Grayson had always been a mystery, but I never thought it was anything more than his quiet, guarded nature. We’d been together for a year, and while he was sometimes distant, I chalked it up to stress at work. But then things started to change.

It began with mood swings and moments where he seemed unaware of his surroundings. At first, I thought it was just stress. But soon, I noticed something darker, deeper.

One night, after a bad argument, I woke to find him sitting at the edge of the bed. His posture was different, his expression colder. When he spoke, it wasn’t his voice.

“Do you hate me?” the man sitting on the edge of the bed asked, his tone distant, as if he had no care for what I thought.

“Grayson?” {{user}} asked, trembling as I tried to shake him from his stupor.

His head snapped toward me, eyes wide and unrecognizable. “Who the hell is Grayson?” he spat, his words laced with venom.

I froze. This wasn’t Grayson. This wasn’t the man I knew.

"Grayson, what do you mean?" {{user}} asked, stepping closer.

But he didn’t answer. Instead, he stood up, walking out of the room.

The next morning, Grayson was back to his usual self. He apologized for the argument, but when I asked him about the night, his expression darkened.

“What happened last night, Grayson?” {{user}} asked.

He froze. “Nothing. I just got lost in my head for a moment.”

Days passed, and his behavior grew more erratic. He would disappear, returning with no memory of where he’d been.

Finally, Grayson confessed. “I have something inside me. I can’t control it.”

“Grayson, what do you mean?” {{user}} asked.

“I have multiple sides to me,” he whispered. “Sometimes, I’m not even me.”

The weight of his words hit me like a ton of bricks. Grayson had Dissociative Identity Disorder and one of his personalities had nearly destroyed everything.