Train station depression

April 17th

I am rarely out of the house after the twilight. Unless it is absolutely necessary, when it gets dark I’d rather be home. Yesterday was one of those moments that I had to be out late at night — I was picking up my sister and her fiancé and their dog from the train station. In itself, that shouldn’t be a problem — and it wasn’t. But I got to the train station about half an hour before their train arrived and had a walk around the building and the surrounding areas. It was a deeply unpleasant and downright depressing walk.

I love trains, train stations, the rolling stock, and the entire infrastructure of railways. I love daydreaming on the train, while the wheels rhythmically go round and round. But I know that if, for any reason, I am at the train station after dark I need to leave it as soon as possible. Keep my head down and make for the exit without so much as a look at the dregs of society that the train station attracts. Yesterday instead of doing that, I just walked around against my better judgment.

There were plenty of people who had already given up on their lives, their dignity, and any hopes for a place in society. There were plenty of those just looking around for a “sponsor” for that next fix or a drink. There were some women looking for a desperate guy with some money or a place to stay. There were plenty of tired people with bags and suitcases waiting for the next train. There were plenty of people just walking around because they had nothing better to do with their lives. They all could do that there because the train stations give a sense of anonymity and are public places always open. Even an evening before Easter.

All that was depressing enough. But there was also something else I noticed. A woman with two small children and several big suitcases. The woman looked like she was crying and had a terribly dejected look on her face. But she was also smiling and trying to reassure the children that their train will arrive soon, that all that is just a big adventure, that everything will be fine. Children were playing along with her assurances, but one look as I was walking by was enough to know that they were just pretending to keep their mother from falling apart. Some life-shattering tragedy befell this family, and they were just trying to stay afloat, not to give in to hopelessness.

That was enough. I went outside and stood there while waiting for the train, bringing my sister and her fiancé. The sense of deep depression and despair I felt then is still with me today. But I know I don’t have to go back to this station again. Not for a while, anyway. For some, there might not be such a luxury. Come evening, once it gets darker — they will float back there, just trying to survive one more night.