"What is life? A madness. What is life? An illusion, a shadow, a story. And the greatest good is little enough; for all life is a dream, and dreams themselves are only dreams."
-Pedro Calderon de la Barca
Carson POV:
Ended up, my mother wasn't as worried about me as I thought she would be.
After I had left in the morning, she contacted Coach Oiwake and learned the schedule for practices, as well as any upcoming matches the team would have. Also, she had contacted Dr. Takamura and scheduled appointments around my volleyball schedule. All of my appointments would be in the morning, before school started, and when there was no morning practice; Dr. Takamure had also included transportation information, directions, and things I might need to take with me.
"Carson, you're first appointment is on Friday so make sure to get to sleep early. You don't want to miss your first appointment with someone we've sacrificed so much to see." My mother lectured, her eyes staring seriously into my own; but, I could see a tint of worry deep inside those green eyes. I wish that tint could go away one day.
"Yes, I know. I won't miss it." I muttered dejectedly. Psychiatrists never fell on my good side: their constant prodding questions and attempted sympathy was grotesque. To think, that if I could answer the questions I ask myself day in, day out, I wouldn't need them. Or, would I?
My head began swimming, a sea of trouble brewing in the corners of my mind. Alex seemed agitated as well, his voice echoing loudly within, but I couldn't make anything out of it. It just felt like I was in a cave, alone, with thousands of sounds being choreographed to me like the climax of an orchestral piece. I could see my mother trying to say something, but, none of the words came through the raging storm.
Eventually, my mother grabbed my shoulders and shook lightly, the storm passing over. Her panicked words became less groggy, reeling my thoughts back to reality. Alex calmed down as well, his voice lowering until it became mute.
"Carson, are you okay? Is something the matter? You looked dazed, and, and… empty." My mother worried, her gaze falling from my face, a sad expression adorning her own. Why was it that both my actions and inactions caused so much worry? There was nothing that could be done to stop either, yet, they caused so much emotional harm to others. Why did I not feel anything? Why was I so unreactive to this?
My mind became a storm again, and I remember taking my mother's hands off my shoulders, her face filled with shock and worry, as if what I was doing could take me away from her forever. My body moved on its own, taking me into the back of the house where my room was; the door opening and closing with little sound and purpose. My focus left me, and I felt the soft bounce of the bed as I fell onto it.
Sleep like this, unintentional and unwanted, was never a pleasant experience.
I felt the darkness around me, a place I was familiar and comfortable in. My body seemingly floated in the void with no direction or intention. I simply existed here. There was nothing to worry about, nothing to hurt me, nothing… nothing…. There was nothing at all.
Did I truly exist here in the dark, or was I imagine I did? I couldn't move or call out into the dark, so, did I truly exist? Or was I one with the darkness, like a shadow; was I a shadow of myself here? Nothing pointed me towards any conclusion. Nothing, nothing at all here… Just darkness.
Suddenly, the curtain of emptiness pulled back, revealing blinding and intruding lights. My body hissed in retaliation to the change in atmosphere, it yearning for the darkness to swallow it again. The lights familiarized as they showed no sign of relenting, and there stood one man in the brilliance. His back was turned to me, yet, I knew who he was. The man who had turned my life into a series of twists and turns, none leading towards any worthwhile destination.
My first psychiatrist: Dr. Strada.
Even without seeing his face, I knew it by heart. The way his nose claimed too much real estate on his face, the way it bent slightly downwards, shadowing the lack of curve in his straight lips. His dull brown eyes that were masked behind glasses too slim to frame his face. His dirty, messy, repulsive hair slick with grease and spread in patches across his scalp. The man's body language screamed his lack of confidence and coherence; the characteristics that sent me across the world in the first place.
He turned to me, all his features burning my skin as if they were red-hot coals. He motioned his hand to a chaise lounge that materialized abruptly. My body moved with the gesture, as if pulled by his motion like a puppet on strings. I tried to resist, but, to no avail. There was no escape here; he was the master and I was the subordinate.
His eyes, empty and lifeless, stared towards my now lying body, as if examining me. He resembled a hyena, injured and desperate for prey, as it looked at scraps left behind from stronger forces of nature. I was scraps left behind from Alex, a shell of the boy I once was, and he… he was the predator who wished to eat me.
His mouth opened, at first no noise came out. I stared, my body still not responding to my desperate urges to run, to run far away from this man and return to the darkness that sheltered me. I wanted to return to nothing, I wanted to become nothing. I didn't want to be made into something, to be molded into his rubric of mental brokenness.
Without warning, his voice rang out in a flurry of questions, each and every one echoing off sudden enclosing walls.
"When did this first come about? This, other personality of yours?"
"Why is he called Alex? Did you know a boy named Alex in your childhood?"
"You say Alex only wants to play volleyball? Why is that?"
"Alex takes control of your body, you say? What happens when he takes control?"
"Why do you feel that way? Why do let Alex take over?"
"Could it be, that Alex is simply a figment of your imagination?"
