tonight, like every other night, william was behind his computer playing COD with random people online. his headset broke a year ago, yet he didn't bother to fix it nor buy a new one because he never talked during his games. he didn't like the comments his teammates would usually add during the game, he hated when they yelled once one of them screwed up their plan or when they laughed at each others jokes and most of all he hated when they asked him questions unrelated to the game or when they commented on his silence.
the light of the lamp by his bed flickered
'seems like the light bulb needs to be changed' he thought as he paused the game.
he got up and went out of his room, the corridor leading to the broom closet was dark.
william foster was 26 years old, he lived alone in a small studio apartment in a bad neighborhood. he was a simple construction worker so he couldn't afford anything better.
he opened the door of the closet and at his right he saw a shoe box filled with wires and trinkets. he rummaged through it but found nothing. on his left, he opened the dusty cabinet and found what he was looking for.
going back to his room he closed the door silently and walked towards the lamp.
his mom always nagged him when he was a teenager to decorate his room in their old house, he never liked putting up posters of musicians or movies on the walls nor did he like to place figurines on his desk. he simply liked his room bare and nothing changed after 10 years. his room right now was a small squared space, with blank white walls with cracked paint all over and a small window right in front of the door. the view down from his room was of a dirty alley way, a dumpster was its permanent resident so he rarely opened his window, the awful smell never disappeared even when the garbage man came to empty it. back inside, to the door's right was a bed and a nightstand on top of it stood his flickering lamp and on his left was a desk with his computer and squeeky old chair. the only other furniture left was a small wooden wardrobe that didn't age well and a plane beige moquette that was embroidered with more red stains than a butcher's shirt. it wasn't blood, just wine.
william walked up to his lamp and put his hand of the hot bulb
' tomorrow i get my pay for the week, after i finish work i need to go by the grocery shop and get some food, the fridge is emptier than my wallet right now'
lost in thought, he didn't realize that his hand was still on the burning hot bulb, the burning sensation he was feeling on his fingertips made him shudder. yet, he didn't move his hand.
he always was different from the other kids back in primary school, they used to cry whenever they fell and hurt their knees but he never disliked the feeling of physical pain.
honestly, it was the only thing he ever felt. pain was an old friend of william but never an unwelcomed one.
At 13 of age, he used to hear his parents talk in their room in the middle of the night about him when they thought he was asleep, he could hear the sound of his mother's weeping and whining
''he never smiles! never frowns! x i'm really scared, is he broken? is my baby broken??''
she cried and asked his father, god and sometimes the devil.
it was always like this, she would blame herself and pray every night. she didn't know why her son never smiled or acted like the other kids of the neighborhood. he never took the initiative and went outside to play, he never asked for any toy, he never yelled back when grounded. he always accepted everything and said and done nothing. it scared her, she read a lot about kids like him in books, kids that turned out to be depraved sociopaths in the future. but her son never hurt any animal, he never purposely hurt kids at his school, but at the same time he never helped anyone when they were hurt. he would just stare at everything and everyone with lifeless, indifferent eyes.
eyes that reminded her of a living doll.
'dear, i think that maybe we need to seek professional help. a friend of mine knows a good psychologist'
william didn't eavesdrop on purpose, the walls just were too thin and his room was next to his parents. insomnia never left his nights as a teen so all he could do was listen to his parents speak all night
and when he started going to the psychologist, nothing changed.
..
the psychologist was a lovely looking woman in her thirties, she always had a smile on her face. her name was dr. flin. on his first day, she started asking him questions he thought were dumb
''william, how are you today?''
she smiled as she led him to the chair in front of her desk
'i'm fine' he used to say, his parents taught him that people ask others about their feelings on a daily basis and the polite way to respond is by being brief and honest
''william can you tell me what you like to do in your free time?''
william never did anything in his free time. he wakes up, has breakfast, goes to school, comes back, eats, studies then he sits in the living room with his parents who always watch tv at night until the clock hits 8pm and he goes to bed. it was his routine and he never felt it lacking.
''i don't do anything in my free time''
the smile on her lovely face quivered for a second
''what do you mean nothing?''
william then told her his daily routine and she nodded.
'it seems that it might be depression'
she thought
" can you tell me what you used to do when you were younger? hobbies you used to like to do but stopped recently?"
william thought about her question for a second.
'things i used to like?' i used to like that tv show mother put on when i was 10, i forgot its name though. it was good, i think.
so he voiced his honest thoughts to her and her smile vanished.
