When the inside goes dark.

Lately, I’ve noticed something unsettling—something I’ve never quite felt before.

Everything inside me is still dark.

Not just the outside world—I’ve been living in total blindness for a long time, with no eyes and no physical sight. But I’ve always had an eternal visual world inside me. I see colors and shapes without needing to see the outside. That world has been my comfort. My light. My truth.

But something has changed.
The bright colors are gone.
No vivid reds. No deep purples. No glowing white light.
Just a heavy, unmoving gray—
with yellow barely floating through, and even that is slow and dull.

I don’t know where the rest of it went.
I don’t know why it’s not coming back.

And it’s confusing, because on the outside, I’m doing fine.
I actually feel excited.
Today, I’ve been cleaning up my bedroom—throwing out old Braille magazines that I don’t need anymore, making space, clearing out clutter. It feels good.
Like a fresh start. A reset. I’m smiling, I’m grounded, I’m energized.

But on the inside…
Silence.
Stillness.
And darkness.

I’m not sad. I’m not afraid.
But I am wondering what this means.
Does something in my internal world need rest, too?
Or is this a new chapter of how my blindness—and my brain—are changing?

I’m writing this down because I promised myself I would share the truth of what it’s like to live this way. Even the quiet days. Even the in-between days. Even the ones where the light seems to step away.

I’ve seen so much in the dark. Maybe this darkness is just making space for the next thing I’m meant to see.

I’ll wait. I’ll be still. And I’ll keep watching—with or without sight.

—
Still Seeing in the Dark
#BlindNotBroken #DisabilityAwareness #StillSeeingInTheDark

 

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

What I'm still seeing With Out eyes, part 2.

Chapter 4 Last night, the reddish-orange light was so bright, so intense, it filled everything. I couldn’t even tell when I’d closed my eyes—the usual dark reddish-brown I expect was nowhere to be found. It was just light, bold and burning, like a fire behind my eyelids. By morning, the world inside me had settled. The brightness faded back into its usual heavy grey, with slow-floating yellow shapes drifting through the fog. And now, as I sit quietly, the darker reddish-brown edges have returned—faint but grounding—like the calm after a storm. Right now, I see yellow floaters swimming lazily through that grey space, with a soft peach tint in the background. It’s quiet, gentle, almost dreamlike. People ask me, “What are you up to?” It’s a casual question. A way to check in. And I answer casually too—“Oh, just chilling. Writing on my disability page. Sipping some coffee.” It’s true, but it’s not the full truth. What I don’t say is that while I sip that coffee, I’m watching y...
Read more

A brighter Pinkish Purple.

Image
It’s now a brighter pinkish purple—so bright, I can almost feel a bit of heat coming from it, like sunshine is beaming straight into my eyes. But there is no sunshine. There’s no light in the room. There’s no glow in the sky. There are no eyes on my face. That’s right—I’m totally blind. And yet, here it is. A radiant, glowing pinkish purple filling my inner world. It’s not just a color—it’s an experience. It shines from inside, with a reddish hue gently edging its way back into view. It’s soft, yet strong. Beautiful, and somehow alive. No one else can see this color—but to me, it’s so real I can feel it. Some people say blindness is darkness. But today, it’s pinkish purple. And it’s glorious.   Brilliant hot pink, Morning Coffee, and Yellow floaters. It’s late in the day, but I’ve been up on and off—lingering in bed, eating a late breakfast, and listening to The Right Time by Danielle Steel. And all the while, one thing has stayed with me: a brilliant, almost overwhelming...
Read more

Why Should I Have To Serve in Jewry Duty When I Can't See?

Lately, I’ve been getting so frustrated. The court keeps sending me letters, pushing me to serve jury duty—even though I’ve already submitted a doctor’s letter saying that I am totally blind, hearing impaired, and on disability. My doctor even wrote that I’m unable to participate due to my medical condition. But apparently, that’s not enough. She didn’t go into every single detail. Why? Because she legally can’t—HIPAA protects my private medical information. And now the court is rejecting her letter because it doesn’t spell out every little thing, like I owe them some full-body explanation to be believed. Let me be clear: I am totally blind. I have no eyes. I also live with hearing loss. I rely on sound cues, memory, my hands, my other senses—every day. And it’s exhausting sometimes, even in familiar places. Now imagine being called into a courtroom, where everything depends on seeing: Who stood up to speak? What kind of gesture did they just make? Who are they pointing ...
Read more