We pull into a station and I think, maybe I could kill myself, maybe that wouldn’t be so bad. The family a few seats up and over the aisle chatter over each other with the high pitched nasal wonder of northern tourists. I wish I didn’t care. My body starts feeling conspicuous so I wrap an arm across my stomach and say an invisibility prayer. If I don’t look I won’t know if they don’t see me. Somewhere past central I stop not crying and ready myself for the end of my trip. Maybe it won’t be so bad.
Nic Addenbrooke is a freelance writer, editor, content creator, radio broadcaster, part-time poet and sometimes artist. Nic has been coming to terms with existence for years. He currently lives and works in Brisbane where he struggles to turn the cacophony of voices in his head into things of substance. It doesn’t always work but occasionally produces a nice veneer of sanity.