Colors

Down deep in the pit, I strain my eyes upward, hoping for even a sliver of light to penetrate. I hold my hand in front of my face, trying in vain to make out the shapes of my fingers but it is useless. My back is against the wall, knees drawn up close to my chest. Arms wrapped around them, hair falling into my face as I lay my cheek against the soft fabric of my jeans. There are no tears but a choking tightness stretches across my chest. A knot twists in my stomach and panic rises within me. God feels so very far away. 

Depression. Chronic depression. Debilitating. Painful. It clouds my mind, it steals my joy. I slouch in the recliner, playing endless games of solitaire on my laptop. I open a word doc and stare at a blank page, the cursor taunting me. I pick up a book to read but cannot focus. I wander into the kitchen and stare at pantry shelves, looking without seeing. Mindless eating, then feeling ill, I stare at my reflection in the mirror. I turn with a shudder. Maybe I really am as worthless as I feel.

Days pass. Desperation claws at me and I know I have to do something to break this cycle. It takes every ounce of strength within me to pick up the phone and make the appointment. Still, it will take weeks before the antidepressant kicks in and any change is noticed. In the meanwhile, more solitaire, more mindless eating, more staring at the walls.

There comes a day when something different happens. It's subtle, it's small but I find myself thinking about what is going in my mouth, in my head. I can read a whole chapter instead of quitting two or three sentences in. I think about cooking something for dinner instead of a last minute can of soup being opened.

But life is... beige. There is no other word for it. Black has faded and I can see my hand in front of my face now but there is no kaleidoscope of colors bursting on my horizon. Just beige....a calm, smooth beige, but beige none the less. Like an uninterrupted ride down a flat road, no bumps, no highs, no lows. And I am grateful. Because, right now beige is painless.

My back is against the wall, knees drawn up close to my chest. Arms wrapped around them, hair falling into my face as I lay my cheek against the soft fabric of my jeans. I rest in the moment, letting solitude comfort me. There are no tears and I feel my chest relaxing. A knot unfurls in my stomach and my breathing has slowed. I sense God's presence and the calm envelops me. 

The day I decide to find my walking shoes and venture outside for no other reason than to walk, is the day I know a change has occurred. I make note of it; to me this signifies something is working. My world is still monochromatic but its lighter. Brighter. I can wear a pink shirt and not feel like the rosy hue is hurting my skin. I can look at my reflection and see some spark in those eyes that once were hooded.  Maybe I'm not as worthless as I thought.

It takes a long time to get there and maybe I don't really know when it arrived it's been so gradual, but I can see that the tints have grown in depth. I can make out the tones and see the varying shades. Beige has been replaced by pale pinks and soft yellows. I can make out a shade akin to orange on the very edges and I feel a warm earthy red rising with in me. I feel like singing.

My back is straight and I stand tall. Arms wrapped around my bible, hair brushed back so that the sun may kiss my cheek, I lean into the vibrancy that surrounds me. A bubble rises, slowly--champagne released by the cork-- it works its way to the surface and then EXPLODES into a poly-chrome, a rainbow, its palette expanding, mounting, sustaining me as it fills me. God is alive within me and I find all my worth in Him.