I have a confession. I am an artist who is afraid of color. Not just in my art, but in the way I dress and decorate my home, and other places I haven’t discovered yet. It is an odd feeling to realize and admit that now, but that’s the first step to getting over “beige addiction.”

In high school I wore beige a lot, because it felt safe. I didn’t want to be seen, or take up space. I had friends that would actually look at each other and say “beige again,” when they saw me slumbering to my locker. Then one day I was at the grocery store and I moved aside with an “I’m sorry” attached to it and a woman told me, “Don’t be, you have just as much right to be here as I do.” And that struck a chord. A realization in the canned food aisles of a grocery store led me to explore the possibility that it was okay to be here. To be myself.

I know this sounds crazy, because I tested it out by telling my husband, and I witnessed “the look” upon his face. I feel like I am vibrating at a frequency that is higher than other people’s frequency. Or higher than I usually am. I can feel the molecules of my body vibrating just upon the surface of my skin. I decided it was blood sugar issues, instead of any profound meaning that the universe sent me.

I’m not on any kind of drug except my medications from my psychiatrist, but I suppose it could be happening because I cut my olanzapine in half last night. I refuse to gain another pound on that vile drug that I am in love with so much. It really is a “love/hate” relationship because it helps me sleep so well, that I feel good upon waking the next day, instead of dragging myself out of bed and hoping for the best. I am able to create “my best.” Best day, best life, best relationships. Best everything.

But alas, I am supposed to be talking about my fear of color. I copy artist’s color palettes, because I fear I cannot get the colors right. I am stuck at this point of incompletion in my work because I don’t want to mess it up with poor color choices. All I can do is experiment, look to my favorite artists, then place this knowledge into one place in my brain as I move forward on each piece. And who knows – maybe they aren’t meant to have more color. The only way I can know for sure is to try.

Can all the vibrating molecules mean I am getting manic again? Only time will tell. Just sleep well, I tell myself, and that keeps the worst of it away.

Thank you for being you, and being here, reading along. It means the world to me.