#gray so gray

Song : Gray So Gray (ft. Younha)

Artist : Epik High

i hated myself (tablo's word) - epik high

i hated myself

i was broken on the day He made me

he taught me to love

how to love everyone but me sadly

i dont blame anybody for my pain

when its so damn easy to hate me

except for how to love me

ive learned everything in the world

ive decided to be lonely

people are exhausting

airplane mode but i put my wings back

The English title is based on the pronunciation of the Korean. A translated title would actually be “That’s Why” or more literally, “[I’m] like that because [it’s] like that”

I only learned bad things, that’s why. I only chose to do bad things, huh? I hate this about myself. I wanted to live like a good person, too.

“Were you always like this?” You’ve always been afraid to approach me, sprouting thorns, So you should know well. The world made me swallow hundreds of thorns, So I pushed them from my body and become a cactus. I hate me more than you could ever. I can only be an unfixable jerk. The fact that I’m me is the problem. That’s right, like you say, I’m sick*, so Even if I’m given flowers, I’m fated to break to pieces at a single touch, so Go.

You know me. My emotions are broken. In my devastated heart, simple hope cannot grow a single sprout. I was always careless toward you, And didn’t you always swallow tears, tired of thirsting for attention? Taking away your tears, adding to your sadness. The waves crashing in your eyes Were once filled with hatred, but now sympathize with me. Why are you worried for me? I’ve always been a disaster.

I, I only learned bad things, that’s why. I only chose to do bad things, huh? I hate this about myself. I wanted to live like a good person, too. I was hurt too much, that’s why. I was tricked too much, that’s why. I hate being like this, too. I want to laugh. But that doesn’t work out. It doesn’t.

The darkness that’s fallen over me I’m afraid of it dying even your future in black, (that’s why). Getting hurt Is something I hate to death. I’m someone who hurts others before they can hurt me, (that’s why). Ultimately, the cause of my loneliness is all myself. I keep shifting the blame to you and the world. I’ll even let go of your hand I’ve been holding tight, so leave While the remaining feelings are still stronger than the hatred.

I don’t know love, that’s why. That’s right, when I was little, I only learned how to take away. I was never given anything, that’s why. I’m scared, that’s why. Even when I closed my eyes, I saw too many things I shouldn’t have, that’s why. These are all excuses. I said I’d give you everything, right? As I promised, I’m giving you all my scars. “How can a human being do that?” Because I’m human...that’s why.

My anxious heart, My precarious self, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Forgive me for being like this. My heart doesn’t follow what my heart wants. I’ll lean on you a bit.

I, I only learned bad things, that’s why. I only chose to do bad things, huh? I hate this about myself. I wanted to live like a good person, too. I was hurt too much, that’s why. I was tricked too much, that’s why. I hate being like this, too. I want to laugh. But that doesn’t work out.

I don’t know love, I still don’t know, That’s why. That’s why. I don’t know your feelings, I don’t know my feelings either, That’s why. It’s because I’m me, that’s why.

blobyblo IG Reel:

에픽하이 - 그래서 그래 ft. 윤하 @younhaholic = 여러분의 감성을 여는 비밀번호 #에픽하이 #윤하

EPIK HIGH - Gray so Gray ft. Younha = The password that unlocks your emotions

▶️ https://youtu.be/l7EQ_uoNQBE

there's a specific kind of loneliness that comes from watching yourself ruin things in real time. you see your hand reach out and push someone away. you hear the words leave your mouth, sharp and cutting. you watch their face change. and somewhere inside, a voice says: stop. this is exactly what you didn't want to happen. but you don't stop. you can't stop. or maybe you won't stop. the difference between those three becomes impossible to parse when you've spent your entire life building walls and calling them survival.

i was fourteen when epik high's "gray so gray" taught me there was a name for this. i cried myself to sleep that night, not from sadness, but from the strange relief of being seen. almost four years later, i still haven't decided if that recognition was a gift or a curse.

Chorus: The Inconvenient Truth About Self-Awareness

most discussions of avoidant attachment operate on a simple assumption: avoidants don't realize they're scared, don't recognize they're hurting people, and don't see their behavior as a pattern. the typical narrative suggests that awareness itself is the cure. "gray so gray" rejects this premise entirely. its protagonist already knows all of this. they can diagnose themselves with clinical precision. they understand cause and effect. they watch themselves cause pain and know it's happening.

this self-awareness doesn't fix anything. that's the part most people miss.

the opening lines establish this immediately. the protagonist has "only learned how to be bad" and hates themselves for it. they desperately wanted to be good. notice the past tense. this isn't someone discovering their flaws for the first time. this is someone who has lived with this knowledge long enough for the wanting to calcify into something harder and more permanent than desire.

the popular narrative suggests that insight leads to change. understand why you're avoidant, and you'll stop being avoidant. "gray so gray" offers a more uncomfortable reality: you can understand everything and change nothing. knowledge and transformation are not the same currency.

