Chapter 1~ Andy(The Book)

the book

Chapter 1

When I met Andy I was working at a psychosocial program for a community mental health agency. I was also a consumer of mental health services myself which gave me a certain distinction. I had a master's degree and years of experience before moving to New Mexico. In Florida I was clearly staff. Many didn't even know I was a consumer, and those that did never found it a concern. I hadn't, however, been able to get settled since my move and now my illness was interfering on the job. Staff did not accept me. Yet I most certainly didn't fit in with the consumers, as most were extremely low functioning.

Andy was different. He was kind of like me in that he was a consumer and staff, though he was volunteer staff. Andy had disability income but needed something to do with his time. He was too high functioning to fit in the program so they used him as a volunteer. He lived alone and came and went when he felt like it, unlike the other clients who, generally, arrived and departed by van from various boarding homes. When he stopped by, they put him to work in the canteen or arranged for a class that he was qualified to teach. He often taught drug and alcohol classes as he was a recovered abuser of these substances. The clients listened to him, as they knew that he'd been there and the lessons he taught were from personal experience. 
 

I sensed that many of the clients looked up to Andy. He reportedly had the same diagnosis as most of them, but he managed to live in his own apt. and often had part-time jobs. They saw his life as something for them to aspire.

There is 20 years difference in our ages. At the time, I didn’t think that Andy might be interested in me as a potential significant other. I thought of him as a nice kid. I knew he had a diagnosis of schizophrenia. That's what he told people. He did seem to be flirting with me one day when we all were on an outing. But I had enough on my mind just trying to maintain my mental health and take care of myself.

I ended up losing my job. I again applied for Social Security Disability and this time figured I had to get it somehow. This was scary, as it could take years and meanwhile one has to live. My former employers said they were doing me a favor by not mentioning my illness and inability to do the job as reason for termination. Though it probably delayed my disability it did allow me to get unemployment for a while. So, I made half-hearted attempts for impossible positions.

Meanwhile Andy reappeared in my life. We ran into each other in town and he made an excuse to invite himself over. He said he was going to help me do yard work. Silly me, I actually thought that's what he wanted to do.

We hung out together for a while. I was lonely and he told me he was attracted to me. It was, to say the least, a very bad time in my life. I was, however, old enough to be his mother. I told him we could only be friends, and I thought I meant it. Obviously I didn't. 

 

To make a long story short- my roommate of 2 years moved to Albuquerque and Andy moved in. I knew I couldn't support myself anymore and I probably was pretty desperate, so he convinced me. With Andy paying half the rent, I figured I could afford to stay a couple more months. I hadn't told my mother that I'd lost another job. She'd disowned me after the last job I lost and then I was not only severely depressed, I was also homeless. This time I was manic and determined to hang on to something of my life. 

 

I was hospitalized just before Andy moved in and thus lost my unemployment. To top it off, a case management supervisor at mental health decided that since I was "higher functioning" then Andy, I was just using him for his money. They managed his money and refused to allow him to contribute a dime to the household expenses as long as we were together. When my meager savings was gone I started getting $127/month disability from the state and food stamps. I started making arrangements to go into a shelter for women in Albuquerque.

Andy must have truly wanted us to be together. He, who didn't even know my mother, telephoned her and told her of my situation. She didn't disown me this time, she actually sent money. He then went and argued with staff at mental health. They relented and started paying, exactly, 1/2 of the bills. We passed the first major hurdle of our relationship.

I'd known a lot of schizophrenics, both personally and professionally. It was easy to see that Andy was different. Of course there are many types of schizophrenics and no two are alike, but he was clearly different. Yes, he talked to voices. But it was obvious that these voices were like none I'd ever seen in a schizophrenic.

In Florida, my office-mate had a client who was an M.P.D. That's multiple personality disorder, now termed dissociative identity disorder or D.I.D. according to the latest DSM (diagnostic statistical manual). My office-mate and I discussed all our clients. In this manner we shared our expertise and also were able to cover for each other if one of us was absent. Many psychiatrists are reluctant to diagnose anyone M.P.D., as they often consider M.P.D.'s rare. My office-mate received consultation from a private practice psychiatrist and read everything current in order to help this client. I also learned everything she did.

When a child is severely abused at a very young age and the trauma is more then the child can handle, they develop alters to cope. It's sometimes believed that alters are splits off the original personality thus the term split personality was once used. 

 

Alters are different from schizophrenic voices or even the less common visual hallucinations of a schizophrenic. The way in which they are different has become clearer to me over years of knowing many schizophrenics and knowing Andy. Schizophrenic hallucinations are usually more vague, and disconnected, -a distant voice repeating phrases. These voices do not generally have names and are not related to like the people in one's lives. And I've never known a schizophrenic to really relate a visual with an auditory hallucination, certainly not like Andy does. 

