Possessed

Possessed

by Caitlin Sumer

I found her under Psychologist (Paranormal) in the Yellow Pages. I'd been looking for a Parapsychologist for quite some time, but I was surprised to find one right under my nose, practically in my backyard. The name sounded familiar, and with a little poking around, I found out that she was Nancy, my brother's neighbor's daughter. We'd actually met at a neighborhood picnic a couple of summers ago. I remember talking to her and she seemed normal enough. Normal! What am I saying? I was the one who was convinced she was possessed. I can feel myself turning red just putting the word down on paper. Possessed. I sounded like a schoolgirl who'd read too many vampire books.

But here I was, a forty-five year-old professional woman, a lawyer (family practice), married with children, going to talk to Nancy, who only a year older than my own daughter and fresh out of Parapsychology school. It had taken six months for me to get to this point. At first I thought it was just some sort of OCD, a recurring thought I couldn't shake. But the weeks went on and the feelings got stronger. Finally my husband noticed my new personality, and on several occasions had to tell me to "snap out of it." But the final straw was the episode at work. My client refused to work with me, claiming I was not the same person he'd signed on to the firm with.

This other personality that took up residence in my body was a woman, probably about my age. But that's where our similarities ended. She and I seemed to have nothing in common. She liked salty; I preferred sweet. She liked low-cut blouses; I covered up with turtlenecks. She liked black coffee; I only took mine with cream and sugar. I could go on. But suffice it to say, that when she "visited" me, anyone who knew the real me, knew they were dealing with her rather than me.

My first visit with Nancy was a breeze. We chatted about my brother and his family. I filled out piles of paperwork. And we only briefly touched on the subject of my possession. Not once during that visit did I get the impression that she was judging me.

It was at our second session that I began to feel uncomfortable. The more I talked about Jen (that's the name I gave to my "visitor") the more Nancy seemed to withdraw. I felt like everything I said was being weighed and measured. It was unsettling.

At the end of our third session Nancy admitted she wasn't the right doctor for me. She ended our session early by patting me on the arm and assuring me there'd be no charge for her time.

To this day I don't know why she let me go. I can only remember her last words as I walked out the door. "You've got so much going for you. Don't let this menopause thing get to you, Jen."