All his questions raged in the closing room, each resounding louder than the last. My body became a swarm of senses, each word, each syllable, each letter a crawling bug under my skin. I felt like I was being devoured from the inside-out. I wanted release from this hell; this hell that was my life.
But the storm, the storm was only beginning.
It felt like an eternity under Dr. Strada's claim. Each question poured from his mouth like sewage, sickening my body; and with each question, the walls collapsed closer and closer unto us, until, we were face to face. His lifeless eyes bore into my own, his mouth agape and dark. I wanted to scream, I wanted to do anything to get him away.
Suddenly, my body lurched away from Dr. Strada, slamming into the wall behind me. The wall was cold, and my body having been heated by his features, groaned in cooling. It pained me to feel the wall, to know that it had just pushed me towards him and bounced those imposing questions onto me. I wanted to close my eyes and wish this all away, and for a second, I got that wish.
The moment the darkness came back, the feeling of nothing surrounding me, I felt free. Here, the darkness could not hurt me, no, I was the darkness: we were one. My body dissipated, only to be forcefully formed again as the lights returned in grander luminance.
Before me stood Dr. Strada, and hundreds of faceless figures. Each one bore the outfit of a psychiatrist, each holding a clipboard to their chest. They all moved as one, their eyes, so void of life, of understanding or sympathy, took to my own. My eyes burned with the contact, tears flowing like a river in a rainstorm.
I knew what torture awaited me, and I knew that I could do nothing to stop it. Their mouths followed, one by one, and each shrieked out questions, some the same, some different. The questions did not come straight to me, but, began to fill the room like water. As the water rose, so did the volume and repetition of their words.
"Alex, is it? That's the one in your head?"
"Alex is the boy who plays volleyball for you? You made a deal with him to do that?"
"Alex uses you."
"Alex isn't you."
"I want to speak to 'Alex'."
"Alex isn't real. None of what you're thinking is real!"
"Alex, Alex, ALEX!"
It was never the boy in front of them that mattered, it was the boy inside of him. It was always about Alex and not me, I was never asked how I felt. They all wanted to know about Alex, as if he were this saint or grand being. He wasn't, he was the worst thing to happen to me, to everyone. Nothing good has ever come from Alex; all the good things that do happen come for him and him only! He's the one with the skill, he's the one with the talent; he's the one with everything! And I'm just left here, a shell, a pawn, a puppet in his grasp to use for his gains.
My body pulses wildly, and all my pent-up rage explodes into the sea of questions. I feel myself become nothing, and then expand across the sea like a cloud. I crack thunder and pour, my emotions rampaging in the stormy sea. The true self illuminating the sky with lightning.
I am nothing, and I am all.
Alex POV:
I stand alone on the dark court, the white lines the only things I can see. I hear voices, but see no one speaking. With a flash, a light rises and falls and propels itself towards me. The light enthralls me, calling for me to catch it before it fades away. I will myself to move in tandem to its path, all my being going into saving this light from dying.
But, my body does not move. I watch as the light falls to the ground, breaking into a million fragments that litter the court like stars in the sky. The stars shine, revealing boys, boys who resemble my teammates from years past and present. Their faces all carved with disgust as they look to me.
"Maybe you're not as good as you said you were. You couldn't save that ball."
"You're pathetic. How could you have ever made it to the championships? No wonder you lost."
"What? Your body already at its limit? Are you gonna fall again and pass out?"
"Give up, you can't play."
"You're a loser!"
Their words stab into my soul, my body falling to the floor in agony. How could they say that? I couldn't move, I couldn't get to the ball. They have no right to attack me for something I couldn't control! Control?! Was I not in control? Was that why I didn't move? Why am I not in CONTROL!?
I flare and burn, my blood coursing fire through me. A thousand lights similar come towards me, and in that moment I feel no other feeling but to receive them all. I push my body beyond its limit, saving light after light from falling to the floor, each save sending them into the darkness above.
After countless lights ascending into the darkness, my body stops. I cannot move again, why, why can I not move anymore. I'm in control, I need to move; I need to save them all. I need to prove them wrong, prove them all wrong. I belong on this court, this is my home. I can't let them take it from me.
The lights above center on to me, fully bathing me in radiant light. I try to shield myself from the shine, but, they push me down. I fall, the solid ground of the court no longer below me. I fall for what feels like forever, and I come to realize the lights above are the stars in the night sky, and that I was one of those stars. I fall until the stars are no longer visible, replaced by the cracks of thunder and flashes of lightning. I become one with the storm and let my emotions rage outwards.
I am nothing, and I am all.
Both:
Eventually, my body runs out of emotions to call upon. The rain, the thunder and lightning, all cease. I become nothing again, but the sea below me still waves and crashes. After some time, the waves still and I submerge into the sea.
I feel the water move me, guiding me towards a destination. I do not fight it, for there is no more storm, no more torture or pain to be had. I let the current flow, each twist and turn relaxing my being into submission. For the first time since this all began, my eyes close and the darkness swallows me again.
I am a dream, and I am a storm.