The streets are abandoned, and all that remains is the ghost-like auras of the streetlights that peer into the window of the bus. I feel comforted by them. They have always been my friends that accompanied me on my journey home.
My muscles are sore and my mouth feels dry. I can barely keep myself awake as I prop myself against the cool metallic wall of the bus. My head swims and I know that I will be feeling it throughout the rest of tomorrow. But I feel satisfied with even the unpleasant parts. They can never outweigh all that nights like these gave me.
5,000 people all dancing in harmony in a field in the middle of the woods. It’s our sanctuary. People come from wildly different socioeconomic statuses and life stories, but in that moment, none of that matters. We dance together into the depths of the night.
I found the group nearly nine months ago. And it’s changed my life.
I wouldn’t say that lightly. I’ve tried different religions, including everything from Paganism to Islam. I’ve tried several different therapists. I’ve completely altered my appearance twice in the past year.
But the only time that I’ve actually felt at peace with myself? As the calming repetitive beat of the music pulsates through the crowd and I’m jumping perfectly in tune with the rhythm, I can disappear, and the only thing that I can see and know is the darkness of the night around me. The bright division of the day can never compare to those moments. It’s only at night that the noise can stop. Without any more thoughts, I dance with ecstatic clarity as I break myself open to the night.
As the bus rolls closer to the heart of the city, the tall buildings threaten to swallow up the sky, but never quite achieve their goal. The street lights begin to talk to me. I hear their voices over the faint pulse of the dreamy electronic music that plays in my earbuds.
“We will never leave you,” they say. “No matter what happens, we will be here for you.”
I smile, although I have my doubts. I don’t know how anyone can make that promise. Much less an inanimate object.
“It doesn’t matter where you are,” they say. “Whenever you feel alone, you can just go out at night and we will be there.”
I peer straight into the center of one. I feel a sense of hope as I look into its core. The light is as bright as the sun, but it does not burn. I can see an alternate world hidden deep in its layers of light. One where I can live with myself. I hold onto it as tightly as I can. I’ve been searching for it everywhere I can possibly think of, yet these friends provide it effortlessly for me here.
I wonder why. I often feel like I’m not deserving of this gift. There are so many that have a worse life than I do. I should be more grateful. They should go speak to someone else. I feel a sudden and hot flash of guilt rush all over my skin, making me want to withdraw deeper into myself. Why me? I keep wondering.
“Nobody deserves to be alone,” they say.
I wait for them to say more. But there’s nothing else. Only the quiet of the night remains, and I sink into my seat, satisfied with the answer. I don’t need anything else.
I could easily spend days like this, just sitting on the bus, the lights my only company and the music intertwined with the faint hum of the road being the only sounds that I can hear. There’s no rushing around. There’s nothing to do. Nobody is going to bother me here.
Although it’s a long ride back to the city center, the stops count down nevertheless. There’s always a slight tinge of dread as I make my way home. The silence inside my house is a lot more uncomfortable than the silence of the night, regardless of whether or not I put on music to hide it. I have to deal with the burden of having a mind. I never know how I can come back home after a night like this. But I know at least that the field will be there for me again.
I wish I could erase my memory. I wish I could erase my past entirely. My fingers rub the scars on the inside of my arm. Even if I was able to forget completely, my body could never give the past up as easily.
I’m on the floor of my bathroom again. I’m shivering. My mind is thrashing around wildly as I cut deep into my skin. Then, the brief moment of peace hits as the pain roars up and blocks out all the despair that has infiltrated my body. But as I remove the blade and the blood starts to flow down my skin before thickening, the shame returns just as quickly as it had left. The lowliness returns. I feel sick of myself.
I’ve spent enough time hearing that I’m worthless, I don’t know why I had to keep saying it to myself.
At first I thought that if I went to enough of these raves that I would be able to forget entirely. The memories would fade completely in the background in those moments, but they would come back once more afterwards. I’ve made peace with that fact now. I know that although I can’t leave it behind completely, that I can at least find reprieve.
The next stop is mine. I can just barely make out the street names out of my window and they make up the final countdown before the night ends. And then it’s there. I pull the cord to request a stop, and the bus slows down to a halt. The song winds down as well. I slowly take my earbuds out and place them into my bag.
I get off the bus and into the night. A shiver ripples through my body as the cool air greets me. From the thin line of orange in the far distance, I can tell that dawn is only an hour or so off. I make my way towards my place. There isn’t a single step on my way home that isn’t illuminated by light from my companions.
I unlock the door of my place. The musty smells hit me. I have to shove my way through piles of old newspaper and bills that I still haven’t cleaned up. I come down from the rave completely. But although it’s a mess, every Saturday that I come home, a little bit of the light from the streetlights finds its way in. I pick a few things up. I’ll be waiting for next Saturday.