Colors (bxb) [DISCONTINUED]

justin reynolds

"We're all just trying to find some color in this black and white world."

🔵🔴⚫️⚪️🔘

Nobody understands you.

I'm tired of hiding who I truly am. I'm tired of fearing that people will one day see through my mask and ostracize me.

Nobody will accept you.

I'm tired of hating life. I'm tired of wanting to die every night before I go to sleep.

Nobody will ever love you.

I'm tired of acting like I'm okay, when in-reality I'm five seconds away from completely falling apart. I'm tired of fighting the pain, the insecurity, the depression. I'm so fucking tired - and yet, I'll never stop. I'll never stop hiding my true identity behind a crumbling façade. I'll never stop wanting something to end my life so that I won't have to do it. I'll never stop smiling and laughing, forcing myself from screaming and crying.

. . . Unless I do stop.

And nobody will even care.

🔵🔴⚫️⚪️🔘

"Wake up!"

Even with my door closed, I can clearly hear my mother yelling for me to get up. Her voice is so loud that I'm sure she could be heard over a thunderclap . . . or maybe that's just my sleep-deprived ears. Nonetheless, she's screaming, and I don't want to get out of bed.

"Kris?! Do you hear me?! Wake up!"

No, I think, curling into a ball, squeezing my eyes closed so that I can somehow go back to sleep. I don't hear you. I'm not awake. Leave me alone.

After awhile, she stops yelling, and I breathe in a sigh of relief at the silence. For a split second, I faintly allow myself to think that she'll just let me stay home today.

But then my door swings open, and I suddenly feel like crying.

"I know you're awake," she says angrily, flicking on the lights. I whine, trying but failing to bury myself in the sheets of the bed. "Get up right now."

I almost ignore her. Almost. The last time that I ignored my mother during the morning, I was almost thrown into a wall. It wasn't pleasant. So with great reluctance, dry lips, and the aching urge to pee . . . I open my eyes and greet the blaring light coming from my ceiling.

"Ugh," I groan, trying to rub the sleep out of my eyes. It doesn't work; it never works. I hate being woken up in the mornings, and I hate having to get ready for school, and I hate actually going to school. I would rather do virtually anything else than get out of bed right now.

But if I don't get out of bed, my mom will literally grab me by the hair and eat me alive.

And I don't want that.

I step out of bed and stumble past my unimpressed mother, walking straight into the bathroom and closing the door behind me. Before peeing, I take a glance at myself in the mirror. Messy black hair, dyed blonde at the tips. Pale morning skin, pimples and all. Cerulean blue eyes that look way too dried up. Unappealing morning lips.

"How stunning," I say sarcastically, shaking my head and walking to the toilet. "You should be a model, Kristopher."

"Stop talking to yourself," my sister remarks grumpily, walking straight past the bathroom without even glancing at me.

I suck my teeth and disregard her; she's a total bitch in the mornings, and I don't have the energy to deal with her attitude right now. Who cares if I sometimes talk to myself? I'm not crazy. I know I'm not crazy. I just like voicing my thoughts out loud sometimes. Is that a sin?