For several years I've been in a relationship with two men who share the same body. In my inexpert opinion this isn't a case of schizophrenia, or of dissociative identity disorder, or anything quite so dramatic. In fact, I doubt very seriously that any biological cause is at the root of this man's behavior, except perhaps a nature that was predisposed by heredity to exhibit the characteristics brought out by his upbringing.

So what is he?

I grew tired quite some time ago of trying to exact a layman's diagnosis based on his behavior. For a long time I thought it might be borderline personality disorder. Then maybe narcissicm. Or passive aggressive / negativistic personality disorder. Finally I decided that it didn't really matter to me what it was called, I only cared that it was hurting me over and over and over again.

When I came into this relationship I was a strong, independent, intellectual woman. Although I had my share of emotional baggage at the time, and have struggled with depression on and off since adolescence, I had, for the most part, a stable emotional state. I knew who I was. I had an identity. Over the course of a decade, however, I split off from that woman much the way my Mr. Hyde split off from his Mr. Jekyll; they are one, but separate. My independent woman was nebulous, just out of reach in my day to day world, until finally I doubted that she ever existed in the first place. In her place was a simpering, sullen, suicidal doormat covered with heavy bootprints.

For several years my Mr. Hyde and I have wrangled toward a final parting, with many false starts along the way. The fact that I struggled to break free from him was also an attempt to break free from my own disbelief that I had lost myself so completely to the tyrannical control of a madman. I had to believe that I could escape and regain that which I'd lost.

The rub?

A sweet little child.

My love for my child is so complete, so consuming, that I've tormented myself for years over which decision with regard to Mr. Hyde would be the right decision. Should I stay? Should I go? Will it be more harmful for the little one if I stay? More harmful if I go? What about custody? What about the future? My Mr. Hyde knew that the child was my Achilles Heel, and used him adeptly to maneuver me back into his control every time I made a feeble attempt to end the pain.

Until this year.

This year I've done it. I actually moved into a home apart from Hyde's. The shock of this move has brought Dr. Jekyll to the foreground, the man with whom I'd fallen so completely in love with so long ago, the man with whom I'd always been able to see myself loving until I die. I weep to think of how unquestionably cheated I've been by Mr. Hyde, cheated out of the future I had planned with Dr. Jekyll, that I hate him with all of my might. I remind myself constantly that Dr. Jekyll is only a temporary visitor, that no matter how many assurances he offers that Mr. Hyde will not return, I must remain skeptical and on my guard.

I'm resigned to the idea that I'll never be able to trust Dr. Jekyll, no matter how sorrowful a proposition it is. What I fear most at this moment is being able to work together with him as we move forward in raising our little one, who has begun to show beastly tendencies of his own. Although Dr. Jekyll is all-accomodating, Hyde has raised his ugly head more than once in an attempt to disrupt our careful negotiations. It is of paramount importance that, in the first place, I maintain as much contact with my child as possible, so that when matters inevitably break down, the legal system will avail me in my petition for justice.

One may wonder how a mother could leave her child with a beast. Truthfully, Mr. Hyde has not yet set his sights on the child, and I'm not worried for his safety. The destruction wrought on the child in my estimation has beem through witnessing Hyde's emergence in my presence, and the gradual decline in my ability to function as much more than a wraith in my own home. And so I feel that I am much more useful to the little one as the strong woman I know I can be than as a trapped animal attempting to chew off its own leg.

But do not believe for a moment that I am in any meaure sure of myself or the course I've chosen. While I've caught glimpses of hope since leaving my former home, I still struggle with how to survive on my own; physically, emotionally, and financially.

This will be my story.

God be with us all.