Take My Hand
- LECTURAS 156
- Votos 10
- Partes 9
Continúa1h 9m
Última publicación sáb, jun 20, 2020
I see the world alot differently then most people, why you may ask? Probably because I can't really see like most people can. I lost my eyesight about two years ago due to retinitis pigmentosa (RP). When doctor told me I only had a few months left of perfect vision, it felt as of my whole world was crashing down on me. My heart broke as I thought about all the things I couldn't do anymore. But I had to accept it, it was the only way I could have a chance at a normal life. So I worked my butt off for one year. Then two years past and being nearly blind just became normalicy for me. Until one day when I heard a classmate of mine, was going through something similar. Jeston Wilder was about a enter a strange dark and lonely world. And something inside of me wanted to help, just wanted to go up to him and say 'Take my hand' because nothing says practicality like the blind leading the blind...right?
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#243
blindness
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I didn't know I was disappearing until it was almost too late. At first, it was subtle. A missed call here. A joke at my expense there. A delay in responding, followed by a grand explanation that made me feel silly for even asking. You start to wonder if you're imagining things-if your skin has grown too thin, or if the world has always been this cold and you just never noticed. But no, this is different. This is targeted. This is personal. He came to me like a storm pretending to be sunlight. Charming, magnetic, wounded-how I mistook those wounds as something that needed my healing. I didn't know then that narcissistic abuse doesn't always arrive screaming. Sometimes, it tiptoes in wearing the face of love. He said all the right things at the right time, until I stopped trusting my own sense of wrong. The highs were dizzying: he told me I was everything. Special. Unlike anyone he had ever met. He made me feel chosen. And so, I stayed-even when the lows scraped at my bones, even when the words grew sharp and the silence louder than his rage. I didn't see the cage being built because I was too busy decorating it, thinking I was safe inside. The thing about narcissistic pain is that it often masquerades as longing. You ache not just for the person-but for the version of yourself you were when they first looked at you like you mattered. You miss the illusion. You miss the fantasy. And worst of all, you blame yourself when it shatters.
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