[ WP ] The night before Christmas , a train drunkenly pulls up right outside your house . It 's the Bipolar Express .

*Starlight Express, you must confess. Are you real? Yes or no? * 
 
 *Starlight express, answer me yes. I don ’ t want you to go. * 
 
 The words die slowly between my lips, and I turn my back to the slow falling dance of the fractal snowy thingies 
 falling from the sky. 
 
 Flakes. Snow Flakes. Man, that was such a crappy ending to such a beautifully started sentence. 
 
 Never mind my rambling, I ’ m drunk. I ’ ve been drunk for a while now. 
 
 I ’ ve been drunk since Matthew, if you want to know so bad. What ’ s that? You don ’ t want to know so bad. Course 
 you don ’ t, you ’ re just a reflection in the mirror. Man, I look old. 
 
 “ Hey Nick ”, I say, watching my cat watching me watch him by the door. “ Hungry? ” 
 
 Nick Carter ( yes, my cat is named after a Backstreet Boy. Shut up, they were popular back then ) eyes me for a 
 second, then turns around and leaves me. He ’ s not hungry. 
 
 `` Yeah, go!'' I scream. `` Leave me like Mat did. See if I care.'' 
 
 *Maybe I should open another bottle of wine*, I think. *It ’ s flag day. Got ta celebrate, right? * 
 
 I make way through the mess that ’ s my bedroom into the mess that ’ s my living room, from there to the mess that ’ s my kitchen. I open the mess that ’ s my fridge and take out another bottle of wine. 
 
 Keeping closed wine bottles in the fridge. Classy girl that I am. 
 
 This is when I hear the *tchoo tchoo* or however it is that we spell train sounds these days that I don ’ t know. I 
 think, “ Hey, the Starlight Express! ” Then I think, “ I don ’ t live in a musical. It ’ s just a train. ” 
 
 Then I think, “ There are no train tracks near my house ”, and I ’ m very, very confused. Blinding white light is 
 coming through the curtains flooding the house, and I ’ m very, very, very confused. 
 
 I make way back through the mess that ’ s my kitchen, back to the mess that ’ s my living room, and I open the 
 front door. 
 
 This ever happened to you? Something really weird happens to you when you are drunk, and you can ’ t really tell if 
 what ’ s happening is actually weird or if you ’ re just drunk? 
 
 Well, my weird thing is a big white train by my front porch, and there are no train tracks by my front porch. 
 
 “ Excuse me ”, I say, because, well… what else do you say to a train that materialized itself in front of you? 
 
 Out comes a man, from a sliding metal door. Hat in his head, blue uniform and nice, mustached smile. 
 “ Hello, Jessica ”, he says. “ Welcome to the Bipolar Train. ” 
 
 “ What the fuck is the Bipolar Train? ” I ask. Don ’ t judge me. I ’ m in no mood. 
 
 “ Care to step inside for a second? ” He says, and you know what? I do. I step inside and 
 we ’ re at a narrow corridor and there ’ s a big door in front of us that leads to whatever. 
 
 Maybe I mixed acid in my wine earlier and can ’ t remember? 
 
 Maybe I ’ m schizophrenic? That would be a nice addition to the list of stuff wrong with me according to the 
 Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders. 
 
 Maybe I miss Matthew so much I ’ m hallucinating? Is that possible? Can you go insane from a broken heart? 
 
 There ’ s a Brian Adam ’ s song there, somewhere. 
 
 “ Here you go, young lady ”, the man dressed like the conductor offers me a piece of paper and I take it. 
 
 It ’ s parchment and it ’ s gold, and it reads, “ What the Fuck is the Bipolar Express. A Guide. ” 
 
 And under it: 
 
 “ The world is made for winners. CEOs, lawyers, fathers, mothers, doctors. Functional, shiny people that celebrate 
 Christmas around a tree with family, turkey and subtle racism. If that ’ s you, great! Enjoy your life. And move along. 
 
 Because there ’ s a whole rest of us in the world, and this is who the Bipolar Express is for. The bleeding-hearted artists and the poets and the bums and the ballerinas. A whole world of people who are not in charge of anything. A whole group of individuals who weren ’ t really born with the skill set nor the tools to cope and deal with every day life. The *un*functionals. The disturbed. 
 The weirdos. Losers. 
 
 The Bipolar Express is the outcasts' crazy little way to celebrate Christmas. Welcome aboard! ” 
 
 I look up and the conductor is smiling. “ Welcome ”, he says, and he pulls open the big door in front of us. 
 
 On the other side is a long, wide corridor. Like, impossibly long and wide. Like a mansion main hall, I mean. With 
 freaking spiral staircases and Greek sculptures and shit and golden light. It ’ s filled with people dressed in all kinds of crazy clothing, doing all kinds of crazy shit. People carrying bottles of vodka around, screaming, dancing on their own. People pulling their own hair and smiling. People playing imaginary instruments. People sitting around smoking stuff from hookahs, dressed like they just stepped right out of the eighteenth century. 
 
 Maybe it's just time. Forty minutes, give or take? Is that about it? That's what I read online, anyway. 
 
 “ Merry Christmas ”, the conductor says, as I take a step inside the large room. 
 
 *Is that my math teacher Mrs. Johnson? * I think, eyeing an old lady by a fountain. 
 
 “ Hey ”, I say, to the conductor. “ Is this real? Or is this just the pills kicking in? ” 
 
 “ Does it matter? ” 
 
 He's smiling at me, and his eyes are bright blue. 
 
 A bathroom floor flashes in front of my eyes. A mess of a bathroom. What flashes in front of my eyes is the 
 dripping sound of water and an empty bottle of pills by the sink. 
 
 *Damn, took it long enough*, I think. What flashes in front of my eyes is the bathroom floor aligned with my line of sight. The floor tile is cold against my cheek, and my eyes are closing. 
 
 What flashes in front of my eyes is Matthew ’ s face, and how much I miss him. And how I'm so, so, so very happy I wo n't miss him anymore. 
 
 “ No, it doesn ’ t really matter ”, I tell the conductor. And then I smile. “ I ’ m just happy to be here. ” 
 
 ____________________ 
 
 *Thanks for reading! For more stories, check out /r/psycho_alpaca. * 
 
 Also, to whomever downvoted me literally 2 minutes after I posted, kudos on the speed reading skills. I hope you find happiness in life.
