People grieve in various ways.
Some people drink, some cry, some get angry, some clam up and pretends like nothing happened.
I started wearing black clothes. My grief was deep-rooted, and I felt the only way I could express myself was through the way I dressed. I have never been great with expressing emotions through words, and I have at times acted out instead. My grief was a great loss. I got allergic to apples at the age of 10. Apples that I loved so much. It grew around my childhood home and everywhere else in my neighbourhood as well. But suddenly it became my most severe and lethal enemy. It was hid in so many drinks and foods, and I had to always be cautious and read what things contained. Same if I ate something homemade. I had to ask if this or that contained any kind of apple.
I grew sadder and gloomier, and I didnβt know how to express my grief. I had been a rather cheerful kid, wearing colours and t-shirts with colourful motives. Those days became more and more distant as my grief grew deeper and deeper. By the age of 14 pretty much my entire wardrobe was a black wall of cotton. Even if some of my clothes werenβt all black, they were a very dark grey or other deep, deep dark version of a colour. To this day my wardrobe is this way, though I have some clothes now – mostly given to me by others – that has some colour to it. I am working on starting to wear colour again, but itβs difficult after over 20 years dressed in black.
Maybe this summer will be the summer where I finally break free of my habit and start wearing colours again?
