Ask any writer about venturing into the unquiet mind of a protagonist suffering with mental illness and you’ll be met (hopefully) with questions and concerns about stigmatization, tired exploitative tropes and the likely mention of ‘sensitivity’ readers.
As a psychotherapist and writer I’m perhaps more than a little vigilant of the role of mental health in culture—the portrayal of mental illness and personality disorders in literature, TV shows and movies—and the conflicting forces of entertainment versus a better understanding of the human condition. I often wonder, whether the twain shall ever meet?
The 2016 film Split, by the writer and director M Night Shyamalan, is one example that has me irked. It is a known fact that Shyamalan has had a lifelong fascination with Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID), previously known as Multiple Personality Disorder, so his creation of ‘Kevin’ was not a surprise. What did surprise however, was the wild lunatic trope he rendered for Kevin and the narrative thread of clinical inaccuracies.
‘Kevin’ has 23 personalities whose revolving and erratic costume changes are enough to make your nose bleed. And if that wasn’t enough in way of misrepresentation we’re also introduced to a dehumanized personality who can climb walls like Spiderman and whose body physically morphs to match that of the DC villain, Bane. Shyamalan does, however, link childhood trauma with DID, and we eventually learn that Kevin’s mother engaged in malevolent behavior and punishment towards her child from the age of three.
‘Kevin’ is a serial killer and a psychopath who abducts three young women in a parking lot and locks them in his basement. They are, he states, his “sacred meat.”
Fortunately, not all of Kevin’s personalities are made known to us (wardrobe’s budget wouldn’t stretch, ahem) but we do get to meet ‘Hedwig’, a nine year old with a lisp and a penchant for Kanye West; ‘Patricia’, a creepy turtleneck wearing matriarch who wields power by lighting candles and speaking in a prim, British accent; ‘Dennis’, a recovering neat-freak who likes to watch naked girls dance, and ‘Barry’, an impulsive fashion designer who schedules weekly visits to his psychiatrist Dr. Fletcher. Then there’s the Beast (drumroll, eyeroll). A supernatural alter who not only has cannibalistic tendencies and crushes Dr. Fletcher to death with his bare arms (thanks! Kill the shrink, why don’t you) but he also refuses to die after taking three bullets from a shot gun.
I’m all for suspending disbelief, but this was a stretch.
The kinship between thriller and DID however was made way before TV shows and movies hit the big-time. The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde by Robert Louis Stevenson was written in 1886. One might say this was the first thriller to explore DID and while a classic work of literature, Dr Jekyll and his internalized monster personality is shockingly evil and, of course, ill-fated.
Alfred Hitchcock’s horror masterpiece, Psycho, also dipped into DID territory. After killing his mother and her lover out of pure jealousy, Norman Bates takes on a recreated ‘Mother’ personality, dressing in her clothes and talking to himself in her voice, and causing further stigmatization by suggesting DID makes you into a complete psycho. Fact: People living with DID are more likely to be victims of crime, not the ones who commit them.
Whilst Psycho is a thriller classic (genius, some might say), the narrow character study is perhaps questionable with regard to real life personality disorders.
The same might be said for Me, Myself and Irene, written by the Farrelly brothers, who thought it might be smart to deliver DID as comedic. Believe me when I say DID is no laughing matter. DID is born mostly out of childhood trauma whereby a sophisticated defense system is created to exile feelings or memories that are simply too unbearable to withstand. Imagine feeling that the world is unsafe at all times, that your body is not your own, or turning up a hundred miles from home not knowing how you got there. Imagine if the person in your bed is unrecognizable, experiencing hours of flashbacks when a smell or sound catapults you back to early traumatic events or contemplating suicide because the voices simply won’t stop screaming. Comedic? You decide.
Those who have never seen a switch of personalities in someone living with DID often expect some big dramatic physical transformation like Stevenson’s Hyde or Shaylaman’s Beast. They may assume, due to previous representation, to be faced with someone who appears like a vampire or werewolf sprouting fangs, hair and claws and the proud owners of unlimited closet space. But in reality the condition is much more subtle. The body of a person living with DID doesn’t change per se, just the body language. Or sometimes it can be the pitch of voice, a slight change in dress code or a rich and varied viewpoint. There are no monsters, immortals or cannibalistic beasts. Fact.
Over the course of fifteen years I have spent thousands of hours as a psychoanalytic psychotherapist working with patients, some of whom are living with DID. My experience does not echo that which is portrayed in pop culture, My patients do not climb the walls of my very small office, because A) this would be a breach of boundaries and, B) dummy up, already! What does occur, however, is the acknowledgement that therapy is, at its core, an intimate relationship that explores some of the most profound questions we must encounter as human beings. Post trauma, a patient begins to understand herself afresh and constructs a meaningful relationship with her therapist in which she feels safe and seen and understood. And although there are moments of drama in her stories, focus is on emotional settling, healing and insight. Perhaps the appeal of DID in current pop culture is that the condition adheres to the culmination of the extreme—extreme memory loss, conflict, behavior and trauma—which hasn’t always enabled us to understand the condition more fully
Entertainment culture has made numerous attempts to render DID based on real life cases too, such as The Three Faces of Eve, When Rabit Howls, Frankie and Alice and the hugely successful Sybil. Imagine my disappointment when I discovered psychiatrist Cornelia B Wilbur and her patient Sybil (real name Shirley Ardell Mason), along with her sixteen personalities, had fabricated the whole cock and bull story. Sybil went on to sell more than six million copies.
These various portraits of DID, some more successful than others, also hit sitcom mainstream with Mr Robot and United States of Tara. Both series were keen to portray the disorder as accurately as possible and sought guidance from mental health professionals. The results were varied. Reviews from those living with DID offered appreciation for the shows compassion and understanding as well as raising awareness of the condition, but what didn’t fly were the exaggerated and showy characterizations of both protagonists.
It seems there is a fetishization of DID in modern culture. A box office peep show into the unquiet mind.It seems there is a fetishization of DID in modern culture. A box office peep show into the unquiet mind. How many times have we seen people with DID portrayed as dangerous psychopaths and serial killers? And why are there still no heroes or heroines when it comes to DID?
When I started writing my novel The Eighth Girl I was aware of how, in patriarchal terms, language and representation is restricted to writing about women and not for them. I wanted to lean into this abyss and so set out to create a protagonist who was not only living with DID but who was also a heroine. Alexa Wú, I decided, would not be dehumanized, or kill anyone. Her wardrobe, also, would be minimal.
DID themes can be found right across the entertainment landscape. Perhaps if we are to better understand the condition we need to cease portraying those living with the disorder as psychopaths or wall-crawling lunatics. Only then will people living with dissociated personalities step forward and share with us their experience, and what it’s really like living with an unquiet mind. Greater understanding of the condition is needed for sure, so rather than shoe-horning theories or fetishizing these behaviors let’s listen and be guided by those who know best. And rather than speaking about people with mental illness, let’s speak for people with mental illness. Let’s ditch the serial killer trope, and spend a little more time creating our next hero or heroine and their many, many misunderstood selves.
