Image Source: JPGFOTOS
Between black and white lies subtlety and nuance. Shades of gray and pale, balance and symmetry. Comfort in the margins. I try to straddle the line, to keep my balance in the middle. I have been too low before.
I have known the depths of black. I’ve lived the terror of merely showing up: at school, never knowing when and where the next attack would come from; at social situations, not trusting that I wouldn’t make a fool of myself. I’ve felt the agony that kept me barely functional, sometimes kept me unable to even get out of bed, always left me wondering WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME that I can’t just get past the depression.
I have lived with loss and felt like I was losing it all. I’ve done things I never would have thought I would do just to see if I still felt. I’ve lived hard and wondered if I would make it to advanced age. I’ve lived with the ferocity of the gods and left myself a shell of an existence.
I have seen myself get ahead of myself, spiraling away like eddies on the water. I’ve caught up with myself, and gotten away from myself again. I’ve repeated patterns that should never be repeated.
I have watched my life spin completely out of control and crash into a wall.
And I’ve recovered and found balance. I’ve conquered demons and found peace. I’ve struggled and regained control. I’ve worked to reclaim and rewrite myself. I’ve pulled myself out of the black, and into the gray.
I am in a gray area. Gray suits me well.