Through Our Eyes

Through my eyes you can see that I can’t see very well. My eyesight is blurry and I can barely visualize my two hands in front of me. But that doesn’t stop me from trying. Trying to picture the view out front even though it’s hard.

Through my eyes you can see the world I see. The same colors, the same sights, the same people. The same faces that blend into one single monster coming at me with great speed. The same colors that spiral out of control and funnel me into a hole of darkness. The same sights that make my breathing go shallow and my head pound. All the nooks and crannies I know so well, because they are where I go to hide. The teeth spewing venomous words that poison my brain. 

Through my eyes you can see that I am always searching. Searching for love that is not yours to give, acceptance and kindness. Seeking shelter from the ills coming at me from all sides. 

Through my eyes you can see the gaping water staring me in the face. The bile rising as my insides heave out my last meal. Unable to stop until all the pain and hurt has been extorted from my body. Day after day, meal after meal, a cycle that threatens to never end. 

Through my eyes you can see the hurt I do to myself. Not the pain that others inflict on me, but the demons within me, of me, all around me. These demons are me and they are filled with hatred for the one I see in the mirror every morning. They laugh at me and tell me I am nothing. They undo me and there is no one to blame but me. 

Through my eyes you can see the dreams I dream. The endless, vivid imagery of days bygone. Days where I remember being happy. Days that have left me broken. Days yet to come. Days of just pitch black. 

Through my eyes you can see the faltering paths I take as I navigate my forest of afflictions. You can hear the echoes of nightmares and faint traces of unspoken words. You can feel the crippling guilt that bears down on me as I stumble this way and that. But no matter what path I take, whichever direction I choose to go, I can just make out a shadowy figure at the edge of the trees. For the longest time, I thought she was just there to taunt me too, ready to tear me down and remind me of my inability to steer straight. 

Through my eyes, you can see her beckoning at me. And if you are paying attention, you know that I ignore her every time. Because she moves no closer, opting to stand in the same spot every time I see her. She does nothing but beckons. It is infuriating.  

Through my eyes, you can see that I am hemorrhaging energy. So you know I have nothing left to lose. She is still there. I walk toward her and I try to see. 

Through her eyes, I can see a girl that looks like me. A girl a little battered but standing still, built of the same stone as she. A girl having weathered the same storms as she. A girl who has walked many miles in the same shoes as she. A girl borne of the same blood as she. 

Through her eyes, I can see a girl in a boat far out across the lake. Her narrow frame silhouettes the giant oar in her hands and she struggles to make out the shore on the other side. For her eyesight is blurry and the fog thickens with every swing she makes. The fog wraps the boat in a spiderweb and the girl, panicking, loses the oar. She is stranded. 

Through her eyes, I can see the fitting room with its wall of mirrors. I can see the girl inside, shedding her clothes as she tries on a new outfit. But I am not drawn to the girl. I see the mirror behind her and I see her with her hidden blades, her scars carved into her gossamer skin. I see the shadow girl in the mirror and the ghost of a girl in front of me, the scars, the webby skin, the vessels underneath peeling and revealing a cracked skeleton underneath. 

Through her eyes, I can see the girl’s thoughts, foggy like that lake, careening out of control. As I watch her, I hear the echo of the woman’s voice in my head, telling me about the girl. About how she is the hardest on herself. About how she holds herself higher than the tallest tree in the forest. About the dire condition she is in. 

Through her eyes, I can see the girl’s eyes reflected back. Chocolate pools of bittersweet, rimmed with sadness. The same sad eyes I am looking from.

Our eyes.

Through our eyes, we can see that we are one and the same. The slight upward tilt, the almond shape. The brown hue that speckles hazel in the sunlight but dark, almost black in the night. The same set of eyes, mother and daughter. Having traversed the same journey many years apart, alone but with identical footprints. Fighting the same battles, crying the same tears, wandering the same streets. Both of us on our own each time. 

Through our eyes, we can see each other now. We both know that we are still lost, looking for ourselves. It’s a wicked game of hide and go seek, impossible to know when it will be over. But this time, when I went out looking, venturing further out the lake than before, past the fog, the indecision, the fear, I found something else. 

Through our eyes, you can see what I’ve found. That we can see through each other’s eyes. While she beckoned, she was watching through mine, learning, waiting for me to find her. Through her eyes I learned that there are millions of trails in our forest of afflictions. Hundreds of paths, worn in with footprints that I could not see. She never came any closer because she left them for me to choose as I felt my way through the darkness. 

Through our eyes, you can see that some of the paths wind. Some of them are straight. Some of them end abruptly, some have hardly begun. But if you look closely enough from now on, you’ll see two distinct silhouettes, one smaller than the other. Not because one is following the other anymore. But because they are standing side by side, bound together, the beginning and the end of the very same story.