By Elin Williams (My Blurred World)

“I sometimes begrudgingly cast an eye over my blog’s archives, trying to pinpoint what posts shaped this online space into what it is today. I went as far back as January 2017 the other day and sitting there, at the beginning of the month, was an open letter I addressed to my vision impairment.”

“”I reluctantly clicked ‘read’, unsure of what words would greet me on the following page. Yes, I was right, I had every reason to cringe. Mind you, I might do exactly the same when looking back at this in 2023.

I carried on reading, curious as to what thoughts and feeling I captured on that day three years ago. My face was a picture of an array of unamused expressions as I neared the middle and then the end of the post and, amongst the depair I felt towards the words I had written, there was room in my mind to note how much had changed since I inevitably hit publish on the post. So many details of my vision impairment have changed in the mere three years that have passed by, so I though it was about time for an updated version.”


“Dear Retinitis Pigmentosa

Do you remember how much I used to resent you? How much I wish you didn’t esist. It’s almost been 19 years since you first caused a symptom and this year marks 10 years since living with you meant that my eyesight was branded too poor to stay in the boundaries of ‘partially sighted’.

I no longer hate you. In fact, I accept you. But as you continue to steal more eyesight every day like a dog always wanting more food, always hungry for more, I remember the hate I used to feel for you so deeply.

You create this emptiness, a hole that doesn’t yet have the beating heart of acceptance and, although I don’t find myself lingering in that space as often anymore, it still exists. There’s familiarity rooted in that empty space; I remember it well and recognise it as a place where my mind wanders to when you present pain or cause my world to blur and fade more than it already has.”

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