Today was ok, until I went to my physical therapy session. The therapist who I have been seeing for months is about to leave for a four week holiday, and as she spoke about not knowing where to go with my treatment, handing me over to someone new - I could see her lips moving, she was smiling gently and trying to be respectful, but all I could hear was "you're broken and I don't know how to fix you." I cried. This would be what 'they' call a 'yellow flag'... I'm a yellow flag-er and that is an identity I can never outrun. I hate it.
People on the outside usually only see things in black and white, but there is so much grey in between. I live in the grey.
I know, I know, I've been stuck in this hole for a long time. I've forgotten how to write, some days I can't remember how to see the funny things, the quirky things that separate the good days from the bad.
Maybe I should 'be' the yellow flag, own it, surrender to it - walk the streets talking to myself, scaring little children. No - I might have a yellow flag, but I have loads of other colours in my arsenal too, and I refuse to be defined by shitty, non-committing yellow.