Vixeny goodness

Black Sheep

a walking barrel of contradiction monkeys

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Vixeny goodness
The colors are back.

I can see colors again! I can see colors.

When I am depressed... well, I don't see black and white. But the world loses its lustre. I don't know how else to put it. When I'm seriously depressed, everything loses... loses. I don't have words for it. When my brain is working, I look at the world and see COLORS. I see shapes, and lines, and I can stare at a fountain for hours and all the silvery motion of the curve of the water falling, and the light playing off of each surface of every drop and splash, and it's incredible and beautiful and pulls my entire attention. Until I look up, and see the contrast of the dark sky behind it, and the electric light putting every individual oak leaf into silhouette, and above, the stars...

To look up, and see every blue in the dusky sky, and the black silhouette of every tree against it and how it looks just a little bit purple, where it is turning, and on the other side the clouds still hold a fading light in orange, and all the world is quiet darkness broken up by light, shattering beams of sharp-edged white that come and go, and leave you blinking at the bat that scoops down and up again, and the soft yellow-orange monochromatic puddles that linger at the edge of the curb...

I missed that feeling. God, this world is so very beautiful. And I love seeing it, actually seeing it, and the only thing about depression that sucks worse than the apathy (and the constant-tiredness) (and the emotional sharp edges) (and the tears that are never more than a few words away) (and the pain) (and the brain-weasels who never stop telling you how worthless you are)... is the lack of beauty, or the inability to see it. Yeah, sure, I see beauty, but my eyes don't dive into it, I don't drink it in with all my soul and revel in the love and the intricacy of it.

My writer-brain is back.

I hear music again.

I walk, and I see leaves in all the colors of green that can be seen, and the light shining through them makes a tapestry of motion and soft translucent life, and I hear music instead of hearing background music while my brain screams at itself in fury.

Hello, writer-brain. I missed you.

Crossposted from Dreamwidth
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