Verse 1: The Cactus Wasn't Born Sharp

the first verse dismantles another common misconception about avoidant attachment: that avoidants are inherently cold, naturally withdrawn, constitutionally incapable of warmth. the protagonist rejects this. they weren't always "sharp to the touch." they didn't emerge from the womb as a cactus.

instead, "the world made me swallow countless thorns." this matters. the transformation from person to cactus wasn't a choice but a response. an adaptation. the protagonist tried to expel the pain they'd swallowed, and in that process of trying to protect themselves, they became dangerous to others.

this is where the metaphor gains its real power. a cactus doesn't develop thorns out of malice. it develops thorns because that's what survival required in its environment. the thorns aren't personality. they're adaptation. but by the time the cactus realizes it no longer needs those thorns, they've already become part of its structure. you can't just decide to be smooth again.

the protagonist knows this. they call themselves "the problem" and acknowledge they're "too fragile." even holding something gentle like a flower will cause them to "shatter into pieces." this isn't self-pity. it's threat assessment. they're not saying they deserve gentleness despite their thorns. they're saying they'll destroy gentleness because of their thorns. the kindest thing they can do is tell the flower to leave.

most people hear this as low self-esteem. it's actually the opposite. it's a clear-eyed understanding of present capacity.

Verse 2: The Desert Where Love Won't Grow

the second verse confronts what avoidants do that often gets minimized in therapeutic language: they take. the protagonist's heart is "a desert" where love can't grow, but that barrenness doesn't make them passive. they were "cold." they gave tears when someone wanted attention. they "took everything and gave sadness."

this is the part that doesn't get discussed enough in conversations about attachment trauma. yes, avoidants were often hurt. yes, their defensiveness is learned. but learned behavior still has consequences. the protagonist doesn't hide behind their history. they state clearly: i extracted resources. i gave pain in return. i knew what you wanted, and i gave you the opposite.

then comes the deflection: "you know i was always a mess." it's simultaneously honest and evasive. honest because it's true. evasive because it positions the mess as a known constant rather than a changeable pattern. if you knew i was a mess, the logic goes, then what did you expect? this shifts responsibility subtly from "i should work on this" to "you should have known better."

avoidants do this constantly. they warn you, hurt you, then point to the warning as if it absolves the hurt. the protagonist seems aware they're doing this, but awareness, again, doesn't stop the pattern.

Verse 3: Preemptive Warfare

the third verse articulates what many avoidants feel but rarely admit: "i'm the type to hurt someone just so they can't hurt me first." this isn't reactive. it's strategic. the protagonist isn't lashing out in response to immediate threat. they're implementing a preemptive strike based on the assumption that pain is inevitable, so controlling its timing and source becomes paramount.

this reveals something crucial about avoidant attachment that contradicts its common portrayal. avoidants aren't passive. they're not simply withdrawing or going numb. they're actively managing relationships through calculated distance and periodic harm. it's a form of control born from feeling fundamentally out of control.

the verse continues: "yeah, my loneliness is all my fault, but i keep blaming you and the world." this is the cognitive dissonance at the core. the protagonist knows intellectually that they're responsible for their isolation. but emotionally, they still experience it as something being done to them. both things exist simultaneously. you can know you caused something and still feel victimized by it.

this isn't irrationality. it's the gap between intellectual understanding and emotional belief. you can read every book about attachment theory. you can understand that your parents' inconsistency taught you that closeness means danger. you can trace the exact mechanism by which your defensive strategies became self-defeating. and you can still, in the moment someone reaches for you, feel nothing but the certainty that you need to get away.

the protagonist decides to "let go of your hand now, before the last bit of feelings you have for me become hatred." this is framed as mercy, but it's also control. better to end it on my terms than wait for you to leave. better to be the one who walks away. at least then i'm making a choice rather than being abandoned.

Verse 4: Because I'm Only Human

the fourth verse traces everything back to origin: "i don't understand love. ever since i was little, i only learned how to have things taken away." this is explanation, not justification. the protagonist immediately follows with: "it's all an excuse, i know."

this is sophisticated psychological awareness. they understand that their childhood explains their present but doesn't excuse it. causation isn't permission. but here's what the popular narrative misses: knowing something is an excuse doesn't make it stop functioning as a reason. you can intellectually reject the validity of your defense mechanisms while still being governed by them.

the most devastating line comes next: "i told you i'd give you everything i've got. i kept that promise by giving you all of my pain." this reframes avoidant behavior in a way that's both honest and terrible. avoidants do give fully. they're not actually withholding. they're just giving the wrong thing. they promised everything and delivered on that promise. the problem is that everything they have is pain.

the verse ends with a question: "how can a human being be like this?" followed immediately by the answer: "it's precisely because i'm only human." being human means being shaped by experience. it means adapting to survive. it means learning patterns that once protected you and carrying them long past their usefulness. the protagonist isn't using humanity as an excuse. they're using it as an explanation for why knowledge doesn't automatically override conditioning.

