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A few months ago, I went to go see The Lion King 3D with a few of my friends at the theatre. After the credits started to roll, I started to make my way down the stairs but it was so dark that I fell backwards on my ass. The woman behind me started laughing so hard, she began to cry.
Once when I was young I tied a bag around my head with a little string I knew I could break because I wanted to see how long I could stand it, the panicked clanging of oxygen-starved alarms throbbing inside my skull, knocking furiously at my chest as if some force was begging me, poor child, open the door to your lungs again. I didn’t want to die, I just wanted to see how close I dared walk to the threshold of actual death. Like it was just a country that I had never visited.
I always think the same thoughts when I see a blind person – what form do your dreams take? Do you not want to wake up from them, knowing you’ll face darkness when you do? Have you always been this way and if so, do you accept it gracefully? On a day that was just a touch too idyllic, do you lay awake at night and dwell on the one thing that can never be perfect? The thing you can’t change?