I hesitate to write these words for fear you’ll think me mad. I bring forth no evidence just a knowledge from within my heart that these words be true. As for most, my day goes on quite simply. No story to be told just caught in the minutia of life…and then it happens. The world seems to slow and I can almost hear the tones build up like out of an old horror movie. I turn quickly to find what I always find…Nothing. I’ve torn apart this room countless times looking for clues…yet find nothing more than my own possessions in their proper place except for the one’s I have strewn about looking for answers. There is nothing there, but I feel it. I can feel the eyes. I can feel them glaring, stalking. I can feel them approaching to judge. What evil will they bring? What horror? I turn again. Once more no proof but ever confident that I am a being watched. Sometimes longing for the padded room with my coat forcing me to embrace myself if only to say everything will be alright. I look not for the healing but for the knowledge that only a single window exists and that the eyes can no longer see me there.
I look not for conspiracy but for truth. Why are these eyes on me? Why do they monitor my every movement? Do they even exist? Have you ever felt the eyes on you….Of course you have. You’re a weight watcher. We are all constantly watched. Every bite comes with a set of eyes judging without knowledge. “Should you be eating that?” “Aren’t you watching your weight?” or my favorite “How did you do this week?” The eyes come with a voice that thinks it is helpful but comes without awareness of our struggle. An ice cream need not be a bloody dagger. A pound gained not reason for the scream queen to erupt. They are just eyes gazing at a moment not seeing the whole story.
Sometimes we find a need to talk to the eyes. Spouting off like a lunatic justifying that which need not be justified. “I have the points. I can eat anything on WW, blah, blah”….I can’t even bring myself to type it all without banging my head against the padded cell.
I have to stop myself and remember that the eyes don’t come from a dark place. There is no reason to lash out to fight our way out of the haunted house. They are just eyes. They come from love. They come from those around us wanting us to succeed. Hoping they aren’t watching us start to fall again. I have to remind myself because I can feel them on my neck. The glance becomes a creature crawling up my spine. They will make me jump again. They will glare. They will judge. But I will emerge at the end of the tale when the tones become the light music of day break, ever cautious that that the villain will jump up once more to attack.
whatsdifferentthistime 