Grey. My therapist assures me that this is a beautiful color for me.
I have a tendency to separate the world and my experiences of it into black and white. I like things that I can understand. I like rules because if I know the rules than I know how to play. I have long sense felt as though others had some capacity that I didn’t or some knowledge that I lacked. As though whatever is encoded into the DNA of humankind that allows others to live, function and thrive in this world, was mistakingly left out of mine. I don’t like being confused and I have been confused for a long, long time.
I don’t particularly like the grey. It’s uncomfortable. I don’t feel safe in it and so I hide. I carve out little niches for myself. I don’t fully grasp it yet, but I think I use things like Depression to skirt the outside edges so I don’t have to be fully engaged in this terrifyingly overwhelming game for which there are no clearly defined rules. Only it’s not a game. It’s life, and I am missing it.