 

Andy's alters are complete, like people. He hears them, he sees them and he can feel them. He can even smell their cooking, though he can't taste it or get nourishment from it. He also can't spend their money, unfortunately. They have individual names and separate personalities just like people. They are there when he needs them. When they are not needed they often leave and appear to live lives of their own.

In this book you will hear testimony from some of the alters. Most of them now speak and write as Andy, though the information they write about couldn't possibly be Andy's memories as he was far too young. I have done some editing, to make it easier to read. Andy writes of traumatic experiences, from his heart, and does not take time to put in punctuation or check spelling. I hoped most of them would contribute, but they still find it too traumatic to talk about their experiences.

Three apparent alters were with Andy when I met him. He'd been told they were hallucinations that he had because he was schizophrenic. They were there all the time and their names are Grenudo, Limpio and Wisdom. Actually, we later determined that Wisdom was a guide, rather then an alter. I'll explain the difference later.

There were other signs that appeared to indicate he was not schizophrenic. Andy could change from one minute to the next and sometimes he didn't remember things that happened just minutes before. He'd get up during the night, disappear into the kitchen, then come back and tell me the roast was almost done. (Eventually we'd meet Gregory, the alter who is a chef). He'd have violent nightmares. He told me there were others and some of these were not good like Grenudo, Limpio and Wisdom.

One evil alter had plagued Andy's life since he was a kid. Andy called him "No-name", because he refused to tell Andy his name. "No-name" had a red face and horns, "like the devil", Andy would say. When Andy sensed that "No-name" was near I had to lock all my kitchen knives away in my locking briefcase. "No-name" had gone after Andy's grandmother with a knife and Andy was afraid "No-name" would take a knife to me or to himself. When "No-name" came, Andy would fall into bed and thrash about. Grenudo, Limpio and Wisdom would fight off "No-name". Without being there, one could never imagine it. I would hear four voices arguing and shouting orders, Andy, Grenudo, Limpio, Wisdom and "No-name". I would stay nearby and try to say things that were comforting and encouraging to Andy and his three good alters. They'd eventually win and "No-name" would leave. Exhausted and shaken, Andy would report on the wounds that left Grenudo, Limpio and Wisdom bloodied and bruised.  Eventually we learned this alter's name, and how to deal with him. But that story comes later, about 3 years later.

When the possibility of changing Andy's diagnosis first came upon me I read more and talked to other people.  Since I'd been in New Mexico I'd been quite involved in statewide consumer activities. I was on a couple of boards for non-profit organizations, and often attended workshops, and conferences. Andy came with me a few times and thus we knew a few of the same people, people who were in the know, so to speak.

One weekend I was at a conference without Andy. It was sponsored by the Dept. of Health, Division of Mental Health for the state of New Mexico and was for community leaders. I found time to talk to someone else who knew Andy and, like myself, was a consumer with a master's degree and lots of experience working in the field of mental health. I told her about my suspicions about his diagnosis and told her what I observed at home. When combined with what she'd observed in Andy it made sense that I could be right.

When I got home I told Andy that I thought he had the wrong diagnosis and suggested we set up an appointment with his psychiatrist. *Dr. L. is a good psychiatrist and we've always trusted him. I would never suggest that he was negligent, but maybe he just needed to hear what I'd observed at home. It's not easy to recognize an M.P.D., especially in 15 minute office visits.

Andy couldn't wait. He insisted I tell him about this other diagnosis. He wouldn't leave me alone about it. I told him just a little, that the diagnosis was called multiple personality disorder or M.P.D. He asked what that meant. I told him it meant that Grenudo, Limpio and Wisdom were alters and not schizophrenic hallucinations like he'd been told. He insisted I explain the difference. Reluctantly, I did. He begged me to tell him how a person got alters. I told him, talk to *Dr. L. This went on all day. Finally I told him that alters come to help someone when they are abused, "But please, talk to *Dr. L., we can't talk about it anymore!" I pleaded.

Too late. Grenudo jumped in. "That's what happened to us!" And so Pandora's box was opened. Grenudo was the first alter to enter Andy's life. The following is his personal account, as told through Andy.

Andy tells Grenudo's story

“It all started when I was just about seven months old. My parents were constantly fighting about why I was ever born, just because I would cry when I was hungry or I would want them to hold me and love me like any parent would a new born baby. One day after they finished an argument my mom was holding me at the top of the stairs. Out of nowhere she threw me down the stairs. Then she had the guts to say I wish you would have never been born you s.o.b. She started laughing at me while I was crying in agony from the pain.

