That spark within me has died; some would call it tolerance and others might call it determination. But whatever it is, it’s gone. There are lots of things that define us as human, but most of all it’s our ability to cope with bad things- be it a natural disaster or an embarrassing day at school.
Black and white, light and dark, happiness and sadness-it’s all the same to me. To anyone who sees in grey. People find it hard to believe seeing in grey is possible at all, I myself used to find the fact that most animals don’t have colour vision unbelievable. But now I know what it’s like seeing in grey. But it’s not the physical side of it that dominates; everything in life had a sort of edge to it, an edge that it’s gradually lost. I know what you’re thinking-humans don’t see in grey, they don’t; but they can. In a way. Everything used to be so colourful, so cheerful... ...but it doesn’t matter anymore.
Seeing in grey, I wonder what that means to you, literally seeing in grey or things not having the fun and colour that they used to have. If you think things won’t have the colour and momentary delight that they used to have, then you’re right. I don’t allow anything of the sort to penetrate my life anymore, it threatens breakdown, not mental or physical- but emotional.

But I don’t think it will be able to penetrate the shield I’ve created for myself-I guess I’ve passed a point of no return. You may think its extreme, but it’s really not. Not as extreme as you think- it helps me get on with my life without having to hurt over things said or done to me in the past.

And now... now I live as normal a life as anyone else on Earth. Besides the fact that life’s lost the fun and purpose that it’s meant to have, and the fact that I can’t be bothered to do anything at all, as well as the unforgettable reality of living with grey vision.

The reality of living with grey vision.....it makes such a difference-the outcome of my actions don’t matter that much anymore, so when I do things, say things, think things I never give a thought to the reaction they will provoke- I don’t need to . I rarely talk to anyone at all, or even if I do, they don’t listen. Maybe it's just me.

Maybe that’s why I don’t have anyone to talk to. No-one at all to tell my story to. Maybe no-one cares, well, it doesn’t bother me if they don’t care-they never cared. If I talked to myself, they would think me mad, even though I couldn’t talk to anyone else. So I sought refuge in myself- a place where no-one else could reach me, not that they would bother to try. But now, I’ve realised I won’t do any good feeling sorry for myself, so the me that I’ve strived to protect, the one who controlled when I laughed and when I cried... I just let that part of me fade away-for my own good, for others’ good. And now, it has died forever. It’s irretrievable, something I can’t relive. To me and to everybody else.



On the way home. Good and bad all at once. To you I guess it’s the much celebrated end to a day at school, the bait that helps you through the school day, light at the end of the tunnel, whatever you want to call it. But to me, it’s a time when no-one disturbs me-a time to be alone and yet be surrounded by people. That’s the good side of it. There’s so much more to it-it brings back so many memories with it.
Memories....so many memories.... it does, memories of what some would probably call the good old days, times when I used to walk home with a bunch of friends discussing the latest rumours and the tiresome homework assignments. That’s the good part.

And it also brings memories of tiffs and peer mediation that was forced on me, it’s an unfair world that’s ready to be cruel to you at the worst of times; but what can you do about it but protect yourself?

And that’s how it’ll always be- relentless and ruthless.