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I suppose I should start off apologizing, but I can't. I've apologized my entire life, and I'm tired of saying I'm sorry. I'll just write.

If I were to write, as a painter paints, about my life, a quick brush stroke on a blank canvas, it would start off as black, meander over to gray, where it would stay for more than a decade. Shortly, it would become black again, and then full of vibrant colours for just a moment.. fade to black, and then settle into gray again. I want the colour, honestly, I do. Vibrant reds, greens, yellows, I've not had enough colour. Blues would be good. Cobalt. Now, it's just gray.

I watched a movie the other night.. the name is of no signifigance.. it was about a boy who wanted to kill himself. That, in and of itself didn't bother me, it was , after all, just a movie. The thing I understood, though, was that a painter took herself off her medicines for depression, citing that she couldn't paint when she was on the medicine.

I understand that, as I haven't wanted to write in over a month-afraid that these new medicines wouldn't work well, if I let out even the most minute of feelings. They have been safely trapped under the veil , I know they are there, but i haven't wanted to revisit anything.. I enjoy the gray.. I don't want the black. I can't even say I'm searching for colour as of yet. I know I want it, eventually, but I feel warm, safe and in the healing mode in this hazy gray. I won't apologize.