A few days after the incident my grandparents came to visit me and see how I was doing. My parents had the guts to tell them that I was doing fine and that they really loved me and always would. My grandparents had the idea they were straight out lying to them so they'd leave and never know what was really happening to me.

A couple days later my parents got into another fight and this time my father sexual abused me for the first time. I was only nine months old and I was crying up a storm. In the background my mother was laughing up a storm. Meanwhile, he was having sex with me and slapping me across the face so hard my nose started to bleed. I had to be rushed to the hospital for treatment.

When I got to the hospital they examined me right away and asked what had happened. My parents flat out lied and told them I had fallen off the sofa and hit my nose on the floor. I guess the doctors believed every word they said because they didn't even consider a rape test.

Once I got back home I was more calm and had stopped crying. My parents were so glad that they held me for a while until they started fighting again later that same night. When they started up again I was in my crib, almost asleep. I heard the screaming and shouting. I started crying again. This time my mother got me and hit my head against the wall several times until I stopped crying. But I didn't stop until they quit fighting which lasted all damn night.

The next day I woke up not crying for some strange reason. Maybe it was because my parents weren't fighting. But that wasn't why. Someone finally came to my rescue. The person that came to help me was friendly and didn't seem frightened by my parents. This person cared what happened to me. His name is Grenudo. My parents walked in to check on me and wondered why I wasn't crying. Instead I was giggling at my little friend and my parents were happy for a little while.”

Andy did not remember any of the abuse until that day. Now all of a sudden, everyone started telling him their story. There were also more alters then we realized. 

 

Grenudo and Limpio had been with him as long as he could remember. Grenudo is very together. I've seen him angry, but no more then I would expect. Over the years I’ve come to call Grenudo ,”My Rock”, the one I can count on to help me in bad times and to always be there.

Limpio has more problems. He gets nervous and confused. Limpio gets delusional, but he's learned how to act in public and no one hears his delusional talk but myself and Andy. We've since realized that Limpio is likely schizophrenic, not Andy and not likely any other alters, just Limpio. And he does just fine without Andy taking any medication. Limpio has an incredible memory. I learned early on to ask him phone numbers. Who needs a phone book with Limpio around? He keeps the things he memorizes in a computer in his hat.

The following is Limpio's story.

Limpio Speaks the Truth

“Andy was now two years old when he started seeing me as a real person. He had no idea who I was because he was too young. What I'm about to tell you is the honest truth because I survived the abuse. Andy would of died if I wouldn't of been there and took it for him. Andy was constantly sexual abused by his father at different times or when his parents were always fighting about why he was ever born. One day Andy was laying down on the sofa quiet, not even crying when his father approached him and started pulling his pants down so he could have sex again with poor little Andy who didn't know what was happening at the time. After his father got through that's when Andy started seeing me as a real person and just like when Grenudo came out he was laughing at me and I would smile back at him and tell him it was going to be okay that he was not going to get hurt anymore that I was here to help him though he didn't understand what I was saying to him. Grenudo and I are brothers and we came in to help Andy through the hard times so he wouldn't have to deal with any of it. Two of our other brothers Sam and Sambo can tell you more about the abuse Andy went through because it is too hard on me to talk about what happened too a poor innocent baby like Andy”.

Once Pandora's box was opened life got rather scary. Andy was always very changeable. Now it became obvious that those apparent mood changes were more likely alters switching. Now he was downright angry. This made sense, for who wouldn't be considering all that he had learned overnight. He did not know how to handle what he'd learned and I could only help him so far. 

 

I had been raised with a lot of verbal abuse. As a child, I dealt with it by hiding in the back of the closet, by pulling my hair out by the roots and by hitting my head with my fists or even on the walls. I found myself resorting to these childish ways of coping. They did not work anymore. I'd worked too hard and come too far to let myself backslide like that. I now had responsibilities, both to myself and to Andy. I had to take care of myself, or I couldn't be there for Andy. Yet, I couldn't dessert him when I felt it was my revelation about his diagnosis that put him in so much pain. 

 

In the past, Andy was limited by the low expectations that others had put on him and by medications that kept him doped much of the time. But maybe that was better then the terrors he was living through now. He woke screaming from nightmares every night. I had to calm him, but I had to do it without getting myself hit or kicked as he lashed out at demons from his past. He hurled epithets in anger that had me trembling in fear. Something had to give, and soon!

We tried to get help from mental health. They didn't seem to understand. Andy made suicide threats and I knew he wanted to hurt himself. But would he? I was stressed to the max. I couldn't stand the thought that he might hurt himself because of things I'd helped him uncover. I felt responsible to see him through this, but how could I if I got sick?

