Bad Vision By: Karen Pilarski

Crackled spectacles, lenses scratched up around the rims. Eyes squinted, tried to brush the sleep out from the edges. The universe looks blurry without proper vision.

 Moods cold like the winters, layering frost over eyesight. An honest truth, we see ourselves in how we think others see us.

Ralphie from "A Christmas Story."

Perhaps it comes growing up with a heavy handed father who never provided a morsel of praise or encouragement. Family environment was stuffy and crowded with siblings.

The self is the worst enemy. I'm very hard on myself.

Lately I've had a slight fog of depression clouding above. The conditions press me down. I keep hearing whispers of "Your ship will come in" and "Don't lose faith."

While it is nice to feel supported, I still feel horrid that I haven't accomplished my goals. On top of that realization is the observance of others having their dreams come true.

Deep down I know things come easier for some for a multitude of reasons. I would never take away someone's victory of success. There is defeating sensation that I can't attain a similar victory.

The real failure is that I allow the decreasing sense of my own talent. I rain on my own parade. Thoughts that shower down are I shouldn't bother or that it just won't happen for me.

No one can say the lack of winning is for a lack of trying. Being a hard worker is a strong suit of mine. I've always struggled with math.

In eighth grade I was assigned the dreaded Mr. Bitasche. Students despised the frumpy guy with weird curly untamed hair. His demeanor was not unruly like his mane.

By the books and strict with a personality of a wall. The nickname bestowed upon him was 'Mr. Bite Ass.'

His math class was hell. The chalky residue on fingers from all the equations the class had to solve.

Those with a lower level of math aptitude felt on the spot and stupid. Especially when chalky hand prints showed up on the back of dark colored pants.

Even though I had a rough teacher and lack of mathematical genius, I still managed to try my best. Mr. Bitasche took me aside on the last day of eighth grade to tell me I passed, barely.

He said "You are a very conscientious student and young lady." Then he gave me an innocent pat on the hand. I never forgot what he said. When I feel the world is against me or feel like a failure I remember the praise.

The inclination that strikes me is not what a person did or said but how they made me feel.  The notion sticks with me when I feel slighted or tossed aside.

Then it hits me like an icy snowball in the eye. I should care less how I think people see me and more work on how I see myself.