Sometimes, I feel so alone. Sometimes, I just can’t stand it. This disease, this insidious disease called RP is destroying my eyesight. Genetics and time are conspiring in this agonizing process. RP is killing innocent cells, rendering them useless. Even as I am seeking sunlight, RP is building darkness. I feel I am living in a house divided.
Suffering is inevitable; suffering alone is intolerable. Any damage RP inflicts is compounded by my own malpractice. When I believe the heresy of self-reliance, I am blocking my greatest source of aid. When I shrink my world into one safe, secure corner, I am denying the truth that a problem shared is halved. When I buy into the notion that God does not burden me with anything I cannot handle, I am shamed by what I perceive to be lacking in me. I am never so alone as when I am alone with my vision loss. I am never so flawed as when I am an army of one.
We live in the shelter of one another. Any assertion otherwise shows a lack of faith. What I cannot handle myself, I take to the group. This group may be a power, a concept, an ethereal being. Or it may be Jim and Pam and Jane and Stella and Judy and Kathy. Whatever or whoever it is, it is the winning side. It is the object of the seeming paradox that to surrender is to join the winners.
RP tells me that venturing outside myself tempts the dangers of the unknown. If I believe this lie, I am doomed to isolation and loneliness. Whenever I feel apart from, I make life difficult. When I become a part of, I am rewarded. A kindred spirit, an emotional attachment are my keys to coping.