People always ask, How am I? How am I doing? How do I feel?
I always reply, I'm ok.
Why? Because that's the short, quick answer that they have the time to listen to.
Because they will not understand, how difficult it is to answer their seemingly simple question.
This is how I feel this evening.
Red sky.
What else is red?
Blood.
Oh. A red car.
But red sky. The colour of... Emotion. Human.
Anger? Maybe.
But Human. Alive. Life.
But that's not the colour of my heart.
My heart? It's dark. Very dark. Black maybe.
Red is the colour of anger. Of overwhelming emotions. My emotions are red now. But that's not the only colour that I am feeling.
I feel...
Splash. Crash. Bang. Tin after tin of paint. Anger. Confusion. Crash. Louder now. Throwing tin after tin. Throwing so hard that they crash against the floor, against each other. They bounce off and make more horrendous noises. Noises that makes it harder to think, harder to calm down.
It goes on. Like torture. Like relief. There is no other sound, except tin against tin, tin against floor. And blood begins to flow.
Red.
Blue.
Green.
Orange. Yellow. Brown.
Thick and slow. They mix. Horrendous colours. Disgusting. Ugly. All too bright, too glaring for anyone to like.
And then black flows.
Black flows through the mess of unsightly colours, winding its way through colour after colour, like a disease reaching in.
Black fills the canvas, drowns out the glare.
Black rolls over, directionless, reaching out as far as it can.
Slowly, the noise creeps away. Tin against tin, tin bouncing off.
Slowly, the crashes soften, retreat. An echoing hollow.
Slowly, another sound fills the air. Until the tins are quiet. Rolling slightly. Reeling from the impact.
The sound goes on, almost constant. Despair.
The tins have stopped, unmoving.
The floor is a dirty landscape, worth nothing, a waste of effort to clean.
But now the feeling is peaceful, calm. Quiet, if you know what quiet feels like.
Nothing else is moving any longer.
Nothing else can be done.
The sound goes on.
Peace.
Calm.
Quiet.
And every other day? It is different.
Every day it is different. I am never just 'ok'. There is always so much more that I don't want to say, or that I just don't have the time or energy or right situation to say.
signing out.
9:00 PM
