So where have I been? I could give you some long sob story about depression and how it affects me, but the truth is, I usually write a lot when I’m depressed, so the excuse would only work on you, and not me, and in the end, I only write for myself anyways. I’m not one of those writers who really care much about the reader; his reactions, or comments … I probably should work on that, but right now it’s enough that I’m tapping away at the keyboard making sentences, and growing thoughts in this little brain of mine. The truth is simple, I had nothing to write about … nothing moved me, nothing cried out for articulation. I woke up in the morning, went to work, worked, came home, worked out, and went to sleep. Sometimes the monotony of the day would inspire me to grovel out my greatest stories, but not this time. This time I put away the keyboard (like I said I would), and just “was” for a while.
There is a time in everyone’s live when they need to be; they need to exist without purpose, and they need to feel the inside of their skin, and know that it’s smooth and bloody. They need to stare at their face in the mirror and let it get distorted and unrecognizable. They need to justify their lives, and they need to focus.
Great word, focus, and if I had to choose one, that would be the word I’d use to describe my sentence of late. Almost a year ago from today I lost my eyesight, and I made great hast to relay to everyone who’d listen that it wasn’t earth shattering; that my life was unaffected by it. I lied. I made the same old tired arguments that because something was better than nothing, I was okay. But that’s my life, isn’t it? Something is better than nothing? It’s not true. Something is sometimes less than nothing, and sometimes something, the thing you get, is nothing more than a reminder that you’ve lost something else.
I can see, I can read … kind of. I can see my injury in this soft haze that surrounds everything I look at. An injury that can’t be fixed with glasses or surgery, and can only be dealt with until my body heals itself in it’s own time. I can see my disregard for my personal safety every time I look at a computer screen. Now here’s where this story gets a little odd … I can’t (maybe won’t, not sure) see the haze when I’m driving, working, sleeping, or anything else. The only time I can see the haze is when I’m looking at this screen. Don’t get me wrong, I can see the screen … I can see the words appear, and I can hear the thoughts in my head, and I can connect those thoughts and form these sentences, but there is a haze that outline the black with a halo that I can’t describe other than to say that, and that halo is a constant reminder of what I’ve lost.
And it’s all a little strange, actually, because the one thing I can do to drive the demons from my head, from my thoughts, is to do this … sit down and write, and then the writing had somehow became my demon. Suddenly as it came, however, it went, and last night I opened my Word program for the millionth time, and wrote this … Wrote this essay of sorts, and was meant to excuse my absence, but rather just made my absence more palatable for me. I guess what I’m trying to say is that I didn’t need this excuse, that it’s okay to put down the keys, and it’s okay to put away your thoughts, and not articulate. It’s okay to rebel against your nature, and it’s okay to feel you way around instead of using tired intuition that will often fail you. I’m still a writer even if I don’t write, but better still, I’m still a person if I don’t write. I needed to learn that lesson, and losing my sight was the way fate tore me open to look inside of me and find out what I was made of … thanks for the patience, and the emails … but I think I may just be back from the dead. Give it a little while for this new guy to settle in, he’s not used to the surroundings, and he’s not used to the halos, but he will get used to them.

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