The Excess

The metal clinked against itself as they turned the bucket over to pour its heavy contents into the bushes. The colors, vibrant against the smooth silver tin, coated themselves on the branches and leaves. The leaves rustled under the weight. The moon glinted off everything in sight.

This was the ritual. This emptying of the guts. But it had to be done.

They wretched again, bent over their vessel, one arm searching for the solidity of a fence post and the other resting on their knee. Deep muscles rumbled in their belly and up came another delivery into the bucket. 

They emptied the bucket again.

There were reds and blues and pinks... Almost as if someone poured paint into a can and began stirring. Sometimes they could identify the colors. Yep, that's when they shut the door in my face (a deep red). Oh, yes, that's when I got that promotion at work (the vibrant orange). But after weeks of this same bizarre ritual, they knew what it all meant now.

Ever since they were a child, they seemed to feel more than others. Not different feelings, but more feeling. Everything came with an explosive quality. Joy felt like a sharp epiphany. Anger felt earth shattering. Sadness sent them into the depths of the sea. Every moment of every emotion held an intense quality but those emotions needed to go somewhere, and if you can't process them yourself, they tend to make their own way. You can only use up so much of these emotions in regular daily contact and you can only express so much before they start to look at you funny. Before you start screaming. So, they held it all inside. The excess. The waste. It was poison but better in them than someone else. After all this time, it all had nowhere to go but up and out. 

Before The Wretching, the world was bright and scary. Emotions folded in on themselves, the colors all blending, making it impossible to navigate. The excess emotions attached themselves to everything and everyone they could find, bringing the terrifying inner landscape to stain the outer world. Everything was so very loud and violent.

But one night they couldn't handle it anymore. The emotions felt hot and sticky and uncomfortable. The anger and shame clung to their ribs and filled their stomach. Anxiety rose into their throat and threatened to cut off their airway. Not knowing what to do, they began searching their home for relief. They tried making themselves a strong drink, then a cup of tea. They tried taking a shower and even journaling. Finally, out of sheer frustration, they found themselves in the moonlit backyard, searching for solace in the dark. The cool air crisp on their skin as goosebumps emerged. The feelings were welling up, threatening to burst forth. Something wasn't right. Something was about to happen. Then they started screaming. Deep, guttural screams that rattled their ear drums and scraped their throat. It all needed out, now. The screams continued and they wondered if the neighbors could here. Once the screaming stopped, the purge began and they knew what was about to come up. Colors spewed forth into the air. Tears streamed down their face as flashes of anger and jealousy and love flashed before them in a vibrant display of hues. It was all boiling over.

And then it would stop as quickly as it began. The screaming stopped. The purging stopped. The air would go quiet and the pressure they had been feeling for months would vanish. The silence that followed was palpable and it warmed their bones. They could finally be at peace.

Night after night, week after week, they returned to this place. Always brimming with emotion, waiting to scream. Looking for the relief they had come to rely on. It was something that had to be done and tonight was like any other.

Another rumble and a new delivery. This one full of deep purple and soft lilacs. They remembered the evening staring at the stars in the bitterly cold air.

More colors came up. Blues (the steady calm of their partner), Reds (the passion they felt while painting), more greens (the stillness of being alone). They painted the bushes with their waste that night. It had been an exciting week.

Once they discovered this release, they couldn't stop. These emotions were resourceful and determined and no matter how hard they stuffed them down the colors would still try to leak out in different ways. Destructive ways. This ritual was unpleasant, but it saved those around them from a whole lot of unpleasantness. So, they continued. Week after week they returned to the yard to quietly purge things that were too big for anyone else to handle. Here they could do it in privacy, at least.

As the cramps and convulsions began to slow down, they surveyed the yard and the work they had just done. When they had entered this space not thirty minutes before, the backyard had felt like it was screaming. The moon yelled too loudly with its light. The grass was too spiky and the trees too numerous and looming. And now, the winter air seemed light and refreshing, as if they had just removed their blinders. With this new perspective, they could see the leaves were splattered with every color imaginable. Branches bowed with the weight of all they had felt the week before and they couldn't help but to feel somewhat proud. 

The final wretch revealed itself and they dumped the last bit of color onto the last bush.

They took a step back, taking in a deep, slow breath, steading themselves after the chaos that had just passed. There was something magical about these nights. The stark contrast from panic to peace caused a whiplash type effect, always leaving them feeling stunned and disoriented. But the hard part was over and the next part wasn't all that bad. 

Tomorrow, these colors would shine. The sun would make each patch glisten in the daylight. Each experience that accompanied these colors, the blues, the reds, the greens, would finally get its chance to see the day. To breathe and be free, just as they are. When inside, the overflow is seen as excess. Out here, its a beautiful adornment.

They put the bucket down with a final clink of the metal, admired their work (and all they've been through), and returned to the house.