Black isn't a colour

Its attractive. Seems like it's calling out to me. It promises me solitude. Peace. A release from anxiety. Butterflies. Stars. Lush meadows. I know what it is. I've been there before. Not too many times, but enough to buckle under its pressure. As I caress it, I feel a sense of joy. I haven’t felt like this in a while now. I shouldn't, actually. Should I?

Black.

There are cars around me. It's a junction. Trucks. Trains. Motorbikes. Lorries. But they're all at a stand-still. I stand in the middle. Eyes closed. I feel people pushing past me- their rough selfish desires to protect themselves fill me with a sense of warmth. Something isn't right- I can feel it. I can sense the panic. Mothers scream out for their children- but they hear nothing in response. The clouds seem to be heavy. It's okay. It always is. I remain centered. This panic is temporary. Better things always make their way to you. But why are you not as sure this time?

Black.

I lie in my bed. Its cold outside. I'm sweating. As I stare above, my ceiling transforms itself into a black, endless pit. Its reassuring. It makes me feel safe. It opens endless opportunities. A world vast and untouched. Dreams. Aspirations. Love. Joy. Success. With my eyes closed, I reach my hand out above me in hope of grabbing anything I can get a hold of. My hand flails. It claws at empty space. Everything I'll ever want is at my fingertips. So tell me, why can't I have it all?

Black.

I let go. Like I always do. The balloon ascends with a surprised start. It probably doesn’t know I was going to let it go on such a whim. After all, I'd fought to get it. It was mine. Had been. As I look up, I see it flutter around, as if it were in a torture cell. I smile. It looks down at me. It probably understands my intentions. As if it were taking a dejected deep breathe, it looks upward. Contains itself. Let go? The redness of it's body loses its brightness. I feel nothing. I thought I would. It was meant to be temporary. It's done and over with. Move on. I nonchalantly flip my hair and look down to survey the space around me. Red. Like they say, there are plenty more fish in the sea. I smile as I bend to submerge my hand into this red sea. One down, infinity to go.

Black.

The spiral-stairs never seem to end. The height at which I am at seems daunting. I feel a sense of panic in my stomach. I close my eyes. It reaches my throat. If I look down, I'm sure I'll be sucked in. Suddenly, I feel someone nudge my back. My fear makes way for throbbing anger. I can't sit. I can't stand. The pit seems to have become bigger during this time. I miss my shiny, red balloon. Do you think it'll come back to me and rid me of my misery? Too late, says my internal parent. I sigh. He nudges me again- this time it's a stronger push. I take a step down. Gravity defines me. It fills my lungs. I can't breathe. He violently grabs my neck; squeezes it as tightly as he can. I remembered asking him to never let go of me. I was getting what I had asked for. I enjoy every second of it: the intolerable burning, the orgasmic tingling, the bruising pain, the hysteric gasps for fresh oxygen... I close my eyes. I let it happen.

I think, "Fuck this. It's a down-ward spiral. Everything will be okay. It always is."

But will it really?

Black. Out.