Tormented by voices and fractured childhood memories, Danny’s adult life is a storm he can’t outrun. As a cynical Christian, he lives with the secret of the others inside his head, convinced he is trapped in his diagnosis. Coming face-to-face with the foster system that harmed him, he fights to cling to his self-reliant logic and doubt-ridden faith. Will Danny open the darkest pieces of his past to the only one who can bring total freedom?
Part tough narrative, part tender prayer, Crazy Has A Name offers a gritty, moving look at one man's supernatural journey out of dissociative identity disorder. Inspired by true events.
Tormented by voices and fractured childhood memories, Danny’s adult life is a storm he can’t outrun. As a cynical Christian, he lives with the secret of the others inside his head, convinced he is trapped in his diagnosis. Coming face-to-face with the foster system that harmed him, he fights to cling to his self-reliant logic and doubt-ridden faith. Will Danny open the darkest pieces of his past to the only one who can bring total freedom?
Part tough narrative, part tender prayer, Crazy Has A Name offers a gritty, moving look at one man's supernatural journey out of dissociative identity disorder. Inspired by true events.
Chapter 1
Age Forty-Eight
I was born in an insane asylum to a drug-addicted prostitute.
But right now I may punch someone in the face, or vomit all over the faded paisley rug. Perhaps both. This is probably not okay in a church therapy office. Since I’m a public high school counselor, neither would likely bode well for my reputation.
Marti, the lady across from me wearing the Christian fish necklace, unsettles me. She’s nothing like other ministers or religious therapists I’ve met. She’s real. She’s funny. She’s clearly knowledgeable and intelligent. My church friends Jim and Claudia recommended her. But why does she make me want to hide? We both claim to believe in Jesus Christ. What’s with this sudden sweatiness from the simple question she asked?
“Danny,” she starts, “will you tell me about the most painful memory connected to the woman you call Mom?”
The Others (the people only I can see and hear) don’t like her question. Kendra, one of the Others who is always recording my words on a clipboard, frowns and shakes her head. Garrison, the soldier in combat fatigues, squares his shoulders and locks his jaw. I close my eyes so they don’t distract me.
Deflection is necessary. “Haha, well, how much time do we have?” My voice is louder than intended. Hopefully this flashy smile covers the shakiness of my hands. I glance at my wife Grace as she sits angled toward me with a gentle hand on my knee. Her patient, tender expression encourages me as she nods, prompting me to continue. Sweat oozes from every pore, and I’m thankful for the air conditioning an overhead vent provides as it blows coolness across my neck.
A voice only I can hear, one of the Others who calls himself the Bossman, speaks up. “You’ve told the story a hundred times, Danny. You’re fine. Man up.”
Swallowing the rising lump in my throat and taking the familiar preparatory breath to separate from any vestige of feeling, I answer. “Well, Marti, if it’s bad, I lived it. The locals called our area south of Lexington ‘The Pit.’ Somebody blew away my cousin in our front yard and we saw the aftermath. I was molested multiple times over the course of several years. My adoptive mom and my uncle were kind of like the gang leaders of the neighborhood, so they ran drugs and girls and whatever else they wanted. The cops were paid off, and—no surprise—they never came around. And from what they said more times than I can count, my folks paid two hundred dollars to buy me as a little kid in some kind of black-market ring in the foster system. They were all crazy. Me, too. But praise God, I’m different now! Jesus saved me as a dumb punk, although He hasn’t really been around much the last few years… He must not care about the fact that I’m crazy. So I’m saved, but still a little crazy though!”
My laughter is once again too loud. The Bossman whispers, “See? Good job. You did fine.”
Marti’s brow furrows. “Wait a sec. You were literally bought for two hundred dollars? Isn’t that trafficking?”
I shrug. “That’s what we all call it today. This was back in the seventies, so it was more underground. But you must not have had much contact with the local foster care system. People with money will buy what they want, and they will always find a seller.”
Marti leans in. Can her eyes peer into my soul?
“That’s some super heavy stuff,” she says. An uncomfortable pause follows as she studies me. “Has anyone ever asked you about the lack of emotion you express as you tell your story? Sometimes laughter is a mask for some incredibly deep pain.”
Working in the public school system taught me how to answer without answering. Clearing my throat, I wipe imaginary dirt from my knee. “Ha, yeah, that’s a good point. You’re right about that.” Garrison and Kendra both glare at me, but I look past them out the window behind Marti toward the sunshine. A late May breeze dances through the pink dogwood tree outside. Imagination has me sitting on a bench under that tree, looking up through the branches raining petals, enjoying the Kentucky springtime. Anywhere but in here.
Marti waits a few moments with a content smile. “You didn’t actually answer my question,” she says. How can words sound kind and scary at the same time?
Shrugging in silent defeat, I hold out my palms. Why did I let Grace bring me here? Can she sense my irritation?
Marti shifts in her seat and rests her notepad on one knee. “How about this?” she asks softly. “Let’s start at the very beginning, with a complete family history.”
If I look at Garrison and Kendra, the judgment and shame emanating from them will send me into a tailspin. Their discomfort with where this is going is palpable.
“Oh, boy,” I say, clapping my hands and rubbing them together. “You buckled in? Okay then. Here we go!”
Crazy Has A Name is inspired by a true story. It shares the life of Danny Pierce, the son of a drug-addicted prostitute, who is removed from his mother’s care, and placed in social care. As a foster child he was abused before being adopted by a criminal family. After enduring multiple traumatic experiences, Danny heads towards a life of crime, until compassion from a minister whose house he burgled saved him. Danny managed to turn his life around, becoming a guidance counselor to troubled teens. It’s while defending one of his teenagers that Danny begins to understand that he has deeper problems than he had previously believed.
Danny began his healing journey with psychotherapy, but the short sessions and the long healing process discouraged him. He chose Christian counseling to help him release his trauma and to seek solace in his faith. Slowly, as he faced his earlier traumas, Danny began to heal, to embrace his family and to work towards deeper connections.
This book is remarkable in its compassion for childhood trauma, and its use of biblical references to explore a kind and compassionate God who would never hurt His children to create a meaningful life. While the story shows that God may not have controlled the script of Danny’s life, not having control of human choices, it does show that God is always willing to be there with compassion and comfort for those who suffer.
Once again, this is a remarkable read, with a depth of suffering and pain, and yet wisdom and compassion as a balm. Readers of Nanci’s previous book will enjoy the layers of insight offered to Danny. Ultimately, this book shows how a broken world, including a broken social care and legal system, harms children, and how compassion heals. But it offers so much more. Anyone who has ever felt abandoned by God or who has felt pain in the script that they believe has been written will find healing and relief among these pages. Danny’s story is not only an inspiration, it’s a balm for the wounded heart.