Today is Saint Patrick's day. Everyone is going to go out and drink. I could probably do that too but I don't really feel like it. I regret waking up again. I can't focus on anything. I feel like my entire world takes place in the blurred space between what is real and what I see instead. I hate it and it saps my will to do anything at all. I light my room up as best I can but it's still there.
I feel like my destiny is to live in a white-painted room with white every single thing and blaring, ceaseless white florescent lights just to keep myself sane. Then everything will be fine with no dark colors to contrast against, I hope. More realistically, though, if I can't find some kind of change, I'll just die miserable and alone (and poor, too, because how am I going to work if I can't concentrate on anything?)
When I was hopeful that things would improve with time, this blog seemed like a great idea. Things might still improve with time. I'm a little over a third of the way through the normal six-month healing process. I think that it is fair to say that my vision is much clearer now than it was the week or two weeks after the surgery. Better than when I couldn't open my eyes without tearing up, say. Has it improved much since then? No, I don't think so. The glasses help but not with the part that is driving me crazy. And it is driving me crazy. This remains the single worst decision I have ever made in my entire life, and I feel like I will never recover from it.
My next meeting with the doctor is scheduled for June. That is a really, really long time.
Let us rejoice that when the sun expands and swallows our world up in its fires, we will have all long since passed on.
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