Living In Color Again

I've regained my colorful sensibilities. My appearance, a reflection of this rebirth. For the past few months I let myself slip into a monochromatic world of grays and constant overcast. This showed itself in my choice of drab attire--I cared very little for my appearance and defaulted to baggy tops and ill-fitting trousers. Not that this was necessarily a bad thing. I felt proud about not giving much of a rat's ass over my choice of clothing, feeling no need to parade around like a prized peacock.

But this pride was very misplaced. It came from somewhere negative: a place of remorse. I mistook a care for my appearance as egregious vanity, and replaced it with the far less attractive practice of self-debasement. I felt like I didn't deserve to look nice; nor did I really want to--given that I had eaten my way out of my "skinny" jeans. In laymen terms, I lost my self-confidence and found my appearance wanting in this regard. My beautiful fabrics and resplendent outfits were pushed to the very back of my wardrobe where they collected dust in clothing purgatory.

Now that I am slowly and steadily resurfacing, my lust for color has been revived. I'm feeling more like "me" again. This is not a reinvention, or some new phase of self-awareness. I've simply brought back to life what has only been dormant for a little while. I am reacquainted with myself again, and feel as if beams of light are bursting right through each of my fingertips. This must be what recharged batteries feel like.