As I sat on my bed this morning, with the same view of my
useless vision, stretching out my fingers in hope that somehow a miracle had
taken place and I would see even a flicker of my white skin against a dark
background. Then again, dread filled my heart as another day I would see the
same thing in front of me. You would think I would get used to it now, wouldn’t
you? Sadly no. In the pit of my stomach I still feel grief. Grief for what I
have lost and may never get back. The lump in my throat more prominent today.
It hurt right up to my ears. Why do my eyes even bother to open? Hmm. I am
grateful that they do, but if they didn’t, then surely it would be easier to
know why they didn’t see?
As I turned to my left, avoiding the window, not wanting to
have the light that isn’t there for me snatched away again in a force of fearful
feelings, I simply avoided anything that should be bright!
As I went into my bathroom, a mirror is in front of me. Just
so happens that it’s the door of the cupboard for the cosmetics above the sink!
Still I chance a glance in hope that perhaps my eyes just had no time to adjust?
Putting on the light, that’s it, that is what I need to do. The light will
clarify that yes, the sleep I had during the night and the fact that a power un
be known to earth had worked on my vision during my slumber, would all be shown
in the mirror, only first I had to light the room up.
I pondered for a while. Placing my fingers to my lips, to
hush them. To prevent them from screaming. I then traced my face to my eyes and
provided a shelf to catch any tears which may have escaped.
My heart today would burst. I was suffering. Today more than
most days. Normally my ache lasted only until I stood up from my bed. Today it
followed me. Chasing me biting me. Poking at me. Almost in a stabbing motion.
“You can’t see, stupid. You’re blind and will never see, not
ever, so give up.””
Words haunted me from years ago. “Darkness will prevail.””
To go through life each day to struggle in the way I do, to
be proud at small achievements, tiny footsteps to others, huge leaps to me. To
fall. To be trod on. Only to have once again to find the strength to get back
up again.
I just want to look at my Son. To hold his beautiful face in
my hands and kiss his cheek. Tell him how much I love him but to give him eye
contact in the way I did as he was a baby in my arms.
I want to see the colour red again. What colour is my hair
now? I’m told blonde, but that is a name for many shades. How old do I look? I’m
told a lot younger than I am but are people just being kind? I want to see for
myself.
Yes, I can do things some better than sighted people, but it’s
so much more difficult, physically and emotionally. I ask myself how long
before a medical breakthrough will come to people like me as well as myself?
To be honest, I have stopped looking now at the so called
medical miracles, because the headlines get your hopes built up and pull you
into the story only to throw you from a high tower, tossing you through the air
tearing your skin, shredding your clothes.
Is this dirty paper ever going to be lifted from my eyes and
allow the world to be let in? Allow me to see smile and feel as if I am really laughing. Do
I have a future of vision? Or,
is this my destiny?
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