Color the Night By Chelsea Keating

I didn't always look like this.                                         I used to share warmth with my smile.
 I used to bring light to dark places.
 I used to paint, transforming any shade of grey into a bright, loud color.
 But now, I have shrunk.
 Physically, my heart has shrunk at least two sizes, thanks to two heart
attacks, that will make a real grinch out of anyone Mentally, well, I'm not sure exactly how, mentally: I'm one of the youngest
 female CEOs in the business world making, "achievement" synonymous with my
 first name. But for this monetary and professional gain, something was
 lost.
I have taken five weeks vacation this year, four of those weeks spent at my
 good friend's: Beth Israel. A place where comfort and peace cannot be seen
 or felt. A place where I should be now, but hey, you try explaining why you
 are resting in bed when the quarter ends tomorrow. I stare at cold numbers,
 which brings me more comfort than wilting dead flowers, half inflated 'get
 well soon' balloons, and a coloring book: for adults. Sent from a co-worker
 as a stupid joke.
 Follow the lines. Just follow the lines. 
That should be easy. I've been following an assembly line for more than half
 my life. 
I am coloring the ocean, with four different number two pencils that vary in
 length and black and blue ballpoint pens to add layers and depth. 
I choose black to show the miles of darkness and nothingness that rest
 beneath an uneasy surface.
 I choose the grey to provide a constant border, to keep this all together.
 To offer some false security. 
Then there's the blue. The color that people will see when they look at you.
The color that embodies you. Drowns you. Is you.
What happened to me? I was an artist. Bold, daring, unpredictable. I pushed
 against the rushing tide but now, I've been engulfed by it. I am a crashing
 wave of uncertainty and self-doubt. I have a heart that twice has tried to
retreat from my cold, uninspired body. What does it take to make it back to
 shore?