Bridge: Contradiction

after verses of self-awareness and accountability, the bridge does something unexpected. the protagonist apologizes. they acknowledge their "insecure heart" and "unstable self." they admit "my heart won't beat the way i want it to."

then: "can i rest my head on your shoulder?"

this is the impossibility at the center of avoidant attachment. you want comfort without vulnerability. you want intimacy without exposure. you want someone to hold you while you remain fundamentally untouchable. the protagonist seems aware this is contradictory, but the need doesn't care about the contradiction.

this is what people who haven't experienced this kind of attachment often can't grasp. it's not that avoidants don't want closeness. they desperately want closeness. they just want it on impossible terms. they want the other person to maintain perfect distance and perfect proximity simultaneously. they want to be known without being seen. they want to be held without being touched.

the bridge doesn't resolve this contradiction. it just states it plainly and hopes for something that can't exist.

Outro: Because

the outro strips everything down to its simplest form. "because i don't understand love, i still don't understand love. that is why." the repetition isn't emphasis. it's the sound of a mind running in circles. not understanding love isn't cute or mysterious. it's a deficit with real consequences for real people.

then the justifications: "i did it to live. i did it to smile. i did it for me." these are true. avoidant strategies are survival mechanisms. they're attempts at self-preservation. but the final line undercuts this: "i did it all for you."

this seems like contradiction until you understand it's not. avoidants genuinely believe that pushing people away protects those people. that their coldness is a kindness. that disappearing is a gift. they did it for themselves and for you because in their logic, both are served by distance. everyone's safer when the cactus stands alone.

the song ends on "because," leaving the sentence unfinished. because what? because that's all there is to say. because explanation has run its course. because reasons don't change outcomes.

Three Years and Still Counting

i'm not writing this to justify avoidant behavior. i know the harm it causes. i've inflicted that harm. i've watched people's patience turn to exhaustion, their hope turn to resignation, their love turn to relief when i finally left. the people hurt by avoidants experience real pain that no amount of psychological explanation mitigates or excuses.

but i am writing to articulate something true that the popular discourse on attachment often misses: insight is not the same as transformation. you can understand yourself completely and still be unable to change. or unwilling. or trapped somewhere between unable and unwilling where the distinction stops mattering.

this isn't a plea for patience or a request for accommodation. it's simply an attempt to put words to a specific kind of trap. you're not broken in a way that can be fixed. you're adapted in a way that hurts. that hurt is real. you're allowed to acknowledge it while still taking responsibility for what you do with it.

"gray so gray" gave fourteen-year-old me language for something i'd been living but couldn't name. at nearly eighteen, i'm still living it. i still push people away. i still give tears when they want attention. i still hurt people before they can hurt me. i know i do this. i watch myself do it. i hate that i do it.

the song doesn't offer hope or solutions because there aren't easy ones. it offers something more modest and more necessary: a clear-eyed account of what it feels like to be the problem you can see but cannot solve. to know what you're doing wrong while doing it. to understand the mechanism of your own dysfunction without being able to dismantle it.

this isn't a story about redemption or growth. it's a story about recognition. and sometimes, in the specific loneliness of watching yourself ruin things in real time, being seen is both everything and not nearly enough.

The Part That Stays With You

here's what i wish someone had told me at fourteen: recognition matters, but it's only the beginning. understanding why you're a cactus doesn't make you less sharp. reading about attachment theory doesn't rewire your nervous system. crying over a song that describes you perfectly doesn't change what you do the next time someone reaches for you.

but it does give you a choice that wasn't there before. not the choice to instantly transform. the choice to see clearly what you're doing and decide, in that moment, whether to do it anyway. most of the time, you'll still do it. the pattern is too deep, the fear too old, the thorns too much a part of your structure. but sometimes, in the gap between knowing and doing, there's space for something different. not change. not yet. just the possibility of it.

"gray so gray" doesn't promise that possibility will become reality. it just acknowledges that space exists. that seeing yourself clearly, even when what you see is ugly and hurtful and stuck, is its own kind of truth. and truth, uncomfortable as it is, is still better than the alternative of not knowing why you're alone.

the song ends on an unfinished "because." maybe that's the most honest ending possible. because change is hard. because patterns persist. because knowing and changing are different things. because you're still a cactus, even when you hate being one. because, because, because.