Flock the autobiography of a multiple personality

Zusatztext A testimony to [Joan Frances Casey's] courage and the dedication of her therapist! who believed that a profoundly fragmented self has the capacity to heal within a loving therapeutic relationship. The New York Times Book Review Absolutely mesmerizing . . . the first coherent autobiographical study of its kind. The Detroit News A compelling psychological odyssey offering unique insights into a nightmare world. Kirkus Reviews Extraordinary . . . deftly told and studded with striking images. Publishers Weekly Informationen zum Autor Joan Frances Casey with Lynn Wilson Klappentext The groundbreaking first-person account of successful recovery from dissociative identity disorder, now featuring a new preface by the author When Joan Frances Casey, a married twenty-six-year-old graduate student, "awoke" on the ledge of a building ready to jump, it wasn't the first time she couldn't explain her whereabouts. Soon after, Lynn Wilson, an experienced psychiatric social worker, diagnosed Joan with multiple personality disorder. She prescribed a radical program of reparenting therapy to individually treat her patient's twenty-four separate personalities. As Lynn came to know Joan's distinct selves-Josie, the self-destructive toddler; Rusty, the motherless boy; Renee, the people pleaser-she uncovered a pattern of emotional and physical abuse that had nearly consumed a remarkable young woman. Praise for The Flock "A testimony to [Casey's] courage and the dedication of her therapist, who believed that a profoundly fragmented self has the capacity to heal within a loving therapeutic relationship."-The New York Times Book Review "Absolutely mesmerizing . . . the first coherent autobiographical study of its kind."-The Detroit News "A compelling psychological odyssey offering unique insights into a nightmare world."-Kirkus Reviews "Extraordinary . . . deftly told and studded with striking images."-Publishers WeeklyAnyone can walk a tightrope. All it takes is practice and luck. I had the practice. For as long as I could remember, I had walked cautiously through life, careful to please whoever might be near. I was so expert that hardly anybody noticed I didn't have feelings or thoughts of my own. Practice and luck. I used to be very lucky. School was easy; I never had a job that I couldn't handle. It used to be that everybody always liked me. It was different now. Keith wanted us to separate. Maybe he didn't want to be married to anyone, certainly not to me. I figured that he didn't really mean it. He must be warning me to shape up. Sometimes I forgot about trying to please him. When he first told me that we should live apart for a while, I tried to do everything I thought he wanted. I let him stay in our house and found an apartment for myself to make it easier for him. That should have counted for something, but after three months, just as I was getting ready to ask him if I could come home, he said he wanted a divorce. There had to be a solution. If I could just figure out the right button to push, he'd like me again. But when I tried to think about it, I got scared, so scared that the tightrope swayed and I began to fall. I leaned back and jerked reflexively to regain my balance, startling myself awake. I was no longer sitting at my desk. The typewriter I had been working at continued to hum, but now I was ten feet away, sitting on the wide windowsill. I had no memory of leaving my desk, of crossing the room, of climbing onto this perch. Nevertheless, I was now tucked against the old mullioned window, chilled by the March cold that seeped through the pane. Damn it, I muttered, what's going on? The blankness throbbed within, so I looked out at the gray urb...

ldquo;A testimony to [Joan Frances Casey’s] courage and the dedication of her therapist, who believed that a profoundly fragmented self has the capacity to heal within a loving therapeutic relationship.”—The New York Times Book Review
 
“Absolutely mesmerizing . . . the first coherent autobiographical study of its kind.”—The Detroit News
 
“A compelling psychological odyssey offering unique insights into a nightmare world.”—Kirkus Reviews
 
“Extraordinary . . . deftly told and studded with striking images.”—Publishers Weekly

Autorentext

Joan Frances Casey with Lynn Wilson

Klappentext

The groundbreaking first-person account of successful recovery from dissociative identity disorder, now featuring a new preface by the author

When Joan Frances Casey, a married twenty-six-year-old graduate student, "awoke" on the ledge of a building ready to jump, it wasn't the first time she couldn't explain her whereabouts. Soon after, Lynn Wilson, an experienced psychiatric social worker, diagnosed Joan with multiple personality disorder. She prescribed a radical program of reparenting therapy to individually treat her patient's twenty-four separate personalities. As Lynn came to know Joan's distinct selves-Josie, the self-destructive toddler; Rusty, the motherless boy; Renee, the people pleaser-she uncovered a pattern of emotional and physical abuse that had nearly consumed a remarkable young woman.

Praise for The Flock

"A testimony to [Casey's] courage and the dedication of her therapist, who believed that a profoundly fragmented self has the capacity to heal within a loving therapeutic relationship."-The New York Times Book Review

"Absolutely mesmerizing . . . the first coherent autobiographical study of its kind."-The Detroit News

"A compelling psychological odyssey offering unique insights into a nightmare world."-Kirkus Reviews

"Extraordinary . . . deftly told and studded with striking images."-Publishers Weekly

Leseprobe
Anyone can walk a tightrope. All it takes is practice and luck. I had the practice. For as long as I could remember, I had walked cautiously through life, careful to please whoever might be near. I was so expert that hardly anybody noticed I didn’t have feelings or thoughts of my own.
 
Practice and luck. I used to be very lucky. School was easy; I never had a job that I couldn’t handle. It used to be that everybody always liked me.
 
It was different now. Keith wanted us to separate. Maybe he didn’t want to be married to anyone, certainly not to me.
 
I figured that he didn’t really mean it. He must be warning me to shape up. Sometimes I forgot about trying to please him.
 
When he first told me that we should live apart for a while, I tried to do everything I thought he wanted. I let him stay in our house and found an apartment for myself to make it easier for him. That should have counted for something, but after three months, just as I was getting ready to ask him if I could come home, he said he wanted a divorce.
 
There had to be a solution. If I could just figure out the right button to push, he’d like me again. But when I tried to think about it, I got scared, so scared that the tightrope swayed and I began to fall.
 
 
I leaned back and jerked reflexively to regain my balance, startling myself awake. I was no longer sitting at my desk. The typewriter I had been working at continued to hum, but now I was ten feet away, sitting on the wide windowsill.
 
I had no memory of leaving my desk, of crossing the room, of climbing onto this perch. Nevertheless, I was now tucked against the old mullioned window, chilled by the March cold that seeped through the pane.
 
“Damn it,” I muttered, “what’s going on?” The blankness throbbed within, so I looked out at the gray urban sprawl. My life was centered here, at the University of Chicago.
 
I was working on a master’s degree in political science.…