Reaching for the Light

As a result of the setbacks, my color vision diminished to almost nothing. The essentials of contrasting color to mark edges and boundaries is lost to me. The television is a hazed out jumble of shades of gray with occasional reds and tints of paled blue. This is not a retinapathy issue; I still see vivid color through the right eye’s misaligned pinhole.
The floater release earlier this month devastated me. Ot came o top of a dozen or more other stressful events crammed into too short a time. When I realized for sure that it had just inexplicably happened again, I nearly cried in the middle of the waiting room. Tough stoic me nearly cried. I’m still not sure how I kept it under control. I think I just focused on why I was in that office and focused on my foot. They eye could wait; my latest doctor is local to me, and indeed I was seen by his associate that afternoon.
The last few weeks have been pure hell for me. I’ve been kicked from every direction, often repeatedly, and most things I was just not able to see coming, figuratively and literally. My neatly compartmentalized life saw fires and floods in almost every compartment. (No worries, homeowners and tenants; that one’s just figuratively speaking.)
Many of these events tied the present with the distant past and a bleak future. My mind became like the TV, a grayed out jumble of indiscernible images that just flowed together incoherently.
The release of the floater was the last straw, the last thing to happen to make me feel like the perpetual victim. It became my call to pull myself together and deal with the whirlwinds swirling about me.
I did not rest at all with this setback. I resumed more of the things I had let go due to the blind eyes and the gimpy foot.
The floater dissipated completely in a matter of three days. It’s probably absorbed into the eye. The day it happened it was a solid black mass that danced from the blind perineal and into my tight circle of remaining vision. Day Two saw a tangled blur of webs and their accompanying spiders, morbid shadows that flickered past my eye like the fleeting peripherally-seen image of a fleeing black cat. By Day Three it was reduced to a fat hairy spider among slight strands of web. By the end of the day it was gone. The vision was really poor enough before this release that I cannot tell if things are a little more obscured now.
I’m working with the latest doctor. I am one stubborn son of a bitch. Things may be dark, but in so many ways in my life, they always have been.
I’m not done reaching for the light just yet.