Forget the Intensive Screening Tool

Three weeks before the freak accident that left me visually impaired I ended a relationship with a person I loved. I got hurt, before I got blinded. Unfortunately I fell in love with someone who was closed off and was never capable of loving me. A story that now, as I look back, sounded familiar and was part of my pattern: the pattern of dating unavailable men.

For almost two years he played the role of the ambivalent male, vacillating from being in and out of the relationship. And for maybe the first, or second time, I walked away finally knowing that somehow I deserved better. It was a conversation that started when I decided to divorce. The conversation that you have when you know you can be happier elsewhere and deserve more, even if it hurts right now. Prior to the accident I had made a decision to wholly be open to love. I wanted that to remain true after love kicked me in the ass and the accident whacked out my central vision.

So, at the time I was grieving the loss of my sight, I was grieving the loss of a person I loved. And all that love and all that loss became tied up together in a knot that could not be untied. It somewhat magnified the grieving, amplified the pain, turned up the volume on the "your life has changed drastically" message so loud I had to deal with it, continually.During the eight months after the accident when I was single and not dating I decided to read a little about love. I was not really sure I understood it, how to get it or now, disabled, if it was even a possibility for me. One book I read was Elizabeth Gilbert's book Committed:

A Love Story. In the book she talks about the need for companionship as a way to share your experiences and to weave a shared history with another person. That idea, that dream, of having someone beside you to share in your story and to witness you and your life is compelling. It is the question of if a tree falls in the woods when no one is around, does it make a sound? Similarly, do the experiences and stories in our life have meaning if they are not witnessed or shared? What I knew after reading the book was that private intimacy and companionship was something I would like to have in my life. But that meant finding someone who can listen to your story, tell theirs openly and be willing to lose a part of their independence to commit to the interwoven nature of creating a shared journey.