The colours are always brightest when I feel the most.
On days where I can't feel anything, I like to pull the curtains shut and watch black and white films without my glasses on. That way I don't notice that all the colours are faded and drab. I like to grip ice-cubes in an attempt to feel something. I like to lie on the floor, wrapped in a big scarf with my head propped up by a pillow or two. I like to lie there and let myself drift, just let myself not feel anything. Sounds get quieter, everything looks further away and I am small, but safe. And here I can listen to music that would otherwise make me cry. But I don't feel anything. So for now I just let the notes float in my head.
But colours are always brightest when I feel the most.
It was four in the morning on a Sunday. I woke up to voices and colours. Desperate voices. Something terrible had happened. It was purple and yellow, because the bedroom door was left open and the kitchen light was shining in, and the darkness of four am was putting up a fight. I don't remember the words. I just remember colours. It was purple and yellow at four in the morning. Desperate voices, dialling and faintly ringing phones. I don't remember words. But suddenly the colours of the early morning room were too bright, and I had to shut my eyes. And I could only feel. And it hurt so much. I had to leave. This room was too bright. My walls were black, so I faced them and punched them and screamed at them. And my lamp was red, and the walls weren't black, just very very dark blue. And I could feel everything. And then we went visiting, to make connections, so no one had to feel it alone. And we brought food, and the food and Bri's hair were orange and her skirt and Madd's hair were green. So the visit was orange and green. Then we drove home. And the car was a deep green, the summer leaves on the trees were a bright green, and the sky was blue. The sky was the brightest blue I've ever seen before or since. It's always a nice day when something awful happens. Movies are lies. It's not grey. It's bright and colourful. The colours are intense and imprint themselves into my brain, and are so loud that I can't hear what is being said. I don't remember words, I remember colours.
Because the colours are always brightest when I feel the most.