Ho(ld the) D(o)or

May, 2016. It was the penultimate week of high school, and Mrs. Scallon had one last project to assign my AP Psych class before the majority of us graduated.

"I'd like you to make a PowerPoint diagnosing a fictional character of your choice with a mental illness," she said in her shrilly yet matter-of-fact voice. "They can't already have been diagnosed with something in their stories: you have to diagnose them yourselves. And I'll give bonus points to those who dress up as the character they diagnose."

Everyone ooooo'd at that. A low hum of chattering filled the spacious room. One girl would diagnose Eeyore with depression. Another guy wanted to dress up as Anakin Skywalker and claim he had BPD. Multiple classmates would diagnose The Joker with, well, anything.

Being an overachieving theatre kid, I had to have a great costume to go along with my bangin' PowerPoint presentation. Let's see... I was a scrawny 5'2'' girl with shoulder-length brown hair. There was only one fictional character I knew who matched that physical description. Problem was, I didn't know what I could diagnose everyone's favorite Stark assassin-in-training with.

So I approached Mrs. Scallon after the bell rang. "I know you said we have to dress up as the characters we diagnose. Is it okay if I dress up as another character from the same series? I'd like to diagnose someone from Game of Thrones."

Her sun-kissed skin and beach blonde hair lit up as she smiled. "That's fine, Katy," she said, "Game of Thrones is a great choice! A lot of complex characters to choose from."

Indeed, she was right. At home, I sat in my bedroom and wrote a list of all my options. There was the obvious choice of diagnosing Joffrey Baratheon with sadistic personality disorder. But I wanted to do something deeper. Maybe I could diagnose Cersei Lannister with psychopathy, The Hound with PTSD, or Theon Greyjoy with Stockholm Syndrome. Whoever I chose, my peers would be overjoyed to see a Thrones-related PowerPoint. Season six was well underway, and every Monday morning, we'd discuss spoilers from the night before's newest episode. I myself was a superfan. I owned a Game of Thrones calendar, pop-up map book, and religiously kept a silver Targaryen pendant (which I bought at my local renaissance fair) on my neck.

In the end, I decided to frame my PowerPoint around Hodor: the big lovable servant who pack mule'd Bran around for several seasons, named after the only word he could say. And because Hodor could only say one word, his diagnosis would be expressive aphasia.

Also known as Broca's aphasia, expressive aphasia is a type of speech disability in which the affected person experiences a partial loss of the ability to produce language. However, comprehension remains intact, and although the person can only produce certain words (or in Hodor's case, a single word), they can still understand the speech of those around them.

Thanks to Kristian Nairn's acting chops, I knew this diagnosis perfectly fit Hodor. Additionally, we had done an in-depth study of Broca's area and the frontal lobe in my psychology class. Mrs. Scallon would love to see a diagnosis which covered what she'd taught that semester. Hodor was a fan favorite; this presentation was bound to be a hit. And if the Arya costume didn't work out, I could sit in a chair and flip through my PowerPoint slides as Bran.

There was just one thing to sort out. A requirement for our presentation was listing the causes of our character's diagnosed mental illness. The most common cause of expressive aphasia is a stroke. Had there been any indication in the show or books Hodor had suffered a stroke? I needed to know. If his hodor'ing had originated by any other means besides a stroke, brain tumor, or head damage, my diagnosis would not count and Mrs. Scallon would reduce several points from my project grade.

At that point in the show, it was unclear whether Hodor's condition had been caused by brain damage or something else. In the wee hours of the morning, I pored over web articles and Youtube fan theories, but it seemed as though no one had a plausible explanation. The show had just surpassed the books, and George R.R. Martin hadn't given any significant clues. I was in the clear to diagnose Hodor with expressive aphasia, but the true cause of his neurological disorder remained a mystery.

Then again, season six of the TV show had been teasing us with flashbacks to Hodor's childhood in Winterfell. Maybe after claiming Hodor suffered a stroke in class, David Benioff and Dan Weiss would prove my theory correct in a future episode...

A few days later, I nervously tapped my toes in class while my best friend, Sara, finished up her presentation about Tony Stark and anxiety. "Your turn," she whispered to me while returning to her seat. I pushed in my chair, tossed Mrs. Scallon my laptop and stood in front of the projection screen. My hair was a tangled, un-brushed mess, and like blind beggar Arya Stark, I wore a raggedy brown poncho, dark trousers, and sandals. I even carried a walking stick.

Besides Anakin Skywalker dude, I was the only person who came in costume.

Mrs. Scallon put my PowerPoint up on the screen, and I proudly held the wooden stick above my head. I gave it a flourish.

"Seven blessings, everyone! I'm no one, also known as... Arya Stark!!!"

Crickets.

"Um. I'm presenting Hodor from Game of Thrones. Hope you enjoy."

I quickly flipped through the five slides and did my required rambling. To my surprise, people were genuinely interested in my diagnosis, and laughed when I showed a compilation video of Hodor's best "hodor" moments.

At the end of my presentation, Mrs. Scallon asked, "So, did the character actually have a stroke on the show or something?"

Everyone's eyes widened at me.

"Well, no one knows," I answered. "They haven't revealed a cause for his aphasia in the show or books yet. Considering all the surprises on Game of Thrones... he probably did."

"Hm. Interesting," Mrs. Scallon nodded. "Well, it seems like you might be right, Katy. Great work!"

The class gave me a warm round of applause and I happily returned to my seat, walking stick and all. At the end of class, Mrs. Scallon handed me a rubric with a big fat A+ at the top, and I felt like a total genius. Ha! Take that, George R.R. Martin! Thanks to psych class, I probably knew something before the rest of the world did!

On May 22nd, 2016, two days after my PowerPoint presentation, "The Door" aired on HBO—making 7.89 million viewers bawl their eyes out in front of their television sets. Not only did the episode kill off our beloved Hodor, but it revealed the true cause of his speech disability...

Yup. The only thing worse than a stroke? Having a seizure in the past while you're mauled to death by white walkers in the future.

Like most teenaged girls at the time, I took a selfie of me crying with a box of tissues while his tragic passing played. I posted it as a Snapchat story, and in a matter of seconds, one of my classmates replied. His message? "Your AP psych project is ruined."

Maybe Game of Thrones hasn't changed my life in a huge way. But hey, if it weren't for the show's masterful build-up to events and damn near perfect scheduling, perhaps I wouldn't have passed that AP Psych class.

In memory of Hodor, first of his name. May the gods keep you safe in the afterlife. RIP, buddy.