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Darkness.

I realized a while ago that I'm mortally terrified of going blind. My hearing is fine. Selective, because I tune things out, but I can hear when I focus. My vision has always been 20/20. I can see every color perfectly.

Darkness has always scared me. Not darkness itself, but, what could be within it. I'm content when my eyes adjust. Once they do, even the soft green light of my alarm clock seems bright. If I needed to, I could still see. React.

If I went blind, I have no doubt that each of the small problems with my thinking would multiply exponentially.

I could learn braille and still read and write.... but I couldn't draw. Well, I can draw by feel, but it's awful, and it would be pointless. Or maybe I'd become famous for making blind drawings. I don't know. I probably wouldn't bother. No matter how much I could rely on hearing, I would still live on constant terror of all the things I couldn't see.

My reaction speed is fine. I don't fear being attacked, by man or animal. I'll be damned if anything tries to kill me, and I don't at least take it's life in return. Without sight, I couldn't do anything. No more videos, no more internet. No more WF.

Constant terror, paranoia...

I would have to rely more on others. Not that I have a problem with it... but others tend to have problems with me.

I'm not organized at all. Not near enough to be blind. I would lose everything I own. Forget where my clothes are, bump into everything, and cry in a corner about it.

Take anything. I don't care. I can live without sound. The quiet is peaceful. I could live without taste. Touch. Pain. Take a finger. Take my arms, take my legs, give me a prosthetic. Paralyze me from the waste down, make me a quadriplegic, whatever. I am strong. I can recover from that. But if I lost my sight? My creative work, everything I spent so long dreaming about, would be for nothing. All of my art would be meaningless.

I still couldn't create if I was missing my arms... but at least I wouldn't live in constant terror.

My life would consist of whatever books I read, the people I know, and objects that no longer have shapes, beyond what I can feel.

Writing would lose purpose. I couldn't share it as I wanted. Would I be published? Probably not.

It would be fine if I was born blind... I would have developed differently. I wouldn't know the difference.

But to lose it after living this way for so long?

To me, that is the definition of hell.

Do I deserve a living hell?

Creation is everything to me. That is where I find meaning. Purpose. Could I even go on despite my fears of the dark, much less adapt to a life with no meaning?

I don't doubt much about myself. But in this case, I doubt that I could.

Comments

Try not to think of it like that. It is not the end of the world - look at Ray Charles.

I already have terrible eyesight, haha, so Im half way there. I cant really see well at night but I can find My way around. Blindness runs in the family but so does deafness and Alzheimer's, so going blind wouldn't be the end of the world for me.

All but one of my mother's aunts and uncles went blind but still lived normal lives - one continued on to be a carpenter, as odd as that sounds. He was pretty damn good.

I can imagine it would be a struggle at first but most things are. Creativity will find it's way out, doesn't have to be limited to one sense.
 
TheWonderingNovice;bt4912 said:
I can imagine it would be a struggle at first but most things are. Creativity will find it's way out, doesn't have to be limited to one sense.

True, but I'm still irrationally afraid of infinite blackness.

I don't understand phobias, because they're irrational. I'm not scared of the ocean, heights, falling, bugs, dogs, etc... And yet, even in the safest environments, surrounded by people, I'm still afraid when I can't see anything... /sigh :grey:
 
When you don't let anything phase you phobias seem kind of childish.

However, deep-rooted realistic fear does make sense.

Revel in the fact that your deep rooted fears are just your subconscious preparing you for a situation that you're never going to see (no pun intended).
 
I was born five months premature in 1990. They didn't expect me to live. I heard in the news how a boy died five months premature in 2013... The parents thought they were safe to take him home, and then he just died.

Because of my inopportune birth, I had holes in my ear drums and was put on oxygen. The oxygen messed with my eyes, and that's why I have glasses. I wear hearing aids, too, and have faint burn scars on my arms and stomach.

My older brother was stillborn. I'm really, really glad to be alive. I think it helps to have reasons for the bad things and just to accept the good.
 

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Crowley K. Jarvis
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