and dislikes, our moods and disposition, solidify into a single identity—this concept of self.”
“So why is it that childhood trauma doesn’t arrest that process for every victim of abuse in the same way?” It was a question that had bedeviled psychiatrists and psychologists alike, and Grace wanted Dr. McHugh’s take on it.
“Hard to say,” he replied. “I mean, why do people have different responses to trauma? There could be a biological or genetic link involved, an overactive fight-or-flight response—we just don’t know. What those in my profession mostly agree on is that children have different coping mechanisms, and in certain cases walls are built in the mind.”
“Walls so that the abuse feels like it is happening to somebody else?”
McHugh nodded. “We dropped the name ‘multiple personality disorder’ because people with the condition don’t have more than one personality. It’s more like they don’t have one whole personality, not yet anyway. Penny’s alters aren’t different people. They’re fragments of her whole self—think of them like personality traits but in a concentrated form.”
“Do you think integration is possible in Penny’s case?”
McHugh dipped his head. “If I can confirm the diagnosis, that would be the goal,” he said. “But it won’t be easy. Alters function as added layers of security.”
“I always worried that she’d been abused. Arthur, well, I guess he didn’t like to think about those things, didn’t want it to be true. In his mind, if he ignored it long enough, the problem would just go away.”
“So there were warning signs early on?”
Disappointment washed over Grace. “Looking back, you know how hindsight is—I guess you could say those signs were flashing neon, but we were all too in love with Penny to notice them.”
CHAPTER 13
AFTER WE FOUND YOU in the park, you were in the hospital for eleven days, and Mom went to see you every day you were there. Went right from work to Salem and spent the afternoon with you coloring, reading books, all that sort of stuff. Even though you got presents from strangers—stuffed animals, games, puzzles, you name it—she brought you a new toy at every visit. I have to say, Ryan and I were both a little jealous, but even though we were young, we still understood. After all, we had a mom and dad, and you had neither.
When the Department of Children and Families finally found out your real name was Isabella Boyd, you wouldn’t answer to it. I guess that name was full of bad memories for you. You told everyone to call you Penny, the name I proudly gave you, and it stuck. Nurses, doctors, social workers—everyone looking after you started to use that name, because we all wanted you to be happy.
I know DCF tried to place you with relatives, but Rachel’s parents were both dead, and your other relatives didn’t pass muster. No idea why. I called the agency to get more background as part of my film research, but as you can imagine, they have a strict confidentiality policy.