Nyctophobia is the fear of the darkness- the darkness is a pitch-black pit of frustration, sadness, and anger that you can never rid of, no matter how hard you try. You can maybe approach one of your fancy little lamps and turn on the lights, but that doesn't mean it isn't there.
It's always there.
Darkness is frustrating, really. You can never see anything even when you want to open your eyes- because that's what I'm going through.
I hate that I can't see anything.
I hate that people always try to approach me to feel better- I don't need you holding my hand all the time, and honestly, certainly don't like the gesture! I'm not some kicked puppy, as a matter of fact. I can do just fine on my own, thank you very much.
I remember the first time that I found out I couldn't see.
It was on the day we were going stargazing- ironic, right? I was sleeping soundly in my parent's car during a long road trip on our way to California when I felt my entire body shift forward, and my eyes landed exactly on top of one of the airbags which popped at full force.
After a few months of being treated at the hospital, I was in total denial that I couldn't see. I thought that this was temporary, and it'd pass.
But a day went by in a breeze, and the days turned into weeks which turned into months into years. I was blind, and I knew it.
People take a lot of things for granted. You never know the things you want until you can't have them.
When I became blind, I realized a lot of things that I'd never be able to see anymore- my best friends, family, a smile, emotions.
Then there were other things, like sunsets and delicious meals. Or stars in the night sky, or looks on other people's faces when you make them laugh.
And they were all gone within seconds.
"Rhys, come along now," my mother chided from downstairs. I groaned, not ready to face the day. Not yet, while my face was covered in drool from sleeping and my whole body lugging with exhaustion.
But since I didn't have a choice, I tried to sound as chirpy as possible, replying with, "Coming, mom!"
I never really did get to see my mom before- if I were able to see her, I'd like to believe that I'd call her beautiful, no matter how she looked.
So I can recognize her by the way she smells- cinnamon and persimmon. It's a sweet and pungent smell that zings through your nose and almost even makes you see colors.
I put my cane on the ground, feeling for the area around me. The carpet is soft in some places, rough in others. Our house is rather old, so it'd difficult to know which places are sturdy and which places aren't. For example, one of our old walk-in closets. These would honestly be the death of me! The bar that holds a large mountain of clothes is balancing unevenly, like a seesaw.
I feel someone put a lock of my hair back behind my ear as I sit down on one of the leather cushions- and yes, for all you morons wondering, I know what kind of chair it is.
My mother tells me to stay patient with others when they ask questions, but I just don't get it! How would people feel if they couldn't see and be asked the same questions every day?
"Are you excited?" My mom asked. I could almost hear a tinge of excitement of her voice, herself.
"For what?" I ask while putting a spoonful of cereal into my mouth.
"Your first day of high school!" She clapped cheerfully.
I immediately spit out whatever contents of food that was in my mouth. "WHAT?!"
I heard my mom's slippers move backward arublty as I tried to gather my bearings again. "Wait, wait, it's today? Already? What day is it?"
I immediately slump back into my seat.
A new school means a bunch of new people asking questions.
A new school means having to find your way through new classes with a walking stick and then having to explain to the entire class why you were late.
A new school meant bullies.
High school was not going to be fun at all.
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