The Ex

It should surprise no one that, when it comes to having dissociative identity disorder, relationships become complicated. When you grow up in a house where abuse is normalised, you go out into the world of teenage dating thinking that, you guessed it, abuse is everyday. Then, of course, with DID, you have to think about consent. Who is giving consent to being in relationships? Who is your partner sleeping with? 

As I had essentially been told from a young age that I was ugly by my father, I never thought I would ever have a relationship with anyone, so I was surprised when I got into a long-term relationship in high school. 

We will call him Carl, and, while he was far from being ‘my type,’ he seemed OK at a glance. I wish I could say I was attracted to him, but there was just something off about him. I always had posters of rock stars up in my bedroom, drooling over stars like Sam Rivers from Limp Bizkit and Ville Valo from HIM. Carl just wasn’t like that.

He had large blue eyes and an overbite and was, well, a bit plain in hindsight. I had also always wanted a partner who was over six feet tall, and Carl was the same height as me. Not height shaming, just pointing out how far away from my desired man he was, making it odd that I stayed with him for so long. Not that there is anything wrong with that. I had been with alternative partners before being with him, who fit my type much better, and it never ended well. They were, in short, a bit eccentric, and it kind of put me off going with guys who wore black eyeliner and had piercings. 

So, back to Carl. We had very little in common, and from early on, something just didn’t feel right. But I figured that at least he wouldn’t be unhinged about stuff, and we could have some kind of relationship that was normal.

This began to unravel when one of my older sisters had her baby. To say I adored my niece was an understatement. She was beautiful, with her dark curly hair, her big eyes, and her smile. She always seemed happy and loved being cuddled. She was just the cutest baby I had ever seen, and Carl saw this as the opportunity to talk about having kids, despite the fact that we were just 15 years old. I had, and always have been, better suited to being the crazy aunt, and, with so many siblings, there was enough of my genetics getting into the next generation without me needing to do much. But Carl pushed and pushed to the point of arguments, which became grating.

We also had 2 friends who had had a baby early and were parents at the age of 16. I had no desire to follow that path, and, as Carl kept pushing, this was the beginning of the end of our relationship. Apparently, when we hit 16, I flat out refused to sleep with him, as there was “no way” that was going to happen until he put something on the end of it. He did eventually, and thus, sexual stuff got underway, which, shockingly, I don't remember too well. The thought of an alter guarding my reproductive rights feels both protective and loving, but also odd. 

As this relationship developed, he became more aloof, ignoring me in favour of video games and buying me gifts to keep me happy and on side. Lots of gifts. He bought me a huge TV for my bedroom, a PS2, a CD system, and loads of other things I didn’t ask for. This made Sylvester uncomfortable and got his hackles up, as showering me with presents was what my dad did, and, despite asking Carl to stop, he didn’t. This would play out in dramatic fashion some time later. I felt trapped in a relationship that I wasn’t happy in, and as time went on, I became resigned to the fact that my partner would use gifts to control me and stop me from going to college and university, which is what I wanted to do.  

Despite how I felt about my appearance, I was getting attention from other guys when I went out to concerts or other music events at this time. This showcased a different life to me.

One where there were guys who were attractive, had interests in going to alternative gigs, and were also attentive. Most of them were also going to college, and that opened the door even more, driving my ambition to make this a reality. Thus, Sylvester was subconsciously encouraging me to go out more, meet more people, and see what was possible in life, rather than be stuck indoors watching Carl play computer games and hoping my next period arrived on time. 

In the summer before I started college, a lot happened. I went shopping a lot with my friend Jake, and on one of these trips, I met a guy called Michael. I say I met him, but what I mean is Sylvester met him, and they exchanged phone numbers. Jake found this funny, as he was not a fan of Carl either by that point, and we had spent many nights complaining about him on the phone. Oh, and before you ask why I wasn’t with Jake, he was and still is gay, so that would have been unlikely to work. Anyway, through this text message chat with Michael, Sylvester found out that he was going to a Korn gig that I was going to with Frank and Lola at Brixton Academy. They were the couple that had their baby early, and, as Carl wasn’t big on gigs, he didn’t want to go.

This gig was where Sylvester would make a dramatic statement, which started the breakup process with Carl, who was, by that point, coming home from work with love bites on his neck and was spending more time away from me. You may be asking why I didn’t care. I had resigned myself to this being my life by this point, and my self-esteem was through the floor and into the earth's crust. As I said, when you grow up with abuse being normalised, you expect your partner to treat you this way.

I remember travelling to this gig. It was extremely warm, as it was during a heat wave, and we had all decided to take the bus. I remember arriving and being annoyed at the length of the queue outside the venue, as it went all the way around the building. After that, things get foggy, so the following memories have been put together from what I was told via Frank, Lola and what Sylvester has revealed to my now husband. After the gig started, I turned away from Frank and Lola and just walked away, muttering something about getting a drink. After 30 minutes, I hadn’t come back, and Frank went to look for me. He found me next to the bar, at the back, talking to a tall guy with long hair who was leaning in to me. Upon seeing Frank, I rolled my eyes and told him to fuck off. He was taken aback, as this came from nowhere. I walked away, with the tall guy (Michael) following me. This happened 2 more times. Frank would approach, and I would tell him more forcefully each time to fuck off and would walk away. 

Frank went back to Lola and told her that I was acting weird, and then they both went to find me, concerned that I had taken drugs or had something slipped into my drink. They did, and I was standing at the far left side of the venue with my tongue down Michael's throat. Frank was shocked, and promptly, he went outside to call Carl and tell him what was going on. According to Sylvester, we met up with Michel twice after that gig, but, to this point, I have no memory of what happened at either meeting. All Sylvester has said about Michael is that he was “well fit,” that he has no shame, and that he will never apologise.

Following this came the cleanout. Sylvester dumped Carl.  No ifs. No buts and no room for manipulation. Now, what you have to consider is that I had tried to break up with Carl several times, and it hadn’t worked. He had managed to get back in via manipulation and emotional blackmail, and then the cycle began again. He would appear at my home with love bites and work late, and then I would feel awful. He tried to get back in, and Sylvester refused to talk to him, except about issues such as what he wanted done with all the “crap” he had bought me. Carl was furious at this tone and told Sylvester to leave it outside my parents' home, which he did. In a huge broken pile. My friend Jake saw the pile and begged me not to destroy the PS2, as he was on the hunt for one. So, we sold it to him for £20. Carl was furious, to which Sylvester told him to call the police and promptly shut the door. Carl's mum appeared some time later, demanding that I open the door, to which Sylvester reiterated that he wouldn’t do so unless the police were called, and he would tell them what her precious son had been doing by coercing and abusing me. Surprisingly, the police were never called, and the local Irish travellers knocked on the door to ask about removing the scrap metal from the heap.

Sylvester had, in the words of my husband, drawn a line, underlined it, and stamped it. Carl was out, and he wasn’t getting back in. When Lola and Frank tried to protest on Carl's behalf, they were gone too. Calls and messages were blocked, the front door slammed when they arrived at the house, and all communication was cut off. Was this disorienting? Yes. I thought that they had just left me, changed their numbers, and moved on. Turns out that the S man had seized the opportunity to cut them off and had deleted numbers, torn pages out of address books, and left it there.

In his own words to my therapist some years later, "Nobody else cared about what was happening to Lizzie, so I had to."