Jack Has DID - A Jacksepticeye Short Story

Chapter 1

Jack sat down in front of his computer screens, grabbing his headphones and placing them over his ears. He tried to ignore the pounding in his ears. He'd had a splitting headache for days, damn near a migraine, but he knew he needed to record a video.
With a sigh, he rubbed his face and pulled the microphone towards him.
He had these headaches frequently; long, dizzying ones that left him exhausted and, occasionally, deprived of memory of the last few hours.
The familiarity, however, did not make them any easier to deal with. They still hurt like hell, and no medication had ever worked. Doctor after doctor had tried different medicines, diagnoses, advice. Nothing helped.
His migraines, coupled with his memory loss, had prompted his latest visit to end with a recommendation to a psychiatrist. Jack had tossed the card in a drawer. He was fine. He could function just fine; nothing was that serious.
Blinking his eyes a few times to bring himself back to focus, Jack opened up Happy Wheels. He loved this game, chalked it up to one of his favorites. It had a simple yet gory element to it that he enjoyed immensely.
As the game's opening theme sounded, Jack felt his eyelids grow heavy. A moment later, they closed.

When Jack opened his eyes again, his headache was gone. He felt dizzy, but after a few moments that too cleared.
In front of him on his screen was the menu of Five Nights at Freddy's. He looked around a few times in confusion, then up at his camera. The red light was blinking. He didn't remember pressing record.
Clearing his throat, he clicked play. The title screen appeared: 'Night 5.' He'd never gotten past night four...
Looking up at the camera, he said, "Well, welcome to Five Nights at Freddy's, I guess-" He was still incredibly disoriented. He was trying to be his normal self, but he just felt lost. He couldn't focus. He finished night five, amazingly, but he doubted it looked okay. He wasn't even sure he could use the footage.
What had happened to him?
He swallowed hard and got up, grabbing his keys and rummaging through his junk drawer. He pulled out the psychiatrist card with a sigh. Maybe he did need help.
For a moment, he wondered if it was better to call someone, ask them to drive. But he was too spooked. And what would he say?
He shook his head and headed out to his car, putting the key in the ignition and cranking it.
He didn't remember pulling out of the driveway, or driving down the road, or even getting on the highway. But next think he knew he was in the right lane, red lights shining up ahead. His eyes grew wide and he slammed his foot on the brakes. When the car finally stopped, it was nearly touching the one in front of him.
His heart was pounding. He'd never had a memory gap like that. With shaking hands he turned the wheel and was able to work his way over to his exit ramp.
He was on high alert; he didn't relax until his car was in park in front of the doctor's office. He took a deep breath and tried to calm his nerves.
After several minutes, he turned off the ignition and got out of the car, heading into the office and locking it behind him.
When he got inside, he went to the front desk to sign in.
"May I help you?" A young woman stared up at him from behind the desk, eyebrows raised.
"Maybe-" he said unsurely. He handed her the card. "The doctor I visited recommended this place."
"Do you have an appointment?"
Jack hesitated, looking down. "N-No.. I- This is an emergency, I think."
"Sir, if you have an emergency, perhaps you should consider the hospital? Or a clinic?"
He shook his head, licking his lips. His headache was back. "Please." he replied. "I need to figure out what's going on. This is getting worse."
His eyes felt heavy. They closed.

