Eye-hugging sunglasses are best. I even went to a tanning parlor once, just to get a hold of the dark glasses, the little eye cups, they give to the clients. They were fantastic! I couldn’t see a thing, and they even fit underneath the big old wrap around shades that I normally wear.
I didn’t have them for long. I lost them shortly after, running away from something I couldn’t stand looking at. I’ve always wanted to replace them with the all-black contact lenses that some of the Goth kids wear. They seem like they’d do an incredible job of blinding me.
That always brings up the big question, when someone’s been sitting with me long enough to actually ask why I prefer not to see. “Why don’t you just blind yourself or get someone else to do it for you?” My stock answer is always the same, “I’m too squeamish to go that far,” but the actual answer is more convoluted than that.
I don’t know if having no eyes or being completely blinded would stop the visions in the first place. There have been too many occasions where the images and sensations would rouse me from a deep sleep while wearing a BDSM-style blindfold. When the visions come and get you, even when you can’t see anything, then it doesn’t seem like there’s a point to go poke out your eyeballs.
Truthfully, I’m squeamish about the whole thing. Luckily, I can back up my desire to have intact eyes with supporting data.
No one has been able to give me a rhyme or reason for seeing the things that I do, and I’ve asked every kind of witch, mystic, or Holy Person that I’ve come in contact with. I’ve even asked clients for their opinions, but they seldom have anything of value to say after we’ve exchanged my visions for their cash.
The only thing I know of for sure is what caused my problem, but that may be less sure than I think. I don’t know. The solid fact is that I began to see things two years ago, to the day, right after the blond kid hit me in the forehead.
It was a Monday night in August of 2009, and I was about a block from my favorite coffeehouse, Cremé Kapoosh, when I saw a dime on the sidewalk in front of me. I bent down to pick it up, and as I was standing back up, a young man collided with me, forehead to forehead. The impact knocked me back on my ass and gave me a solid crack on the concrete.
I didn’t get a good look at the guy, because I was flat on my back and dazed, but I heard him clearly before he ran away.
“I’m sorry, and I hope you’ll forgive me someday.”
