Colors

**Warning/Disclaimer: The following story depicts the effects of medication on one’s mind and the refusal to take them. This story does not condone skipping medications or disregarding doctor’s advice.**
One day I’m red. Full of passion, of life. I find myself those days on top of the world, nothing can defeat me. I’m a God!
The next day I’m black, nothing fulfills me. I’m empty, nothing in my future. Those days it is hard to get out of bed.
Other days I’m pink; it’s my favorite color. Everything those days is fine, I’m balanced. During my pink days I enjoy sweets and soda. Nothing beats pink.
When I’m blue I sit in bed. Sometimes I cry, other times I stay in bed all day. All I can think about those days is how unlovable I am. No one cares, so why should I?
Now yellow days are a love hate situation. Yellow is bright, too bright. Everything is too fast, I can’t read for more than two seconds, I can’t stay still on yellow days. No one understands me! They say I speak too fast, that’s not true!
Mom insists I take my white pills. She says they’ll make me feel better, but white is boring, plain, blah! I like colors, being colorful makes me happy! I ignore her pleas and continue my colorful ways. Some days I’m red, others I’m blue.
If no one cares why should I?
I don’t speak up, I enjoy my colors.
People wouldn’t understand. I’ve been called a Monster more than once. Maybe it’s who I am, a Monster hiding away her true feelings, No one needs to know, I say, they don’t care anyway.
One day it gets to be too much. Mom says it’s enough when I decided to pull a knife on my sister. They insult me, I’m irritated, she doesn’t understand. It’s not like anyone loves me anyway.
She locks me away in a beige room. Beige, the color that signifies the death of anything creative. I’m black and blue. She doesn’t love me if she locks me in here, living on a schedule isn’t for me.
I need my mess! I need to have everything all over!
Order is death!
The first day I stay in bed, the doctor comes in, asking questions to which I don’t have the answers. I’m still angry, I’m always sent away when things get to the breaking point.
I’m a Monster. A colorful Monster.
The next day is better but I don’t speak.
I hate speaking
My pen and paper are my best friends: only they know me. My failures, my aspirations, the way I feel.
I’m forced to take white pills, they turn me beige, I fit in. Just as mom wanted.
For a few months everything is beige. I get good grades, I make “friends,” but still I don’t have love.
No one loves my colors.
They love beige me.
I break the cycle, and once more I’m colorful.

