The Gifted: Holes in my Humanity

Deeper holes than mine have been dug. Some have even buried themselves in their holes. At least mine still has some semblance of light above. Or perhaps that is just a trick of my mind. It's getting harder to tell. What I do know, is that this hole is getting smaller and smaller, the deeper I dig. The deeper I dig, the darker it gets, the more I forget and the harder it is to tell things for what they are.

When had I decided that digging was enough? It was probably the same time that I realized I had forgotten the most important thing I had to lose. It wasn't my parents. They were lost already. My siblings? All but one is lost, and that one doesn't mean to rescue any one of us. It isn't out of hate, no. It's out of respect for us. We're not that far down, when compared to others. Anyway, I digress. I didn't lose my family, as they had all been lost or just filling their hole up so they don't fall back in. Unfortunately, that means burying some of us. I hadn't the heart before, to bury someone else. Especially a family member. But that was before. That was before I had realized I had lost my greatest gift. Myself.

In losing myself, my identity, my reasoning, and worst of all, my gifts and talents, had all but vanished. A name is nothing, without an identity. A name is a word. A word is devoid of meaning if one does not give it a meaning. My name has no meaning now. It's just another empty word. An empty hole in which I sit, contemplating my misery. But how do I get out? This hole is so deep, none of the sky is visible anymore. Not even a gleam of light. Maybe, just maybe, there is a glow of light, as through a thick mist or a shade. But light, actual light? I haven't seen it for ages. I have forced myself to believe that I do see the light, tricked myself into thinking that my hole isn't so deep after all, and that there is a bottom to this. A bottom, there is not. Light, there is not. Me, there is not. Not anymore. There is only darkness. Darkness, misery, and a deeper hole.

"Darkness inescapable", is a wonderful phrase to put here. That's what we all feel, trapped down here in our dark, dirty hole we've dug for ourselves. Isn't it? We don't question it. We don't fight it. We don't change it. We only dig. We only dig deeper, further into madness until we are utterly taken by it, and it runs beyond our control. We don't see it creeping in. Not until it's too late. Not until it's already claiming us and everything that makes us a person is stripped away and fed to the ever-hungering darkness that desires its own persona. Am I mad for thinking so? Perhaps. But if I am, then I am mad and still, somehow, possessing enough of me to think so. Maybe this is all a terrible illusion. A dream in which I am awake and clinging to a semblance of the scraps that is left of my humanity.

Dark, darker, darkest. What comes next, I wonder? What stage have I reached? Is my hole dark? Darker? Or is it at its darkest? Is there a deeper darkness than darkest? Who cares? Do I really, truly care what colour I sit in? Why, yes. Yes, I do. I want to see colours. I want to feel them on my fingertips. I want to smell them on the air. I want to sit in a myriad of colours and know that they exist. I want to leave the darkest darkness, and I want to know myself again. I want my gifts. Those special so-called talents that take me to another world, that bring a colour to the world. I want to make a colour.