Part III: A Thing like Depression
The voices are not the only thing that X has for him, that is notable. It is not the only thing that he experiences that matters. Sometimes, he experiences untold cold, a cold he cannot express under a maddening sun. He covers up, sweaters on sweaters. He does not know that he needs the protection. He does not know that he covers up, rather that he tends to be wrapped in sweaters on sweaters and that despite the heat, he does not mind.
Sometimes, time jumps for X. He cannot tell when hours slip by, or when days slip by, or when years slip by. The best he could do before he realized that was to comment on how fast time is flying, and how old he is, even if he is still a child more than the rest. He would forget the comment, or the result of the time skip, or the promise to note time pass by, and in a daze he would face time and time would once again jump, and once again he would be astounded. These days, he keeps note. He watches the eyes of other people. Time seems to beat him time and again, but people seem to flow with time just fine, and they act as a mirror for what he should be experiencing, where he should be? Relationships, moving out, maturity, finding a different crowd, travelling, not only dreaming. X looks at this mirror and works towards the only thing he has been offered that could grant him peace. A chance for greatness.
Sometime time slows down for him. Seconds become minutes and minutes hours. X still cannot defend himself against this. He sleeps and prays for mercy.
X knows his thing about depression. He knows the trigger. He, at least, knows the current trigger, which is his incessant desire to have things that escape from him. To desire a thing, to have thing reciprocate. And then lose it in a foolish fumble. It is murder, X knows. It is insanity, X knows. It is unfair, X knows. It is not enough to stop him, X knows. He moves forward. The best gift he has is the gift to move forward.
However, even his gift of movement is compromised. X has lost faith in the Grand Design of things. The Grand Design is the final act of all past, present and future Creation. And it is perfect. And for its perfection, every imperfect act finds meaning. Suffering has meaning, pain has meaning, and the lack or escapism from all of this has as much meaning as its embrace. Cringe, X. Your life has lost the moral and survivalist compass that guides all humans. Rejoice, X. Your moral compass will remodel itself from imperfection, just like the Grand Design.
His thing like depression is like a marathon. Everyone stands on the starting line, with X. X is king, he is the athlete of prophecy. His victory is assured, written in tablets. But X does not hear the bell when it goes off, and cannot see everyone go off in front of him. He realizes he is alone, and he runs forward, but his ability has worn down as he waited for the bell. He has to regain his strength, and by the time he runs, everyone is far ahead of him. X has the gift of movement, and he will not waste a gift from God himself.
Every once in a while, X sees them. Those people who are like him, the despair written on their eyes, their fight or lack of it etched on their lips. He sees these aliens, and he rejoices, for he is not alone. He sees the sea of water that they are all in, and he knows that they drown together, as the rest of mankind runs in air, not aware that right next to them there are those who cannot breathe, or cannot see the sun from deep under the ocean. Or cannot feel anything from the pressure of the sea upon their skin. Kings and peasants, with the same affliction.
Every most of the time, X sees the rest. Even if they cannot see him. Even as he stands next to them. Even as he talks to them. Even as they work together. He is invisible, and his affliction even more so.
Even rarer, sometimes X sees people from his watery grave. And his entire person throws himself to that or those people. And this person or persons will respond in kindness, not in kind. They will throw him back in the water, and X will know they intend to kill him. He will build a wall higher than the hopes of man and he will shut them out forever.
Once though, X sees a person who see him. And sees his affliction. And sees even more than his affliction. And, in confusion, he will run.