A black heart is a person living in the dark
Since Girl in the Dark was published, I’ve had letters and emails from people all over the world.
Some are from people leading normal lives, who simply love the book – thank you.
Some are from people who’ve experienced chronic illness, who relate to the frustration, isolation, wild joy at tiny improvements, utter devastation at relapses, absurdity and guilt.
Some come from people with other light sensitivity conditions, less absolute than my own.
A few are from people who are living in the dark.
These dark contacts give me the strangest mix of sensations: an overwhelming sense of kinship and fellow feeling, the primal comfort of not having been alone; a strong desire to stick two fingers up at those who said I must be imagining it, because such extreme sensitivity could not exist; deep tearing sadness that others are having to live in my particular intimate hell.
There are different ways in, and, let us hope, different ways out. I am so lucky I finally found mine.
Send a thought to the others, now and then, as you wander through the world.
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