“The only way to see a rainbow is to look through the rain”
Most people, they have a rainbow. A rainbow of emotions, and feeling. Red is anger, blue is depressed, yellow is happy, grey is scared. They are typical feelings, changing day to day. My doctor recently asked me .
Are you depressed?
No, was my honest reply. She couldn’t understand how I could be happy, given the circumstances. I explained that I had too much to be happy about.
So, are you happy?
No, was my honest answer.
Well then, what are you?
I used to have a rainbow. A rainbow of colours. I would squeal with laughter, tears would drop down my cheeks. I could be happy one day, annoyed the next. I was the prettiest of streaks in the sky. But then my rainbow was broken. It came crashing down into a million pieces of shards and colours, reflection of smiles and pain. I never believed the children’s story, that there was gold at the end of the rainbow. I knew there was something, I just wasn’t sure what. But now I know. It’s just bits of paint.
In art class, while my peers would carefully try to replicate the Van Gogh sunflowers, or dancing dolphins, I would just play with paint. Everyone seemed to believe that to create, you must place brush to paper, each careful stroke a slow step towards Art. They never saw what I saw. That you could create something entirely new, simply by mixing the colours. Blue, with teal and pink thrown in. And as I washed the palettes, I knew that those exact colours would never again be created.
Sometimes I lay awake at night, wondering if those colours I once made were the colours of what was soon to come. The shades that my heart would soon feel.
Red mixed with light brown and a speckle of orange; Red is not anger. Red is “I can’t get a transplant” Red is “It’s back”. Red is “It’s his last camp.” Red makes me want to scream, until my lungs crack and burn. Red makes me want to destroy. Destroy others. Destroy myself. Let me lay down in the dirt. Fail every organ, rip the strands out, make vomit pour from my mouth, cut me so that I bleed, bleed into the carpet, until I have nothing left to stain.
Red; Take me, so that they cannot go.
Green with dabbles of yellow; Green is not jealousy. Green is drinking teenagers. Green is beautiful tanned skin and boyfriends. Green is bullies, living their lives. Green makes me want to pull their hair out, as I watch them beg. Green makes me want to shove them in a wheelchair, and watch the invitations fade away. Green makes me want to whisper And now you understand.
Green; Take their short shorts and giggling. Make them fight.
Yellow with a flick of pink;Yellow is not happy. Yellow is You are beautiful. Yellow is You are discharged. Yellow is a kiss. Yellow is being able to close my eyes, and to know that for a few seconds, I am soaring. Soaring above the earth, soaring above my body. Knowing that at any moment, I am going to crash into the earth, and break into a million pieces. And yet I don’t care.
Yellow; Let me lay in the grass and just smile.
Blue with spits of violet; Blue is not sad. Blue is infection. Blue is wheelchairs. Blue is She is gone. Blue is howls so violent, that my throat resigns and blood speckles the curve of my lips. Blue is mascara and nails dripping, while they stroke your hand and whisper Keep fighting. Blue is when you were never given a choice.
Blue; Just let me rest tonight
Black with swirls of a sadder shade; Black is not depressed, nor numb. Black is everything, and nothing. Black is It’s just time. Black is We can’t cure her. Black is bleeding arms and beeping machines and sobbing parents. Black is a stone in my heart, which makes my soul sick. Black is not sleeping, not eating, not crying, not laughing.
Black; Take this stone from my heart.
Purple with stripes of beige; Purple is swallowing tablets, water fights with friends, collapsing and giggling through movies with baby brothers. Purple is every day, every pain, and every smile. Purple is somewhere in the middle, the bridge between ecstasy and horror. Purple is most days, the moments between the highs and the lows. P
Purple; Picking flowers as blood drips from my mouth.
I guess that’s when I stopped being afraid.
I realised that there is simply too much to fear.
Rainbows are never dressed in one shade, a solid stroke of plain. We need every speckle to paint the pretty picture. So today, send me the blue, the black, the green and the pink. Send me all the colours in the world, and let me paint my picture.
A few weeks ago, my doctor asked me what I felt. At the time I wasn’t sure what to tell her. But if she were to ask again, I would tell her that not all of us have rainbows. Some of us are just bits of paint, mixed together on bones and kisses.
And I think they are the prettiest colours in the world.