It was a sunny morning, I was sitting inside an almost empty train. Unsurprisingly, I caught myself in the midst of my deepest thoughts. I have been living inside my head, chained by my own thoughts.
“How long have I been here?” I asked myself, unaware if I said it aloud.
Then reality hit me and found myself again inside that same train, now almost full. I noticed this man, alone and lonely and confused, sitting on the opposite side, looking right at me and I was looking right at him. He seemed so familiar to me, and by the way he looked at me, I knew that he felt the same way.
I lost track of how long we stared at each other or if we ever had blinked. At that moment, I wasn’t just looking at him — I was looking right through him, inside him, behind the obvious walls that he built. I saw pain, distress and agony in him and all over him.
I could feel it.
I felt it.
His eyes were telling sad stories I was sure I was told before, but couldn’t recall. They were all familiar. The longer I stared at him, the more I understood the stories and they got sadder, one by one and then all at once.
I wanted to help him. But I couldn’t.
How could I do something to others what I could not even do to myself?
Once again, reality hit me. And when I looked around, the train was empty, and the familiar guy was gone.
The moment I stood up, I noticed my reflection. It was the familiar guy.
And it was me all along.
“How long have I not been myself?”, I asked myself. I was sure this time I said it loud and clear.
> I wrote this short story during my emotional breakdown to express what I felt, and I would like to dedicate this to people who have been trying to contain everything on their own.
