I used to be depressed. I fought depression for years. Actually even as a child I had depression. I also had stomach problems, shingles, bladder infections, and a whole lot of UTIs.

My grandmother would take me to the doctor all the time, nobody could "fix" me. I was a stressed out kid who became a stressed out adult.

Initially, I was a cutter. I didn't know that was even a "thing" back then. I just wanted a release. To feel actual, physical pain as a way to express some of the emotional shit that was inside me. Somehow, seeing the blood would make me feel just a tiny bit better. I wouldn't cut deep, just enough to see the drops of blood. The after pain of the cut was sort of therapeutic. A constant reminder that the pain I was feeling was real. That I was still there - I could still feel. And the thing is - I had control of that pain. I could decide how much to cut, when to do it, where on my body and when it would stop. It was the only thing in my life I had control over. It was my goto drug for many, many years.

I tried alcohol, though I'm a really bad drunk. Now that's not to say that I don't tie one on, occasionally. Back in the day - I tried to keep it perpetually tied for quite a while. But alcohol didn't work. I wasn't a "fun" drunk back then, I was a sad drunk and I hate hangovers and to this day, I will "will" myself not to throw up. I mean, seriously. I will do anything in the world to not puke. Even though I know I will feel better - I just can't....I can't. It's the worst thing in the world to me, lol. You'd think I'd get flu shots and things - but I'm too afraid it will backfire and I'd get the flu....seriously, I can't throw up.

In high school I used to get stoned. We'd get high all the fucking time. I'd laugh and laugh. This one time my friend Trish, her brother, and I were sitting at the top of her stairs one day and swore we were on a boat. We'd feel it rocking and just laugh our fucking asses off - at nothing. Actually, that was after smoking some hash. Still. I got high, it was fun but it wasn't the release I was looking for. Btw, I tried getting high again - just cuz, you know, it's legal here - now it makes me sick as shit. No joke.

We tripped acid, once. That was enough. Luckily it was a good trip. Actually it was a fucking hysterical trip. Holy shit - I gotta tell this one!

I was 17, living with Trish and her family. She had THE perpetual party house. It was movie quality legendary. No lie. Anyway, at some point she had the bright idea that we should do it. (See, I'm not the only crazy one)

So, there was a keg in the basement (it was also our bedroom). Ice leaking all over the carpet - it was fucking soaked. Some how I got it in my head that if I touched the ground I was going to melt into it. Of course, I got Trish on board with this because, she was my best friend and dammit I wasn't gonna let her melt.

We used Kleenexs and paper towels as our floatation devices. Kleenex +waterlogged carpet = mess

We had wet paper clumps everywhere in the house, all over our legs. It was awful. Her sister came home and was fucking PISSED!!! (oh, and did I mention it was her bedroom too....?)

I recall the toilet paper breathing heavily in the bathroom. Oh, at one point I was sitting in the living room looking into the kitchen as everyone was playing poker or quarters...I don't know. But, anyway, I swore I was watching tv. Every once in a while one of them would get up and act out a commercial even. It was cool till someone actually walked out of the kitchen and I freaked the fuck out! You can't come OUT! WTF!

It was funny and I never did it again. I was too afraid of getting a bad trip.

The next step in my life was moving to cocaine. I'll get to the Jeff story eventually, but when I met him, he was a dealer...so ya.

I was a quick addict. Snorted, never needles. Morning till, well, morning usually. Bloody noses and sores, didn't matter. The numbness in my teeth and the bitterness down the back of my throat was the sweetest thing I knew.

There were many times I was convinced I was having a heart attack. One time I nearly died and too many others when I had wanted to.

I saw many of my friends that became so addicted they became completely different people, did things that I'm sure they regret - hell, I am sure I did too.

I was knee deep in cocaine and drinking when I got the most sobering news. I was pregnant. Not only was a I pregnant, I was 16 weeks pregnant. You know - another story.....it's a good one too.

I got away from all that after that little wake up, but sought the legal solution for my depression. I got antidepressants. I tried them all. Most would make me sick to my stomach (see irrational fear of puking above), but then I'd find one that would work. I'd be an emotionless zombie. I'd know I was sad but couldn't cry no matter how hard I tried. I also couldn't get "happy", I was level.

Better yet, I was beige. Actually, I surrounded myself in beige. My house, my walls, my furniture...everything. I wore beige. My shoes were beige. My sheets were beige. My fucking dishes were beige. Neutral. I was emotionally stuck in neutral.

Inside I was dying to FEEL something. I'd spent so many years trying to numb it, to escape it, to change it and now - I had.

The chaos of my life was still surrounding me. There was no lack of drama, for sure. But as I finally started to get my shit together and stand up for myself and begin to grow my own set of balls I was also completely incapable of finding REAL emotions that I could grab hold of. Everything was in auto pilot.

It took a long time to find my colors. And, you know what, as I look around right now - the only thing beige in my house is the carpet. It's a rental house.

Life After Beige

Sharon Wright