Prelude: (Why Am I Going On This Journey?)
Close your eyes for a moment, and picture a cup. I’m not going to ask you what kind of cup you conjured up in this fleeting moment, nor do I care if it was porcelain or glass, brimming with steaming coffee, wine from a carpenter, or stagnant water. Such specifics might divulge glimpses into the labyrinth of your imagination, a mirror reflecting your mind's vast corridors. But what about recall? I’m not just curious—I’m desperate to know if you can summon forth any visuals at all. Can you see your cup with such excruciating clarity that you feel as though you might grip its delicate handle and bring it to your lips, or is it merely an empty void swirling inside the caverns of your mind, much like mine?
I can sift through facts and memory fragments, a slideshow of knowledge shuffling before me, but no images appear before me. My third eye isn’t blind, not in the mystical, ethereal sense; instead, it remains shut against the world’s vivid colors, leaving me adrift in shadows devoid of form. Don’t you see how utterly tragic that can be? What a challenging life I’ve absolutely managed to step-up to. But here I am, embarking on a quest, a pilgrimage through the mists of my own obscured consciousness.
Why am I setting out on this twisted journey? Is it to reclaim my memories, those ghostly fragments of what once was? I can already feel the weight of the unknown, clawing at the edges of my mind. What if, in dredging up the past, I unearth something so horrific that it changes everything I thought I knew about myself?
I believe that suppressed memories weave the very tapestry of my inability to form images in my mind. Why do I cling to this belief with the ferocity of a drowning man grasping at air? First and foremost, there lies a tangled knot of unanswered questions, a chain of inexplicable circumstances from my childhood echoing in the silence. And then there's that elusive flicker—a momentary visualization, a fleeting glimpse of something small, as though a candle flared to life for a heartbeat before being snuffed out, teasing me with promises of clarity if only I dare pursue it.
What if the memories surge forth like a tide, dark and relentless, and I find that I cannot reblock them once they've seeped into the open air? The thought is chilling, like icy fingers tracing down my spine. There's no turning back now. The shadows are thick with unanswered questions and screaming emotions I can't begin to decipher. Each unanswered query gnaws at me, driving me deeper into this abyss. I need to know. Desperate curiosity pulls at my insides, demanding that I venture forth, even as dread lurks in the corners, whispering that some doors, once opened, can never be shut again.
Imagining something has always eluded me, as challenging as navigating a pitch-black labyrinth, the walls closing in around me. But I refuse to let that snuff out my spirit. Remember, I’m on a mission, a relentless hunger for knowledge gnawing at my insides. It’s difficult to articulate, and you might think me unbalanced or even a little mad, but I need this—this desperate quest for understanding. Knowing anything, even the minutiae of a life lived, fuels a flicker of joy and a semblance of tranquility within me.
Yet beneath this veneer of determination lies a disquieting realization. Since I’ve turned my gaze inward, shedding the distractions of others, I’ve unearthed something inside me that shouldn't be there–a profound emptiness, a hollow echoing space where something vital should reside. I feel as though I am but a shell, fated to roam this earth with a gaping wound that cries out for healing. And I’m wagering everything I have that this void is anchored in my own memory. Where do I begin? With the visualization of context—a treacherous endeavor teetering on the edge of sanity.
I’m a tempest of emotion, logic slipping through my fingers like sand; only a wise mind waiting to be unearthed—that’s what I yearn for.
If you, too, find yourself adrift in this same murky darkness, unable to see but gnawing at questions that leave you unsettled, then take my hand. Follow me on this harrowing journey of self-discovery, of generational healing, and the reclamation of control over a life half-remembered. Visualizers, you're welcome here, too. Whether you wish to support another human soul, indulge in the sweet nectar of gossip, or genuinely quench a thirst for knowledge, I invite you—unreservedly—to accompany me. An open mind, a patient spirit, and a heart stretched wide enough to embrace the darkness will be found within me, and we shall traverse together this together.
Xoxo
Ella Briar Blanchard
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