When I was going through high school, I wore a lot of black. Now, I don’t mean I look like I fucked Edward Scissorhands on the daily, but you could typically find me sporting darker, duller colors. I don’t remember when this started, what I do remember is noticing that I could blend into the background so much easier with a black shirt rather than a bright green one.
It’s safe to say I was an outcast in school. I had a couple of friends, I really didn’t need an entourage, and I kept to myself. I was the kid who sat in the very back seat, headphones drowning out my fellow classmates, and a book shoved into my face. It’s also helpful to know that I weighed one hundred pounds on a good day, and had the worst case of resting bitch face, so it was easy to avoid unwanted interactions. I didn’t want people noticing me or talking to me, I wanted to be as close to the edge of everyone’s radar as I possible could. I had my fair share of bullies, but I wasn’t bullied into invisibility, I just preferred to be unseen.
Fast forward three years and you have present-day Melissa. You would think with all of my mental health problems I’ve had since then that my closet would just get darker and darker. But I think, somewhere along the way, I found that I liked color. All the different shades of blue, and green, and purple, they all have their own feel to them. I liked looking at the clothes I was wearing and seeing reds and yellows. Maybe its a way to make myself feel better when I am depressed, or maybe its a way to drown out all that darkness inside me. Either way, I’m not in the background anymore. I can walk through a hallway wearing bright and warm colors and not shy away from the people that look. I’m beginning to hide myself less. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still an introvert through and through, but at least now I’m visible. And if that’s the only progress from the past three years, that’s okay because its a foundation that I can build on.