I suggested a temporary separation so I could gather my emotional strength back. I'd just gotten my social security disability and though maintaining two households would mean money would be tight we had to do something. Andy was devastated. He couldn't believe it would be temporary. He thought I wanted to leave him as everything that was ever good in his life eventually did. Personally I wasn't all that sure that I was good for him, but he insisted he needed me.

Andy agreed to go into the hospital for help. I went with him and he asked to admit himself. (We found out later that Andy didn't remember any of that day, Grenudo had taken over completely.) They admitted him at the state hospital. Andy had spent 9 months there, 5 years before. At that time he was only 17 years old. He brought with him a diagnosis of schizophrenia, which he'd had since he was 11 years old. But this time would have to be different. I explained my suspicions about Andy's diagnosis and the psychiatrist listened. He told me, if he agreed with my diagnosis, they could not keep Andy. The state hospital does not treat dissociative disorders. They kept him two days and suggested he find a private hospital.

It was not any better when Andy came home. We started going for help to a program for battered families. I had to stop seeing my therapist to do so, as he said I couldn't go there and see him too. Yet they were the only ones willing to try and help Andy, and they could only do it by working with both of us. It helped only minimally. One of us, usually Andy, would schedule an appointment. When we'd get there we'd find all the staff gone or in the middle of crisis. They dealt with serious domestic violence and, of course, responded to crisis first. They did have a shelter where women could go when their lives were in danger from violent spouses. But Andy hadn't hit me, yet. 

 

I thought about going to the state hospital myself, but they seldom admit without a referral. I'd have to say I was suicidal, and I did have suicidal thoughts. But Andy went first and admitted himself for the 2nd time. Again they kept him a couple days and discharged him, recommending he find a private hospital that specialized. We began to look. I also insisted that Andy get his own place for a while. He could not be under the same roof as me anymore, not until he found another outlet for the anger.

Andy rented a trailer, from our landlord and two doors down from the house we'd rented together. Needless to say that was not a separation. I couldn't keep him out. It was cold. Windows in the trailer were broken and there was no insulation. The heater didn't work and the place smelled like propane. I was afraid to leave him alone there all night because he'd had pneumonia several times and I worried about the gas smell. There's no way I would have slept there.

Though we didn't know it at the time, the landlord got other people to move into some of the other little trailers back there by promising them free electric. Andy moved out after less than a month of not even really being there. A couple years later, we applied for electric in Andy's name, at another residence, and found he owed several hundred dollars. It took us 3 years to pay off that electric bill. This was becoming typical of the kind of things that seem to happen to us. We get used and abused more then anyone else I've ever known. That's another story, much of which will follow later.

Eventually they did let him see a therapist at mental health, but she just went too fast for him. It was too overwhelming for him and so he quit. The fact that he quit worked against him when he tried to get more help. This therapist is considered pretty good but her experience was more with battered spouses and children from mildly dysfunctional families. I believe she didn't know what she was getting into with Andy.

About this time, a case manager from mental health got special permission to do therapy with Andy. She swore she knew what she was doing. I did kind of wonder because she used to be licensed and worked in private practice. Now she's only a case manager in a community based program. It got worse, not better. 

 

One thing she did teach us was to use neurolinquistic programming to get rid of alters who caused trouble. It was helpful on a temporary basis, but we allowed ourselves to think of it as a solution. It wasn't.

When a troublesome alter tried to integrate and take control of Andy we'd get Andy to think of what his life would be like without that alter, how much better it would be without that alter in his life. Then I would tap his knees and the alter would disappear. 

 

Eventually that alter would be back, and then they'd be more angry then ever because we sent them away. Each alter that misbehaves or threatens, does so because they have issues they need to work on, alone in therapy.

We sent Sambo away, with neurolinquistic programming, because he stole money from me. We were thinking about sending Sam away because he was having fits in stores, he wanted every toy he could see and couldn't understand we didn't have that kind of money. Sam and Sambo were both 12 at the time. They needed help. Banishing them from Andy's life just served to make them angrier and delay solving their problems.

Staff at mental health were mixed in their beliefs on Andy's diagnosis. Andy's psychiatrist had changed twice over the last few months and the present one refused to believe Andy was D.I.D. To him Andy was schizophrenic and that's how he believed Andy should be treated. Yet there's no denying it, they would not let Andy stay at the state hospital because they do not treat dissociatives.

While in Santa Fe for a meeting we ran into someone I knew from statewide consumer activities. I knew that she had a diagnosis of M.P.D. or D.I.D. I asked if she'd meet with us for a few minutes and give us some ideas from what she'd learned over the years.

