His therapist thought perhaps he didn't truly have DID, instead they could just be voices, a minor form of psychosis due to his depression. So..., he and Ruby decided to prove a point.
The day of his appointment, he let Ruby take over, completely. Something he never does, she rarely comes out unless he gets extremely pissed off. But while she was out, she dyed his hair black, did his black eyeliner even thicker and painted her lips with red lipstick. She also dressed in Tripp pants and a tight sleeveless shirt with a button-up over it. All in black, the only color being the lipstick.
She guessed correctly that it wasn't him that day. She commented that Ruby seemed manipulative. And she agreed, seeing nothing wrong with it. Do as is needed, use people as they will use you. She has no qualms with it and neither does he. Because as she stated, why does it matter?
Annoyance is a default for Ruby, anger, is her second nature. Thankfully, she restrained herself and didn't do anything too traumatizing to his therapist.

When he got home, the make-up was removed and he showered, changing into comfortable clothes. His hair was still black, which at first was slightly disorienting. He pushed that aside though and started to play on his Xbox. He played Dragon Age Inquisition for a few hours before going to bed, he planned to hang with a friend that night, as soon as he woke up.
He kept waking up and passing back out, so he didn't get to his friend's until midnight. They played cards for a few hours before pizza was ordered. They ate and continued to play cards, trying to reach a winner. They got close enough before deciding to stop playing and going to watch a movie. They chose Hide and Seek, planning to watch the different endings. He wound up staying until mid-morning, going home only because he had to take his roommate to the grocery.

He was irritable the entire time, he had been enjoying spending time with his friend,=. Though when he got back to his apartment, he went into his room and laid down, enjoying the cold.

He let his mind wander, before..., week before this one, Bo had spoken to the therapist. Because she had a really good night, the night before. And that explained the very definite change in demeanor his therapist had noticed.
Which brought him to his next thought, were the meds even helping? Honestly, he couldn't tell. Every day was pretty much exactly the same. Not much was interesting at best, and sleep sounded like the best thing ever. It was all he wanted to do, he didn't though, but even so he was in a constant state of tiredness. No matter how much sleep he did get, he remained just as tired as when he went to bed originally.

He honestly didn't think he was going to get better. It just doesn't seem likely. Maybe it's because he avoids everything. Literally. He doesn't partake in his own therapy sessions. Especially now that she wants to work on his PTSD. She thinks that, that may be the root of his depression. But he doesn't want to think about those things. He doesn't want to acknowledge their probable reality. So he doesn't. He ignores it and shoves it away, burying it just like everything else he doesn't want to feel. If it's not anger, sadness, or the feeling of an achievement, he buries it. He doesn't want to deal with anything. More than half the time, all he can think about his how he would just honestly rather be dead. It would be easier. He's tired, tired of being tired. It never seems to get better. Not for long anyway. Something always fucks it up. Always.

He rolls onto his side, opening the memo thing on his phone and typing a new poem.

"It's deeper than that.
Maybe it was working.
But as usual...,
I think it stopped.
I'm more than tired,
More than exhausted.
I yet again,
Have everything.
But...,
That doesn't make me want any of it.
So what am I supposed to do?
Continue?
Pretend I'm fine?
Just like before?
To what end?
It crumbled last time,
It will again.
Nothing good ever stays.
This life is not worth living.
No matter what you say."

He saved it and closed the app, making the screen go dark before rolling onto his back, arms folded behind his head.
Is it bad that he figures once his roommate moves out like they plan to, that then he'll have nothing to stop him? He can't die, and leave them with all the bills. So he wants to wait until they leave. Then commit the deed. It still requires more research anyway. He has to calculate a lot of things, get it exactly right, to overdose. It's pretty precise science if you think about it.
With a soft sigh, he rolls onto his stomach and begins to type another poem.

"Maybe it's because I let Them deal with it?
I can't see any difference because it's not Me.
But I don't want life,
How much more clear can I make that?
I'm never believed,
I've tried to die.
Death refuses to take me.
I want no part in this life.
I may have everything,
But I want nothing.
I let Them,
They live,
Everyone thinks it's Me,
But I'm detached,
Dead inside,
But the outside won't die.
I gave up a long time ago,
Nothing ever sticks.
This life I don't want,
Refuses to let me go."

He closes the app again and lays his face into the pillow. It's soft. His favorite.
Lazily, he wonders if he doesn't have dysthymia, which is mild or chronic depression. It would have had to be over two years, which his has definitely lasted longer. Could he have that and major depression? Because it seems to be getting worse by the day, even with meds. Even with the proverbial everything. As usual though, all this seriousness, has exhausted him even further. He turns the xbox onto Netflix and finds some animated comedy to play in the background as he tries to sleep.
He's tired, but he can't seem to sleep. Sighing, he rolls onto his side and watches the show, replying to the few messages his friends have sent him. He just wants to sleep, but it won't have him. He's wary of taking sleeping meds, even if he's not trying to OD..., he's worried he may accidentally attempt to because the temptation to do so is great. He runs a hand through his hair and and closes his eyes, willing himself to sleep.