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It took about a week after Riddle’s overblot for Crowley to hire a psychiatrist, after much pressure from the rest of the staff.
And for some reason, Riddle feels like that’s the biggest mistake the headmage had ever made.
Logically, Riddle knew this had been a step in the right direction, especially as part of post-overblot recovery. Better stress management was the primary focus, he’d assumed.
He was still evaluated for other disorders, and his dorm mates and fellow housewardens had been asked to report his behaviors.
Riddle didn’t believe there was anything wrong with him. He might’ve needed to handle his stress and anger better, but that was all he figured would trouble him.
But the psychiatrist had found a way to turn his whole sense of self on its head, and it had only taken three words:
Dissociative Identity Disorder.
He had been diagnosed with DID.
It sounded preposterous. There couldn’t have been any evidence to back it up.
But there was. He wouldn’t have been diagnosed otherwise.
Riddle hadn’t stayed for the rest of the appointment after hearing those words, storming out of the office and straight to his dorm.
He hadn’t moved from the spot on his bed since.
He knew time was passing, but he didn’t bother to keep track of how much.
Riddle didn’t really snap back into focus until there was a knock at his door.
“Goldfishie?”
Floyd?
Riddle slowly stood, opening his door with a quiet caution that wasn’t normally present. “Yes, Floyd? What is it?”
The tall mer frowned. “Heard from Sea Turtle y’ stormed off to your room early. What happened?”
Riddle hesitated, unsure how much he wanted to divulge, but invited Floyd into his room anyway.
“What happened is this hack of a psychiatrist gave me a diagnosis that has no stance in reality,” Riddle vented.
Floyd’s stance relaxed. “Yeah, I know.”
What?
He fidgeted with his earring. “He got all the people close to you n’ all and asked us a lotta questions about it and told us what to look for.”
He did what?
Floyd turned his focus back to Riddle. “DID, yeah?”
“Ah…” Riddle felt frozen—stuck in place. “…Yes, that’s correct.”
Floyd shrugged, plopping himself onto Riddle’s bed. “I don’t totally get it, but it matches you a lot,” he rambled.
Riddle stared at him. “What do you mean?”
Floyd hummed in thought as he recounted, “Well, you kinda don’t stay consistent, for one. Not everyone noticed it, but me n’ Sea Turtle n’ Betta Fish did. It’s kinda subtle, but sometimes you’re a lot quieter and kinda jumpy. Sometimes you’re a lot easier to anger.”
Riddle tensed. “That-… That could mean anything.”
“Yeah, but it means a little more when Sea Otter mentioned he already talked to you about this,” Floyd said.
“He did?” Riddle asked.
Floyd nodded. “And you don’t remember at all.”
“I feel I would remember something like that,” Riddle said.
“Yeah, but ya don’t.”
Riddle scowled slightly. “He probably imagined it.”
“I doubt Sea Otter and Lion Fish both imagined it,” Floyd argued.
Riddle paused. “…I wasn’t aware Leona had been present as well.”
Floyd nodded. “Yeah. ‘Said you were real jumpy and ran as soon as you could.”
Riddle sputtered. “That sounds nothing like me.”
“That’s the point.” Floyd finally looked down at the redhead. “You don’t act the same. You don’t remember. And Sea Turtle could at least tell us your childhood wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows.”
Riddle went quiet, looking down.
Floyd sighed. “Doesn’t mean anything bad about you.” He smiled a little, gently poking Riddle’s cheek. “You’re still Goldfishie, just a little more complicated.”
Riddle shooed Floyd’s hand away from his face. “But I don’t want to be ‘a little more complicated.’ I don’t-… I don’t want to figure out who I am. I liked understanding myself.”
But did he ever, really? Riddle’s whole sense of self until recently had been almost entirely decided by his mother. He didn’t really know what was truly him, or what was just his mother’s influence. This just added another layer of complication—a layer he didn’t want to touch.
Floyd grabbed his hand with a gentleness that so rarely presented itself. “Ya don’t need everything figured out. It’s a lot, but you can do it eventually. There’s still a lotta time.”
Riddle slowly nodded as he sat beside his boyfriend. “You’re right, I suppose…”
“Don’t think too much about it right now,” Floyd said, poking Riddle’s temple with his free hand. “You don’t need to understand everything yet. You just found out today, yeah?”
Riddle nodded slowly.
“Then just process it. Worry about understanding it later.” Floyd gave his hand a light squeeze. “Ya got the rest of your life to understand it.”
Floyd was right. It was hard to accept, primarily because he didn’t understand it, but he had the rest of his life to do so. He needed time to process. That’s all it was.
Riddle leaned against Floyd slightly, closing his eyes. “I’m tired,” he admitted, getting a small smile from the mer.
Floyd kicked off his shoes before lying down, wordlessly pulling Riddle down with him. He tucked the smaller against him, gently carding his fingers through the bright red hair.
“I’m gonna be right here,” Floyd whispered. “Just take your time.”
Riddle couldn’t have been more thankful for such grace.
He would figure it out eventually.