“You bitch. You’re like a terrorist, aren’t you?”
The look of disgust curled the corners of her mouth as she spat out the words at the startled foreign woman sitting across from her. Her short haircut was as crude as her attitude. Her body sat rigidly, overflowing in the seat facing the belly of the bus. Her gaze met the tops of heads and turned cheeks as the other passengers averted their eyes to avoid the awkwardness of the moment.
An unsuspecting flurry of new passengers spilled down the bus and as one woman prepared to take the empty seat a dozen voices screamed a warning at her in the thoughts of those watching in vain. As she squeezed into the space the voice squeaked at her with surprise, “you’re too fat to sit there!” and she experienced a trinity of emotions within mere seconds - disbelief, confusion and humiliation.
The ramblings continued with agonising momentum as the bus lurched around corners, weaving through morning traffic. The victims willed every green light and brows furrowed in pity from the silent bystanders. As I watched on from my own safe seat I thought of the donations to Beyond Blue and Headspace; of the “nobility” of giving a voice to the darkness that is depression. I also thought of a life with an unforgiving soundtrack of taunts and insults with no volume control or pause button.
There’s nothing glamorous about mental illness. And we’re nowhere near prepared for the epidemic they say is just around the corner.
