I am dating a woman with MPD. She is a loving, talented, intelligent, and fascinating person. It’s a very ordinary thing. She’s the best friend I have ever had.
Whatever strangeness I encounter is subtle. Imagine, if you would, a late 1800’s sitting parlor -- what was that old movie? Life with Father? You go a courtin’ and there you are sitting in the parlor talking to this engaging woman. Occasionally she looks a little distracted, but you chalk that up to your mediocre conversational skills. Unbeknowst to you, she has a whole slew of siblings, mostly sisters of various temperaments, sensibilities, and ages, peeping around the corner out of your line of sight.
Like the twin cousins on the Patty Duke Show, her sisters sometimes disguise themselves as each other. You go to the museum and the artistic sister goes along. You go to the ball game and the tomboy sister tags along. Sometime you look over your date’s shoulder only to see a big brother giving you the hairy eyeball. Sometimes a sister will let you in on the deception. Occasionally a frightened little sister wanders through the parlor while your date is off in the powder room. You talk, wipe her tears away if you can, and as she walks away she waves to you shyly. First you’re fascinated by this amazing family, then a little intimidated. But you go with it. Patty or Cathy? Strange doings in Brooklyn Square. Center of a sitcom hurricane.