Blinded

I can’t sleep. I try to close my eyes, but the difference is none. Sometimes I’m even unsure of whether or not my eyes are actually closed. Okay – being blind is starting to suck. And I haven’t even made it through the first 72 hours. Oh, joy!
I can’t even do anything to keep myself busy. I can’t draw. I can’t watch TV. I can listen to music, but I have a feeling I’ll be doing that a lot the next week or two, so I don’t want to right now.
I can’t even write new song, if that’s what I feel like. I can’t stare out the window or go outside and stare at the stars. I can’t read a magazine or a book. I can’t re-arrange the cabinets. I can’t take a walk, ‘cause I might never find my way back.
I can’t do anything, can I?
I could jerk off and feel my muscles relax afterwards, but that still wouldn’t make my mind stop. And that’s what’s keeping me awake – my mind.
What if I never see again? What if this is not just temporary? Can I keep up a brave face? Even if it’s just for two weeks – will I be able to look and act like everything’s still okay inside of me? When really, I’m fucking scared! I’m scared. I’m so scared I could cry, but I can’t, because I wouldn’t be able to see when my eyes had stopped being red. Or if I’d gotten all the tears wiped off of my face.
But I’m scared. Which is stupid. It’s not like I’d die without my sight. Look, I’m still living! I don’t need my eyes to guide me through life. My eyes aren’t what keeps my heart beating.
I wipe my cheeks.
But the sight of the people I love is.