I’m trying to figure out how I feel today. I thought about writing a poem, but nothing is coming to mind. Damn these meds, sometimes I think they almost surgically cut out my creativity. I’m not depressed, or I could write, I do my best writing when I’m depressed. I’m not happy, cause I’m not joking around and shit like I usually do. I just AM, and it’s frustrating as hell. I know I’m going to have to write something for English Comp this week, and I sure hope I break out of this rut. I have come to a messure of acceptance about some things, like I gotta keep on taking these meds even though there’s a part of me that feels smashed in a corner by them, and is struggling to be free.
So I’m looking at themes for my new blog and I see on the side “dark colors”. Yeah, dark colors, now there’s a concept. If you could look inside my mind, that’s all you could see, dark colors with sudden bursts of color intertwined. All my life I’ve been different, never fitting in, even with the outcasts. I mean, I have friends, but something about me, especially lately, has always kept them at arm’s length. Picture me on one side of a chasm, and my friends on the other, and the rope bridge between us has been cut. I wave with one hand, while the other holds a knife behind my back, wisps of rope hanging from it. I’m not any more or less depressed than I ever was, I just find myself wanting to be alone in my own world more than usual. Things that used to amuse me, no longer hold their charm, and I feel myself once again being pulled toward the darkness that I so recently crawled out of. It seems to reach out to me, and how I yearn for it, and yet part of me sees the progress I have made in just a few short months, and resists it. I know how that darkness feels, safe, and comforting, where the sharp points of other people’s feelings can’t poke at me, and make me feel. For years, I thought that was who I was, never wearing bright colors, cloaking myself in the one color that has come to mean safety to me. Not safe from physical harm, I’ve never been that deluded by my illness to think that, like others I know have. But safe from those intruding outside emotions that poke and prod, and make me feel, make my soul bleed for them. That darkness is so tempting, all I have to do is give in, I’m halfway there already. And yet, I haven’t given in yet…which has me wondering why. What is so different now than there was before? When I figure out the answer to that, I may not ever sucum to the darkness again.
