That which Distorts our Eye

A catch-up post to get back on track: Eyes


It’s incredible. I haven’t felt like I actually have enough spare time to do things like this. I’ve been frantically procrastinating and trying to catch up. But at last, I can take a breath and not worry about the immediate repercussions.

Eyes. They are really an incredible thing. Loved by poets and artists alike. Eyes and what allow us to perceive the world and it is our past experience that distorts what we pay attention to. Indeed, our eyes display no bias towards good or bad. Not instinctively anyway. What we focus on is shaped by what we have experienced. Now, I’m not saying that those who have experienced joy will see joy or visa versa. It’s not that simple. One can experience a great amount of happiness in their life but feel that it was not satisfactory, they then search for little bits of sadness. They focus their eyes on what will make the sad. A friend of mine has been through a great deal of pain and suffered through more than I think she should have. Despite not having one herself, she is one of the most mothering and nurturing people I know. People like her have received a great amount of pain but chose to focus, and work towards the good.

Our eyes are fascinating things. So complex confusing, yet, completely understandable if one takes the time to research how they developed. As this is meant to be day three for my thirty day writing challenge, I shall delay no more and get right down to it.

Prompt number three is: Your first kiss and your first love. If separate, discuss separately.

Continue reading “That which Distorts our Eye”


Riding my Demons

A Daily Response to the Daily Post’s Daily Prompt: Moonshots

So I am one of those people who will not do anything if I have not got the motivation for it. Sometimes the motivation comes to me in a spur of joy and other times it comes in the form of maintaining adherence to my moral code – in other words, it’s motivated by obligation. But lately, I haven’t had any of that motivation. I haven’t felt that excitement that I used to feel while writing. I no longer feel that sense of joy when I devour the knowledge kindly imparted by others. Whenever I have the motivation to do something, anxiety kills it. And when I don’t have that motivation, I no longer care that I don’t.

I was looking at the moon on my way home yesterday, just enjoying its serene beauty. I remembered the day when I wished that I would follow Armstrong and Aldrin onto the moon. I remembered what I used to feel like. When anxiety and depression hadn’t slam-dunked my dreams into an eldritch ocean of despair. I want those days back. I want those days back. I started to slip further down the slope that I have been dragged down for the past few weeks, and I remembered what I wanted. I wanted emotion. I wanted passion. I wanted anger and I wanted rage. I wanted the burning desire to achieve my goals. I wanted to feel the pain and suffering that urged me to rejoice in those calm  moments. I wanted peace, I wanted tranquillity. What I wanted, was to feel human again.I know I have spoken about this point several

I know I have spoken about this point several times before but this is really all I want. I had someone say that they hate me and that they can never forgive me for what I did. I was caught in a situation that I could lie to get out of, but then my lie would not have been believed. Or I could have told the truth and hurt not just the person whom my words were directed at but also the one who I was trying to keep afloat. My moral code does not forbid lies and deceit. It acknowledges the blissful state that is ignorant and only if one expresses a great enough desire to know the truth of the situation does deceiving them become bad. I believe in freedom. Well, the illusion of it. I believe that we should all be able to live our lives how we choose to so long as that choice does not harm others. I don’t care if you want to agree with this or not, but I would be interested in finding out your reasons for why or why not. I want to feel truly human emotion, yet all I have at the moment is my undesirable reason.

First and foremost, I want to feel human again. In order to do that, there are a few things that I feel I need first. This post is dedicated to that list. Of what I want in order to feel human again. This post is dedicated to the people like me. Those who can no longer fight their demons. Our lives may be short, but that just means that we can concentrate our greatness.  Continue reading “Riding my Demons”

Thanks Dearie

A Two-in-One Response to the Daily Post’s Daily Prompt: Complicated

Today’s prompt of complicated, I am merging with my ’30 day Writing Challenge’ day two: Your earliest memory.

I have spoken of memories before on my site here. Those who know me on a personal level will know that I have a shocking memory for ordinary things and an amazing trigger memory for academic and irrelevant aspects. The first memory that I can remember, well, question is, was it even mine?

The notion of memory is such a strange one because it is not solid. We know this because we forget. We forget, and we misremember. Ever had it the case that you are recalling a memory with a friend only to realise that you placed the wrong friend in that memory?

This could have been for a number of reasons. Maybe you really wanted that person to be there or there was someone there that reminded you of them. You might have even told the memory before to someone and intentionally placed said friend into the memory to make them look better/worse, and then in your present retelling of it, you now genuinely believe that lie that you told. Memory is malleable. Memory is not hard set. My earliest memory that I can think of comes to what I can remember was happening in my dreams when I lived in my old house.

I would constantly fall off the bed onto the concrete floor and I wouldn’t wake up at all. My parents would charge around the house brandishing a rolling pin to see who was breaking in. Nope. Just my slumbering self, tumbling onto  the floor. I suspect that this is because of the kind of dreams I used to have. I would constantly dream that my soul left my body and floated around the house. Wandering through the passageways and snacking on whatever leftovers were in the fridge. The dream itself was peaceful but there was one aspect of it that utterly terrified me. There was an archway in that house that I would have to pass through if I wanted to leave my room. If I remember this correctly then it was every third time that I passed through that arch that I would become locked in place. It was as if I would get trapped in a stasis field and not be able to move myself.

I suspect that this was the cause for my not waking up when I hit the ground. I cannot remember what the exact correlation between dream and fall was, but I feel as if there was a link and as I have nothing else to go on. I shall accept that as potential truth until I can recall more about the situation.

I also used to be rather chubbe. Needless to say I was quite a heavy sleeper.

People can Reach Me

30 Day writing Challenge. Day One: Five Problems with Social Media

Top of my list, as yu have probably guessed already, it’s that with social media, people can Reach me.

I like my seclusion. I like my privacy. I like being able to share my life with those that I chose and nobody else. I think that the ‘reach’ of social media is a great thing for businesses but that it is too easily abused by the largest businesses who pay to bolster their viewings.

Issue number two would be the fact that it is so easy to communicate. Don’t get me wrong, I think this is one of the greatest aspects of social media. Especially for folks like me who have been hit with a case of the panicology. We anxiety prone people adore social media for lightening the burden of conversations for us. But even we need to admit, it would be really great if we could speak like we do over texts.

Furthermore, and this is another hate-love situation, the ability to completely ignore what one has said and continuing with other conversations until one has the mental strength to face the one who we would rather avoid. I am terrible at confrontation and the fact that social media breaks down this barrier into digestible chunks for me is greatly appreciated.(and when I speak of social media I am mainly speaking of social messaging networks) What I think it is wise to dislike about this is the fact that it makes it that much harder for us to confront someone in person. I have to do that in a couple of days from now and I am already feeling the spiders crawling around my gut, just waiting for the moment when they can launch out of me.

  1. The fact that I am always reachable
  2. How easy it is to communicate
  3. The way business can overpower you
  4. The lack of necessity in a timely response
  5. and last, the obvious one, the loss of meaning over text. And the loss of facial expressions overall.

None of the issues that I have with social media are issues that I would remove. Although I think that these things are issues, I think that they are a greater boon than bane.