Week One
Week One- There are prawns in my eyes. They’ve been there for the last week. Don’t ask me how they got there. I have absolutely no clue. I know virtually nothing about marine zoology (prawns), and even less about eyes (rods, cones, cornea, iris???). I was unaware that the prawns were even in my eyes until my doctor pointed them out. My psychiatrist, at that. You’d think that a condition like this one would be diagnosed by an optometrist (ophthalmologist?), but alas. It’s not like the prawns are a nuisance. They don’t bother me whatsoever. They simply exist. Sitting in the salty pools of my irises just waiting. I don’t know what they’re waiting for, but I assume they’re waiting. I mean, maybe they’ll start to act normally at some point (like prawns, I suppose), but for now they just sit and squirm there in their prawny silence. It hurts me to think about how others perceive me with prawns in my eyes. The worst part is that I was already chronically insecure. This condition only adds to the mounting fear I have that I’ll never be good enough. I’ll never be good enough for my friends, if I can even call them that. I’ll never be good enough for the society I want to be a part of, I’ll never be good enough for my family, and most importantly, I’ll never be good enough for myself. I suppose I can live with this knowledge, but admitting my mistakes stings in the worst possible sense. After all, admitting defeat is not an easy task to accomplish. But as much as I’d like to sit down and ramble and go off on some insanely complex diatribe against myself that ends up in a self-imposed pity party, I should stop, and return to the prawns.
As of now, I only have a few simple issues with the prawns in my eyes. The main issue is the fact that I can’t see them. I can’t see their spiny little bodies quiver ever so slightly, even in my peripheral vision, and because of this lack of sight, they’re just blobs of inky blackness that obscure my sense of depth perception. I’ve never needed glasses, but perhaps these prawns will change that. But with that being said, these prawns seem to represent the simple fact that I have to live my life knowing that I will never truly be able to change my situation. The prawns exist in my eyes and in my eyes only, but are seen by everyone around me except for myself. This lack of perception on my end presents me with an infuriatingly complex moral dilemma. Should I be pleased by the fact that I can’t see the prawns? Should I thank my lucky stars that they don’t bother or hurt me? Or, should I focus on the fact that I CAN’T SEE (!!!) the stupid little creatures, and live with the great burden that I can never truly see myself unless I look in the mirror? But then again, this manner of thinking presents a far more complex issue, which is the simple fact that I can never see myself unless I look in the mirror, because just as I can never see the prawns, I can never see my own face or my own back or the many other little blemishes, cracks, and parts of myself that define who I am. Luckily, these issues are all theoretical, and do not hinder my daily life, as of yet. These issues all exist within my own head, and are far more philosophically inclined than I would like. So, to me, these issues are irrelevant. Because all that matters at the present moment is that there are prawns in my eyes.
At some point, I need to ask myself how I will live the rest of my life with this ailment. On some level, I suppose that having prawns in my eyes is a benefit. They help me stand out from the rest of society at large. I am a deviant. Not a sexual or hedonistic madman, but a person with a certain bodily condition that allows the world to perceive me differently. But then again, the issue of perception always haunts me, because as I mentioned before, I have an innate fear of external judgement. But maybe this judgement would be positive. I’m not a fan of sympathetic love, but if sympathy is what I need, I’ll gladly accept it. After all, I see the way in which the world is changing. I understand that, however slowly, people are adapting and supporting those with disabilities. Of course, I admit that people with disabilities have it harder than most. I understand that there will always be some negative judgement towards them. But I also acknowledge that as a society, we are becoming more accepting of these people. At least, I hope so. But, I digress. My main point is the fact that these prawns in my eyes may help me connect with a larger community. Maybe I won’t be the alienated loner that I feared I would become. Maybe the love and support of human society at large will have an immensely positive impact on me, an impact that eventually leads to a more fulfilling life.
However, I doubt that a fulfilling life will be the outcome in my case. I doubt that everyone in the world will immediately drop what they’re doing and love and accept me unconditionally as “the little boy with the prawns in his eyes” (insert local translation). I know that there will be times in my life when I crave death. Times when I will lie awake at night afraid of the dawn to come and the day to begin. Coupled with thoughts of of cutting the prawns out of my eyes with my grandfather’s straightedge in a pool of lukewarm bath water, which will turn crimson as my bloodied eyes, and the prawns that live within them, plop lightly into the water in front of my newly-blinded body. But as I’m sure you know, I’m dramatizing the situation. I suppose what I’m most afraid of is my life turning out to be completely mundane, conducted exactly as it would have been if there weren’t prawns in my eyes. I’m afraid no one will notice. That I will go back to some dead-end school and then eventually to some dead-end job that eventually leads to my rather boring “dead-end.” This is the fear that truly haunts me. This is why I must be grateful for the prawns in my eyes, as idealistic as it may sound. I have to take this single, almost nonexistent opportunity to truly change my own fate.
