New year, new me? Unfortunately not.

I’ve been having a really tough time dealing with this blind life that I am now living. The Christmas holidays were hard and now as I have crossed into a new year, the weight of it all has been almost unbearable the new year is supposed to signal a fresh start, a time to reset and hope for new things, new accomplishments. But I am not feeling that this time. It is the first new year where I have accepted that I will never see again. Last January, we were still fighting along side my doctor to save my eyesight. However, that ship has sailed and I am fully on the blind side of things, and it really hurts.

I am so very sad about all the things that I am missing, all the ways that I am diminished, made lesser by this loss. So, because of these feeling, my amazing wife suggested that I write about it. That I write the hard things, the real things, even the raw, unedited things.

I have lost so much of what made me, me. I have lost most of my independence. I can no longer just go for a walk at the park because it isn’t safe for me. Just about every step now is uncertain, even with a cane and decent mobility skills, it is still so scary and dangerous. Maybe one day I will gain confidence in that area, but that day is not today. Preparing food for myself is very much a work in progress and if I’m home alone, I often just will not eat to avoid the frustration and anger that comes with the attempt. Getting dressed by myself is a guessing game most of the time, requiring me to either use apps to determine what is what or asking for assistance from my family, which is the opposite of independence. I no longer pay the household bills, which I did for twenty years because of how inaccessible the internet really is for those who cannot see. I am next to no help at the grocery store any more and I just tag along so I can be with my wife and get out of the house from time to time. Choosing food on my own at restaurants is a no go and I have to depend on others to tell me what all is available. In all of these areas and so many others, I have lost the ability to do things truly independently. I know others do not mind helping, but it breaks a little piece of me off every time they have to.

Then there is my work. My business that I started twenty one years ago and have nurtured and poured my energy and talents into, is now just a shell of what it was. I can do just a fraction of what I used to as my computer skills are slowly growing, but not nearly to the point where I could edit videos and photos as a fully blind person. Those things simply require vision, which I do not have any more. Accepting this loss has been brutal for me and the uncertainty of what my future holds as far as work is concerned, keeps me up at night. I no longer can support my family financially as I did for so long. Now, at 52 years old, with all of this lifetime of experience behind me, I just do not know what to do. I spend hours just sitting in my recliner, listening to audiobooks and podcasts, because that is all can do sometimes.

I won’t even get into my feelings and struggles with my role as a husband and father and how I fear that those that I love most, now see me. That will have to wait for another day, as those are where my darkest thoughts lie.

In closing for now, I can feel the world just moving around me, like I am a boulder in the middle of a river. I feel it going by and I know that I am missing so much of what made life amazing, vital even. I just haven’t figured out how to experience life in a fulfilling way now that I cannot see at all. Every single experience feels diminished, less vibrant, less everything. And as a result, I feel less than. Less capable of great things, less hopeful for a bright future, less important to the world and those around me. And to be clear, this is a me thing, a feeling from inside of me, not from those around me whom I love and cherish. I know that one day, I will beat these feelings and emotions. One day I will regain much of what I am missing. But at this moment, I am mired in uncertainty and doubt and fear and I do not know how to escape it. Not yet anyway. I know that I will never get over the fact that I am blind, that I will never see so many beautiful things, like my wife’s smile, my kids as adults, my grandchildren and who they will resemble most. I won’t see God’s creation or Texas Rangers baseball. All of that and more are things that hurt, that make me sad and angry at the same time. This is grief and I will never truly be free of it and accepting that is part of the healing. And that is important for me to remember.