I’m sorry American readers but here in little England, we spell it grey and I can’t bring myself to spell it any other way.
Today’s post has nothing to do with the shittily-written, lame ass attempt at word porn; I merely thought the title accurately represents how I feel. Grey.
80% of the time I am a vivid, colourful firecracker of a personality. My hair changes colour each week – one week hot pink balyage, the next icy blue. My eyes are always made up in vibrant hues of pinks, blues and purples, my body tattooed with images that tell my story (there are still more to be added – DAMN YOU bank account!) It is no secret that, like Marmite, I am an acquired taste. You either love me, or hate me. It’s generally the latter. And whether I am loved or despised, I cannot be described as bland. Honest? Talkative? Inquisitive? Excessive? Intense? Yes. Bland? No.
But I find myself in this perpetual state of grey. The shades vary throughout the day but all within that fucking spectrum of grey. I am fully aware that this is bipolar disorder being a c**t – I’m a smart enough woman to understand my illness and know that the lack of sunlight and leaving for work in the dark does wonders for stoking the fires of depression. I know all of this, yet does it help to alleviate the gloom? Does it fuck.
I have some general shittiness present in my life right now but hey who doesn’t? I have no right to feel this way. It makes me angry. I know I have bipolar disorder yet I wonder why I am feeling this way. I have so much to look forward to right now – a life-changing scenario literally lies on the horizon. An opportunity so immense that it would make the majority of people jump back-flips on the spot whilst whooping it up. But still, grey.
I could literally be dumped in the middle of Disney World right now and still I would have that little black rain cloud looming over my head. The frustration is immense.
I know that I should clean the house, learn new choreography, get my work laptop out, drive into town to pick up the bits I’ve been meaning to get for weeks. I know that I should take the 5 minute walk to the post box to mail the letters I wrote on 2nd January. And yet I don’t. I lay with my eyes wide open and I stare into space; my head full of everything and nothing. And so the cycle continues.
Give me anything but grey.