It is nice to awake each day, and see colour. I feel very privileged, very lucky that each morning I wake up and can see the start of a new day. What does it look like outside today? Grey, and dull? Bright, blue and glowing? Whatever the weather, I like waking up and being able to see colour. Sober colour. Clear colour. No clouded colour.
When I was drinking every day, colours started to blur into one other. The only relevant colour I would almost care about noticing was the redness of my face, and the red in my glass. The deep maroon, sometimes almost black colour sat in my wine glass would fascinate me. Entice me. Then drown me, slowly, slowly, slowly. Colours would irritate me. Exasperate me.
“Shut the curtains, it’s too bright.” would be a usual go to phrase as I awoke each morning being able to see the start of a new day. I was irritable and angry at my inability to moderate from the night before, and completely disinterested in the beautiful colours the world has to offer.
Fast forward to day 62 without a drop, and colour is my favourite thing to look at. It no longer exasperates me, but comforts me. Especially when it means painting it all over my safe place. Home. The colours entice me, excite me and slowly remind me of who I am once again, without the poison. My likes, my dislikes. The only problem now is, I like colour too much. How can I possibly decide which beautiful shade to paint my walls? I like the fact, I now have a choice. Other than black, or red.