Jack groaned, clutching his head. He was vaguely aware of a voice speaking nearby. "So, Chase, is this your first time out?" He rubbed his eyes and opened them, his sight slowly stabilizing.
A man in a suit coat was sitting in front of him, clipboard and pen in hand. "What?" he asked hazily.
"I asked you if this was your first time out, Chase." the man said.
"Who the fuck is Chase?" Jack demanded, Irish accent thick and slurred. He must've really been out of it.
The mad did not answer, but made a on his paper and instead asked, "What's your name?"
Jack scoffed slightly. "Shouldn't you have it already? We've obviously been talking." he said.
The former smiled. "Humor me." he said.
Jack hesitated. "My name is Jack. Who is Chase?" He felt exhausted. Why was he so tired?
"How old are you, Jack?"
"Twenty-six." he replied, sitting up straighter. "Who is Chase?" The man watched him carefully for a moment. "Damnit, tell me who he is!" Jack slammed his hands on the table, eyes dark. He felt a surge of hatred bubbling up inside him. After seconds, it passed.
He swallowed hard and slowly lowered himself back into his chair. "I-I'm sorry." he said quietly. "That wasn't like me, I... I don't feel like myself."
To his surprise, the man smiled. "Don't worry, Jack. Your outburst is quite understandable. You must be very confused as to what's going on."
Jack was silent for a moment. "I've had blackouts for as long as I can remember." he said. "My whole life. You know what causes them?"
The man gave a small nod.
"Tell me. Please."
The psychiatrist folded his hands over his clipboard. "Have you ever heard of DID?" he asked. "It's more commonly referred to as Multiple Personality Disorder, though that is an outdated term."
Jack gave a slight, nervous grin. "I mean, in stories. Movies, games, shows." He swallowed. "You're not saying that's real?"
"Very much so. Quite rare, but there's indisputable proof." The man sighed. "And I think you have it."
Jack felt suddenly cold. "Me? How- I just have some memory loss, that's all..."
"One of the major signs of this disorder."
"But that's not the only cause." Jack protested. "I mean... it isn't, is it?"
"No. But it is a big one. And I have other reasons for this diagnosis." the doctor replied.
"Like?" Jack asked, not completely sure he wanted to know.
"Well, for one thing, you've been sitting here with me for nearly an hour, and this is the first time I've heard your voice."
The Irishman wet his lips. "I don't understand."
The psychiatrist's voice was exceedingly gentle. "I was speaking to someone else. His name is Chase."
Jack swallowed the lump in his throat. "I don't understand." he repeated. "What exactly is DID?"
"It's a mental disorder." the doctor said. "A crude term, perhaps. It is when... a child experiences such traumatic events that they cannot live a normal life with the memories of said events."
"But I do live a normal life." Jack interjected. "I'm fine."
The man held up his hand to silence him. "In order for the child to continue to survive, the brain will, well, split itself. It separates the memories from the child and, in doing so, creates an entirely new personality, or 'alter.'" He sighed. "These alters, the ones that preserve the child from the memories, are referred to as trauma holders. But other personalities may split off if needed, for a multitude of reasons.
"These alters can be radically different. They have different levels of intelligence, different backgrounds, different ages, genders, nationalities. They are, essentially... entirely different people."
Jack was quiet for a long time. "I have other people inside me?" he asked finally, voice barely audible.
"In a word... yes." the doctor replied.
"Who is Chase?"
"He's one of your alters. Your first, in fact. You are the core, the 'original,' if you will. Chase followed. He is your primary protector."
"So... how come I've never known he was there?" Jack asked, mind racing at all the new information he was receiving.
"Well, that's sort of the point." the psychiatrist replied. "To protect the core, the brain creates amnesiac walls and separates the alters from each other. You've never known Chase because technically, you were never supposed to."
"Then what changed?"
"I'm afraid I'm not sure. Chase was telling me a bit about things before you returned."
Jack slowly ran his fingers through his hair, taking a deep breath. "So what happens now? Is something wrong with me?"
"Nothing serious, Jack." he reassured. "I am glad you came to see me, however. The next step I would suggest is trying to communicate with Chase and the others. Your memory loss is getting worse because they're fronting, taking control of the body. The more you talk with them, the easier it will become to control this, and to avoid dangerous memory gaps like the one you suffered here."
Jack opened his mouth to reply and paused. "Did you say others?"
"Yes. Chase told me of two other alters in your system."
"Who are they?"
The doctor frowned and shook his head. "I'm afraid Chase didn't get the chance to say."
The Irishman slumped back in his seat, feeling surprisingly calm and a little disappointed. After a moment he said, "Can I come see you again?"
"I insist on it. I'd like to have a documentation of your alters. What do you think? Two weeks?"
Jack nodded. "Okay. Until then?" He met the doctor's eyes, feeling overwhelmed.
The older man put his clipboard aside and returned his gaze steadily. "Communication, Jack."