Death of a Dream
I was 25 when I was diagnosed. Young enough to adapt but old enough to have life plans. I was in the middle of living a dream. I had bought a horse and learning to ride. I childhood dream I had realized at 20. I was looking forward to learning dressage and starting eventing. I had taken all the art/graphic arts classes I could in high school to hopefully get into graphic arts.
I knew before I was diagnosed. My sister was diagnosed two year before me with Stargardts Disease. SD is a juvenile genetic form of macular degeneration. I hid it from everyone. Including myself. I was living my dreams and didn’t want to give that up.
SO when I got the official diagnosis I was done. Stressed from hiding it. My life shattered. Eventing was done. Jumping over solid fences on a horse when you can’t see is a safety hazard for horse and rider. Art wasn’t going to happen. How was i going to pain, draw, or create without being able to see. I grieved.
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I tried to grieve. My friends aid I should happy I wasn’t diein of cancer or something. Vision loss is a loss. You grieve, at least you should grieve. I had to hide my emotions. Which the process stretch on forever. I gave up art. What was the point?
SD is is a progressive disease. You can go years without a change then you have a sudden drop of vision. So just when you think you are done grieving you loose more of your vision and the grieving process starts all over again.
It took 15 years for me to attempt art again. At first it was something every few months. Then one of the roughest vision drops happenned. It was close to the initial diagnosis. I had been reading a book my husband got my for my birthday. I had set it down for a few months. I picked it but could not read it. My eyesight had gotten to bad. SD had robbed me of another love. I spent two years grieving. I hid the fact I was grieving through anger. After years of being told I should be happy it was easier to be angry and keep people at a distance.
I hit an all time high weight and developed knee pain. I decided I could not handle the physical on top of the emotional pain I was dealing with. I start walking . A couple weeks later I decided to try a sketch challenge of a sketch a day. I would use the walks to think of what to sketch. My style had changed and had to simplify ideas. I could not tell stories through my work. Some ideas were meant to tell a story. So I started to write. This is still fairly new to me. I have new dreams. I ant to write a book. There is a picture I want to draw but I can’t. So I will write about it.
Death can be a phoenix. Charred and a killer of dreams. Through time and grief something new can come from it. Not sure how this writing thing will go. I may never learn to fly but I can dream again.