" what about when you were 7 or 8? didn't you lile going outside to play with other kids your age?"
william was confused and annoyed now
' why does she keep asking the same question? am i not being clear enough or does she just not like my answer?'
his confusion was clear on his face and that worried the psychologist even more
" i used to play with them when mother asked of me" he replied
'mother?' she thought
" didn't you ever go outside with them on your own without your mom asking you to?''
he shook his head.
'maybe it's something deeper than depression' she thought
and the conversation continued like that, the woman asked him trivial questions and he responded honestly, until
''william can you tell me, do you have fun in your everyday life?''
william pondered for a second, he was trying to understand her meaning of 'fun' but he couldn't understand it so he asked her
'' what do you mean by fun?''
his sincerity and the curiosity behind his eyes worried her so she took a different approach
''william, do you feel happy when your favorite tv show comes on tv? or do you feel sad when you hurt yourself? or angry if something doesn't go your way?''
william was confused now, he didn't know what to say. on one hand, the words she said were known words for him. he hears about them everyday but he never really understood them. and now that she was counting these examples, he realized that whatever he felt was not these things, because if his favorite tv show was on or if his mom yelled at him for not doing his bed or if his father took away his phone, he never felt distinctively between those events. he always felt the same and he didn't know what that feeling was. he didn't understand anything about himself and that scared him.
his body jolted
'what is that?' he looked down and saw his hands trembling, his heart was beating fast and his mouth felt dry
'what is happening to me?'
''dear is everything okay??''
the woman sat up from her chair trying to reach for him but william was not listening.
he was looking down at his hands, trying to understand what is happening to his body
'am i sick? why am i trembling? did i catch the flu?'
suddenly a droplet of water touched his cold hand and he was more confused now
'water? is the ceiling leaking?' and another drop touched his other hand
''william are you okay? why are you crying?''
suddenly the psychologist's voice wasn't just background noise and he could understand her words
'crying? me? but why?'
his hand instinctively touched his cheek, and indeed he felt it wet.
'excuse me, i didn't mean to' he said, his mother always told him that if he ever made a mistake he should apologise for it.
her frown deepend 'what are you talking about? and you didn't answer me, why are you crying?'
' this kid looks more confused than i am, it seems that he's conflicted about his feelings. maybe..'
''william, can you please answer my last question?'' she asked calmly sitting back on her chair
he remembered her question about his feelings but didn't know how to answer
''i'm sorry but i don't understand what you're asking. i always felt fine''
"are you feeling fine now?" she asked
he nodded "yes, i feel fine" he answered as more tears escaped his brown lifeless eyes.
and from that day onward, he went to the psychologist 3 times a week, she kept asking him the same questions and new ones and he answered with the same answers. until the end of his 5th session when she told william's parents what she found out
" william has a small case of shizoid personality disorder, it doesn't help that he's an alexithimic"
''what is that?'' his mother was biting her nails, a habbit she picked up ever since her only child was born
" alexythimia is a personality trait of sorts, it is characterized by the inability to indentify or describe one's emotions"
''what?!'' to the dr flin's surprise, it was the father who yelled
''how can he have no feelings? does he not say what he's feeling? can't he communicate properly? are you sure?'' the mother bombarded the dr with her questions
''ma'am, it's like asking a french to talk about himself in english. he doesn't understand the language to speak it, that's x's life. he feels like a stranger in his own body, his body has the instinct every human has but his brain can't comprehend them. he's like a book that has no story to tell''
"can you fix him?" the father asked
" he needs to go to a therapist, i will prescribe him anti depressants to ease the symptoms but the reason he's deatched is because of shizoid. he's not cold hearted, he is indifferent. not only to others but to himself too. he will never change and get better without external help. he's a logical person, almost robotic. his monotone description of his daily life made me understand a bit about the way he views people and life in general and i won't lie to you, it's bad" she took a deep breath and continued
" to him, humans are just blobs that exist, he neither hates them nor love them, everything else like entertainment and social activities are a job to him, he does them for your sake not his. he doesn't interact with people because he doesn't understand their feelings so he always says the wrong thing at the wrong time which led him to believe he's impolite. that made him closed off from this world, and the thing is that he doesn't hate it. he just feels indifferent, he accepts anything thrown at him so i think with time it'll get better, there's hope if you take the right approach"
..