PTSD

Yesterday I had an optician's appointment to discuss switching from daily contact lenses, which are nauseatingly expensive, to two-weeklies. The optician had the samples laid out ready and waiting for me and everything.

She asked if I have any allergies.

Erm, terminal hayfever. Oh, and about a month ago I developed another super-fan allergy to cats. Seriously sad stuff. Anyway, what were you saying?

You need to check under my eyelids? Um.. fine. Woaaah... yellow stain eyedrops! OK, I think I can deal. You may need to just splash the drops onto my closed eyes for a bit though until some of the stain gets in.

That wasn't too bad. So, what's the verdict?

WHAT? You are touching my eyes... I'm OK, I'm breathing, NO I'M NOT URGH OH MY GOD I CAN'T DEAL WITH THIS MY EYELID IS INSIDE OUT.

I know you said you were going to check under my lids But I didn't realise this is what you meant.

Phew, oh my eye still feels funny, but it's over, I lived, I never have to do that again. I can't believe some people choose to do this as a party tricks.

What???? My other eye???? Please, no, you've already seen one isn't that enough, please have mercy, I am begging you....

I am pretty sure the trauma that followed really was not necessary as my optician had already decided that I was not suitable for two-weekly lenses because the build-up under my right eyelid wasn't healthy. But of course, we had to conclude that the same was true for my left eyelid.

The hazy details of the rest of the day can probably be blamed on Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Such advanced PTSD that I can't remember what my new glasses look like. Yes, that's right, new glasses! To compensate for my reduced ability to wear contacts frequently and my worsening eyesight, which completely sucks. All I can remember is that the new glasses do not suck; they are beautiful and tortoiseshell and a little bit subtle and a little bit in your face and whoever said you can't treat stress with treats wasn't getting the right treats.