Color scale

The day that my heart stopped beating wasn’t my last. The day that my soul left my body wasn’t my last. The day that my tearing eyes looked up and said goodbye was not my last. It feels empty. It feels hollow. You could knock on me and hear my body echo back with sad whispers from my mind. You can see it in my face, the pale resistance to life, draining all color from my cheeks. It feels grey, it feels like I live in a black and white movie, but I’m the only colorless. Once in a while, I will meet a grey person like me, but we will only nod and acknowledge our “problems” and pretend that neither one of us exists and leaves.

The soft dawn of each day does not excite me like it used to; it watches me from afar and reminds me of all the things I haven’t accomplished and all things I won’t. It is tearing me apart each day like string from an awfully sewed hem of a dress that does not have any use anymore. “Why would you even bother trying to fix it?” they say, and I ask the same question as I look into the mirror each morning. I can barely stand to do that anymore.

My past and present mistakes eat me up like I am their last meal, hungrily taking all vitality out of my skin. I start to panic each time they enter my mind, the terror of my reality sinking in. “You’re a horrible person,” they whisper, and as I ignore them, they get louder, screaming at me. I am a horrible person. I start to think. Then I look at my evidence and realize it is not just a thought but a truth.

I’ve ruined my life, people tell me I have time to turn it around, but they don’t know half of it. I lie to them to make sure that I am not so judged, but that only worsens me. I lie, time and time again, forcing them to believe that I’m not hurting that bad. I’m not that broken. But the sellotape wears thin. It’s only a matter of time before I crumble before them and reveal the scary truth of my sins and sorrows.

Take me away from this place, somewhere where I can start over. Please, someone, let me start over. I’m not ready for this game. I don’t know the controls! But I keep telling them I do. “I’m just off my game today” No, I am not. I was never on my game to start with, and it burns. It burns my life up. Soon I will be just ashes. There will be no phoenix, just a pile of ash to throw out. It breaks me. It taunts me. What can I do to fix this?