Eyesight.

Let me tell you a thing about eyesight.

I have… fucking amazing eyesight. 



But there’s a thing about that, you see. Because you can see something doesn’t necessarily mean you can read it, or even if you can read it, it doesn’t mean you can speak it. 


I can see more than most people. Not to be confused with most people I know, because I tend to gravitate towards others like myself, who have… good eyesight. I can see more than most people. Sometimes this creates problems. Seeing things that others don’t makes people think you are crazy, or paranoid. I assure you, I am crazy, but my sanity has nothing to do with perception. There are other times, where perhaps, my sight is called into question, perhaps I have bad sight? I don’t seem to know how to react, and I don’t seem to be able to read anything, so surely I am incapable of seeing it, you might say with some scorn. I assure you I can see everything just fine. Probably better than you can as long as I’m not trying to look at myself. For some reason, I’m completely incapable of seeing myself. I have no reflection, it is murky and shifts incessantly. When I try to look at my hands, they warp and wiggle. 

But I’m not looking at myself. I’m looking at you. And for what is probably longer than I have been aware of in an expressible way, myself and you have been very separate things. In the sense that, when I look at you, I don’t need to be concerned about my own lack of visibility getting in the way. That happens, sometimes, you know, even when I’m looking at something other than myself, sometimes I can obstruct my own view and I see nothing. 

And that precise thing happened for a while. At least, that’s what I’ve convinced myself of. Better that. Better to have seen incorrectly, than to have seen correctly and been misled. I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt. 

And in all this time of looking at you… several years now… I’ve seen something. Something I think you thought you were hiding. But you aren’t. I thought it would be fair to inform you. You think my vision is obtuse, or at least… you used to. Mayhap you no longer do. And while in most of our experience, I never knew how to read what I saw, or express what I read, I saw all of it. And I have seen this, too. 

Like Mattford, all I asked for was honesty. Nothing more. I wanted to hear what could have hurt, even if it wasn’t what I desired. I wanted the truth. But you’ve been… Fuck if I know what you’ve been. I don’t know how to express what I’ve read yet again, but you’ve been something, and I almost want to say afraid. Afraid to tell me the truth about this. And you did give me some of the truth. I wanted all of it. And now I’ve got more of it, but I’ve acquired it on my own terms, and that lends a taint to it that leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. 

My words, my truth, still holds. The bitter taste does not contradict it, it only adds another layer. 


Please stop assuming me to be blind simply because I do not have the words. Lacking the ability to express myself how I’d like to does not make what I cannot express any less of a quality than what you can. So please do not presume I am stupid. It offends me. 


Author’s note: I saved these manic ramblings, but I have no recollection of what inspired them apart from having felt deceived by someone, about something. I estimate these would have been written sometime between 2005-2008. I’m not entirely sure why I’ve preserved this, but I find it an interesting glimpse into my headspace from that time.