Perhaps you remember being told that Van Gogh ate yellow paint to raise his spirits, although he never truly did. The overall concept of him eating yellow paint to find happiness has always been something I thought about. The man himself said. "It appears that I pick up filthy things and eat them, although my memories of these bad moments are vague." Perhaps he had a secret motive behind the whole ordeal, something that only he would understand. They state he drank the yellow paint in a desperate attempt to feel happy for once. We all do something to feel happy, even on our worst days. My biggest fear in life is that you are my yellow paint, something I believe makes me happy â but is simply bad for me. Although we don't speak anymore, I think of you when I'm upset. It kills me inside, but it fills my scattered mind with fake happiness because I've learned to force myself to believe I'm happy. The concept of us together instills hope in my mind as I dream of the two of us dancing around without a care in the world. You told me that you'd never love a girl like me ever again, interpret it as you please. When those words came out of your mouth, I was dumbfounded. What the fuck did you mean you wouldn't love a girl like me again? When you promised me that, I promised myself something too â that I'd never love again. To this day, I never purchase yellow paint because it's a reminder of the love that I lack towards everything I should admire.