Vague Purple Darkness

My takeaway isn't a warm fuzzy feeling. The good days of my life, and there are many, don't make me feel alive as much as they remind me of a dream from which i might awake at any moment. My takeaway is a very sad time, a time in which life stung like a bitch, and made me sit up and take notice.

I was 17 years old. I'd just recently broken up with my first love. My parents had offered to let me re-do my room, and i was really happy to start a project that would get my mind off things. But this isn't a mopey woe-is-me story.

It's 4am i'm taking the SATs in a month my life will be decided based on some little grey dots which i will "completely fill in". I'm tired i'm sick of high school i see no end in sight. i've felt numb to all emotion minus distress and sadness for weeks now. i'm writing in a notebook one i started after the breakup so i didn't have to read the stuff i wrote while we were going out. i'm sitting in my room in my "bed" which is a mattress on the ground. my walls smell like wet paint the hue is deep, deep purple. the purple of a crayola marker the purple of a priest's robes. the purple we associate with sadness and rage. my walls yell out at me and i yell back, sobbing as i hit the floor with my fist, writing even as the tears blind me even as my bones hurt from the wood they are pressed against. I am miserable, i am ugly, i am lost. tears run down my face, wetting behind my ears and blindind me to anything but a vague purple darkness. and in this moment i feel the pure essence, the almost tangible THING that can't be anything but life. i have never been more lost. it's not just the breakup. its the loss of my grandmother, the fights with my mom, the stress of SATs and college. it's self-dissatisfaction. it's friends who just don't care enough, or maybe it's my refusal to let them care. It's the uncertainty of a future i couldn't put my finger on. but the new wooden floor cools my hot tears and cheeks. the notebook absorbs the anger from my scrawled scratched writing. and with the smell of paint and wood varnish lingering in my head i cry myself, sob myself to sleep knowing that life goes on. from the deepest depths, from absolute bottom, there's nowhere to go but up. its something i have taken away, something i cling to at the moments when there's nothing else to grasp.