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Growing up, I always felt different from everyone else around me. While my classmates would spend their afternoons playing sports or going to parties, I found solace in the serene beauty of nature and the deep hue of indigo that seemed to follow me wherever I went. Little did I know that this indigo identity would ultimately be the catalyst for the downfall of my life.
As a child, I was always drawn to the color indigo. I loved the way it made me feel calm and centered, like I was connected to something greater than myself. I would spend hours staring at the sky, trying to absorb as much indigo as I could, hoping that it would somehow imbue me with its mysterious power.
As I got older, my obsession with indigo only grew stronger. I began to dress exclusively in shades of blue, dyeing my hair and painting my walls in varying hues of indigo. People started to take notice of my strange behavior, whispering behind my back and casting judgmental glances in my direction.
Despite the warnings from my family and friends, I continued down this path of self-destruction. I became isolated and withdrawn, unable to connect with anyone who couldn’t understand my deep connection to the color indigo. My grades suffered, my relationships crumbled, and I found myself sinking deeper and deeper into a dark pit of despair.
