It’s true what they say. Often, the hardest thing to do is to keep going. That’s the thing about the Mean Reds. They’re sneaky. First they blind your emotions so that they can invade silently. One day you wake up, and you’re in the middle of a Trojan fog. That’s when you start to put the pieces together. You fool, it wasn’t just the Blues. You were so paranoid about not being paranoid that you missed all the signs. You should know the signs by now. You’re angry because you can’t believe this is happening again. You’re in denial because you actually can’t believe this is happening again. Then again maybe it won’t happen. Maybe this is catching it. Maybe you’ve only fallen a little and you’ve still got one hand on the ledge. But no matter how short the distance, you fell again damn it. It’s happening again.
That’s the thing about the Mean Reds. They’re sneaky. They fuck with time and make you forget that there are other colours in between. You did the math the other day. You figured out that you’ve spent 55% of the past dozen years hand in hand with the Mean Reds. You have spent 20% of that time soaring the Champagne Skies. You have spent 25% of that time in a Rainbow Reality. That means that you have spent a quarter of half your life feeling normal. And now you’re here again, naked in bed with this familiar stranger tapping on your door, thinking, no, no, no, knowing that you don’t even have the strength to get up and lock them out. Your light’s out. Your eyes don’t sparkle. You realise you can’t remember the last time you laughed. You’re crying, which should be a good thing because at least you’re emoting, but each tear contains letters forming the same sentence: I don’t want to do this again.