She talked to Andy and to me. We seemed to agree, there's not much in the way of help out there. She gave us the number for the program she received help from. It's in Colorado but they go to Farmington, NM to see her as it is just across the border. She also told us not to use NLP on anyone else unless it was the only way to save lives. We needed to recognize that it is only temporary, until we could get the help that the alter needed. She said we had to talk to Sam and find out what was bothering him. Then we needed to get Sambo to come back and work with him. Neither of those alters were dangerous.

I played detective and made some phone calls. The center in Durango, Colorado, where our friend got help, had lost the funding for it's in-patient beds. It also served a very limited geographic area with a waiting list. They mailed us some literature on D.I.D. and referred us to the only in-patient unit they knew that specialized. That place wanted $1,000 to test him. Then, if he qualified, they'd put him on a waiting list. If accepted, an entire month's stay would have to be paid up-front in cash. Medicare may, or may not reimburse us at a later date. We had no money. 

 

One day Andy threw something in anger and it hit me accidentally. I was barely bruised but it was still too much. I could not help Andy, if I didn't help myself first. I took this as an opportunity and went to the program where we'd sought counseling. Now they could let me into the shelter, as I was now technically battered.

When I left, the message to Andy was simple. Get help and then, only then, will I be back. The holidays were approaching and Andy was on his own to help himself.

At the time I arrived at the shelter, I was terrified of my future, distrustful of everyone, and angered beyond belief over my lot in life. I found out later that they almost turned me away because they didn't think they could handle me. It took me days to start feeling even a little comfortable. The shelter was half empty, which was good, and I gradually made a few friends among the clients. Staff took longer to get to know. They never did understand Andy. They lumped him in with all other men who are evil and abusive toward women. But he wasn't like those other men. Staff, I'm sure, thought I was very naive.

Finally the day came when Andy called to say he was being admitted to *Pinion Hospital. Mental health hadn't helped, counseling hadn't helped, his mom and aunt hadn't helped. He did it himself by calling every number in the yellow pages and being insistent. Pinion was a private hospital in Santa Fe. They didn't specialize in D.I.D., but they did accept them.

Andy hadn't been driving long, just a couple of months. His mom had told him, all his life, that he was retarded and schizophrenic and would never be able to get a driver's license. So I helped him get one and now he had my car. For that matter, he had my dog and my apt. and most of my belongings too. He drove to the Villa Linda Mall in Santa Fe, as it was just off the interstate and easy to find. He'd never driven in traffic before, but that was fine, I took the bus and met him. (I found out later that his alters fought over the steering wheel most of the way there, about 60 miles of interstate over the mountains, and he almost wrecked the car several times.) I then drove him to the hospital where he was admitted. It was a major moment to us, the time that I knew he really wanted to change his life. 

 

I left him in the hands of a social worker and drove to the shelter to pack. The women there also loaded my car with enough donated food to feed us for months. The holidays had left many people feeling generous. Then I went home to hug my dog and clean the house. 
 

Andy called often, and late one night, just a couple days later, I spoke with his psychiatrist. He told me he was concerned that Andy not use up his Medicare in-patient days, and the rest of his work could be done on an out-patient basis. He promised to link Andy up with the appropriate services at our local mental health agency. I was doubtful, but he seemed so sure. I begged him to promise and he did.

It would have worked, but unfortunately there was a breakdown in communication. We continued to fight for those services for another two years. Andy did better at first, and he tried so hard. He went to bookstores and ordered everything he could find. And he read them all. But he needed a professional.

One thing he learned from the books, that helped him a lot, was to elect officers among the alters. Grenudo, or course, was elected as the first president. Gregory was the first vice-president. Annie was secretary. After that there were new elections annually.

Soon our relationship became even more unhealthy. No one should ever have to rely on family or close personal friends for therapy. But there was no one else to help him. I became his therapist while living under the same roof.

                                                                                                                                 Annie

Andy went to Santa Fe and found the doctor who'd seen him on in-patient. Andy's therapy in the hospital had been incredibly intense. His doctor sometimes met him before breakfast, sometimes for hours during the day and always for several hours in the evening. He had an out-patient practice, but there was a very long waiting list and Medicare would pay only a very small part of the cost. Andy was placed on the list. We prayed for the money to pay for it whenever his name finally came up.

Eventually, a friend told me about a therapist he knew who specialized in D.I.D. She was new to New Mexico and wasn't licensed locally. But she had dedicated her life to helping D.I.D. and had been licensed in California. He believed she was dedicated enough to work for little money. Maybe we could even barter for Andy's therapy.

By then, a lot had happened in our lives.