…That’s, I guess, sort of a weird-ish thing to say, right?
But the world had been so very small, just enveloping me.
I was always a little distracted, a little out of it. (“A little” is a giant kindness to myself. Probably more like “a lot, a lot, a lot” out of it.)
And whenever people would ask if I saw the animal we passed, or a beautiful scenery, or a baby do a cute thing, I would look up, almost confused that I was still in the world.
“What? Uh, um, oh, yeah, other humans and living creatures. Scenery. Right.”
But now, I see again. (Or at least, I think I’m starting to…)
And it is so weird. The most ridiculously, glaringly obvious example of this is at therapy, in the waiting room, there is this freaking giant mural of a plant emerging from concrete.
It’s beautiful (and explains why I always see a leaf on their website or logo or something).
I figured it must be new. And I asked at the desk.
Nope. It has been there literally the whole time.
How long have I been going to therapy? (A while!)
And every. time., it’s just been head down, cry cry cry… never looking around enough to even see the mural.
Now, sometimes I’m the one who gets to ask someone with me, “oh did you see that _____” Or “look at the color of that [dress, building, and such]”
I notice things. I see the world.
Not always. Not perfectly. But I no longer feel suffocated by the imaginary (or not imaginary…but the past, and no-longer-part-of-my actual-world) world enveloping me.
And it feels really good to see.
[This is from the sexual assault series.]