A little bit of grey

This isn’t a sad, dark tale. But it isn’t going to be covered in pink clouds and lollipops, either. Sometimes things just aren’t that bright. This happens to be one of those times. The air is stale, no must or mildew, life hasn’t sat still that long. But there are no fresh flowers on the table and butterflies flying through the skies. Maybe it’s the season, maybe it’s the life going on these days, but either way it all seems just a bit grey.

I wake up with the feeling that I just can’t get a really good breath. Nothing hurts, there is no pain, but the depth of my breathing is just not there. It seems like I breathe out more life than I suck in each time I pull the oxygen through. There is no real relief so I just go about doing all the things I know I have to do. I roll over and no matter how far under the covers I try to hide the bright Florida sun still shines through the windows telling me it’s time to get on with the day. I haven’t always felt this way and I know that it will pass just like the season, just like the cool breeze that we get in the late of night; this solemn layer of life that surrounds me will go. The only irritation that comes with it is the knowing that I’m going to have to put in effort at some point, the labor of working through these thoughts whirling, floating around my head, almost like a fruit fly that you just can’t get rid of. Wonderful annoyances like these are what will get me going, so I try to be grateful.

The changes that are going on feel more like a detoxification of my soul. The nausea that hangs around, the sweating out of the nasty things, those feeling so raw, and the mind filled with unclear contemplations are all parts of the withdrawal process. So, I sit on my hands and wait it out, white knuckles losing their grip on the life that I was living.

Today the movie playing in my head allowed a scene, not unlike that of Forrest Gump, where I ran. One foot in front of the other, on and on through sun and rain, heat and snow, concrete and sand, and by the end each new step brought me to my knees. The toxic ideas pour out of my skin, when I finally come to a stop I am thin and weak, and though I look as if I may not make it, I know that I have cleansed myself into a new beginning and there is only strength left inside my bones. And this is what I will build upon.

I like the fact that all is not well, all the time. I don’t mind a little bit of melancholy. It's these phases that bring about change and so I welcome it without fear. There are moments of clarity when I see the other side, and the light is undeniably there. But I’ll sit, for now, in this place that I’ve dug into, and I’ll let these frustrations slip right through and maybe tomorrow the sun won’t hurt my eyes quite as much as it did today. Maybe the next few breaths I take will go a little deeper and fill my lungs a little more. Maybe, just maybe, these things I’ve said will feel as true as they sound in my head. And maybe I’ll smile just a bit more.

Reviews

[Pukka]

I really like this. Your descriptions of lethargy (depression? I definitely feel a hint of depression in there) are wonderful and are very easy to relate to for the reader. I particularly like the opening paragraph and the line 'toxic ideas pour out of my skin'. The story develops and progresses well considering how short it is which is refreshing. My only constructive comment would be to watch your use of the letter 'I' in the second paragraph because it feels a little repetitive. Other than that it's really good and I'll be reading more of your work!