Another thing I think that's so tragic about Eddie and Volt is... are the other versions of Eddie lonely?
Because here's the thing, we get a lot of explanations for how "different versions" can work for objects. Different types of hangers are all actually different individual Hanks, but they're still part of the hivemind (as denoted by the wiki). There's Dirk/Clarence, who is really just one object, but he has a different personality for when he's with and away from Harper. Every table you meet is just Abel, one in the same, and it's like that for lights/Lux, and chairs/Chairemi, too. And there's Dorian, who's form/personality might change a little with the type of door (Tiny Dorian/Trap Dorian), but Skylar implies that they all are just one guy who is a fan of playing dress-up, similar to Dirk/Clarence. And then you get conversations with objects who have a glance at the outside world, like Wyndolyn and Curt and Rod, and they'll mention the curtains at the last house (implying Curt is not all the curtains), or Wyndolyn will talk about the window across the street like it's another person (implying Wyndolyn is not all windows). You even get mentions of objects we don't see outside of the house. Doug talks about his friend Abby Abandonment who won't text him back. Mikey Transaction's parents are the concept of Addiction and a Roulette Wheel and his ex-wife Stacy is a distant star, and his kids (who we do see) haven't even garnered object statuses yet.
So all this being said, maybe other versions of breaker boxes aren't Eddie, but we have no way of knowing because each house only has one. But if other versions of Eddie do exist in other breaker boxes... Most (if not all) of them probably exist without Volt.
And the thing is, they probably don't even know what they're missing out on. Volt was born—made—out of a moment of panic and pain and desperation. If you ask Volt, he'll tell you with a tight smile that it's a good thing the other versions of Eddie aren't hurting enough to have gotten to that point. And Eddie—Volt's Eddie—will look more conflicted by that response than he ever has at anything in his life.
Because Eddie wants Volt to be alive. And Volt wants to be alive. Volt wants to be with Eddie. To both of them, a world without the other sounds like hell on earth. Eddie would live through hell a hundred more times if it means he gets to keep Volt. But at the same time, Volt would give up his entire existence if it was the easiest route to Eddie's happiness—if it caused Eddie less pain.
And so to imagine that there are versions of Eddie out there—ones who managed their maintenance better. Ones whose wires didn't fray as easily. Ones who didn't bottle things up until they blew a fuse and brought other people into their problems—into existence... It's infuriating.
But at the same time those versions of Eddie will always be incomplete, and never know it. They'll always have the electricity running through them, two halves as one whole, and never get to experience the joy—the love—of touching their fingers to Volt's, closing the circuit, and feeling the sparks fly.
The circuit will always be closed for those versions of Eddie, the ones who are stable, and maybe it's better that way, better than being split and broken and held together by something as fragile as love.
But Eddie—Volt's Eddie—can't help but feel sorry for the poor bastards. All of them.
