Leap Year

The pain is relentless. I may appear calm and serene as I stand on the platform; however, my brain is waging war against itself. The battle is no different to every other battle being waged around the planet; light vs dark.

There are no other people in the subway station. The platforms have emptied out into the streets above for the biggest celebration of the year: New Year's Eve. It's one minute to midnight and I’m finally alone. I don’t need to see the ball drop.

Context matters with my struggle, of course. The dark forces genuinely feel they are in the right. They deserve the attention, the resources, the win. This is true, whether the dark force is an army of conscripted soldiers in an authoritarian army or just a cluster of misfiring neurones in someone’s head.

My dark forces are strongest when I’m alone. I surround myself with hustle and bustle as much as possible, in the hope that external noise and voices outweigh the noise inside my head. That makes this moment of silence on the train platform particularly dangerous.

I don’t remember when my battle started, but it has been relentless. The light forces rise and I become the person I long to be; warm, loving, empathic. Then the inevitable rebound kicks in and I become someone I hate; selfish, cold, and distant. And so the pendulum swings.

A voice tries to penetrate my thoughts; an announcement for an approaching train. That voice, however, is lost amongst the babble of malicious voices inside my head. The announcement is simply not enough to drag me out of my head and into the world around me.

The dark forces inside my head are memories, tapes of my youth, replaying constantly. How can anyone love you? You’re not good enough. You’re weak. You don’t deserve love. What will people think? You’re so selfish. They’ve left me sensitive and defensive, fearful of judgement. Even the most innocent of comments from a trusted loved one can trigger a cascade of anxiety and pain.

I feel the air start to swirl around me as a train approaches, heralded by the smells of old urine, fresh urine, and general rotting garbage. The noise of the train on the tracks whooshes ahead of the train itself, threatening the external quiet demanded by the dark forces inside my head, interrupting their cacophony.

Even in the depths of my darkest days, the small nugget of light inside my brain puts up  a brave fight. But that nugget is easily overwhelmed. I wish I could nurture it, honour it, cling to it. But I ignore it, deny its existence; the pain is overwhelming and demands all my attention. I have no brain space left over for social niceties, such as respect or consideration for my fellow man.

The fetid wind has really picked up now, and the metallic noise of wheels on tracks screeches down the tunnel. I can see the light of the train, growing in size as it approaches the platform.

My light is nurtured by love, reassurance, and understanding. My loved ones try their best to drag me out of the dark, and sometimes they actually succeed. Most of the time, though, they just have to ride it out while I struggle with the pain inside my head. It’s hard on them. I know my pain causes pain in others; it isn’t an enclosed ecosystem that exists solely within myself.

The light of the train has almost reached the exit of the tunnel. My hair would be blowing wildly around my face, if I actually had any hair on my polished head. I can no longer separate the roaring stench into distinct smells; they’ve merged into a rotting melange, mimicking the despair inside my mind. And, at last, the sound of wind and wheels has quieted the raucous noise from my dark side.

My biggest fear is that, one day, my nugget of light starves completely and winks out. The few loved ones I have left abandon me, mourning the loss of my light. They see my struggle, they know my pain, and they tolerate me for the lighter times. Should the light inside me die, I would be alone. The dark would finally win this war.

As the train erupts from the tunnel at the far end of the platform and begins screeching to a halt, I have to ask myself; is this it? Is this the year I leap?