We all cling to it. We all desperately seek it. We all need it. Without it, some of us can’t, and didn’t go on.
It can be a fickle thing, a fleeting thing. It is always making us believe that tomorrow will be better. Tomorrow things will change.
It often disappoints, but we forgive it every time.
I’m here with hope right now and I don’t know what to say to it. Should I speak softly to it, encouraging it to stay, glossing it’s ego, or should I yell and scream, throat punch it and ask it when it’s going to start being all proper like?
There are days when I don’t think I’ll ever be ok in my new normal. There are days I know I’ll be ok with my new normal. It’s a different “ok” than I had before. But everyone’s ok is different, anyway.
The days I am ok, I don’t think about hope and I’m not sure where it hangs out, because I don’t need it. The days I do need it, it seems too distant and unattainable.
Suicide leaves you hollow, dry, and alone. The hollow feeling is actually physical. There is a hole in your being, your soul, if you will.
I can’t explain it any better. It echoes.
When you’ve lost hope, every breath is a chore.
My main mental support for this never ending healing journey is aptly named “Heartache2Hope”.
I have the word on my wall above our engagement portrait.
The best thing I find I can do on hopeless days is admit that the day is indeed, hopeless. I need to find something else to keep me going. That thing varies. It could be going out for a run, a walk, sadly sometimes it’s shopping, putting a jigsaw puzzle together or playing with the cats, and watching the little floofs bounce around.
Other times it’s the gym or yoga, and I push my body more on those days, needing the ache in the leg muscles to distract, requiring the sore shoulders and the sweat in my eyes. The worst days definitely require being alone.
All of those things help. The distractions try to sneak up on hope and bring it back.
I finished up a yoga class last week, tired and sweaty, enjoying my final posture, but still aware that this day wasn’t going to be a good one. My distraction didn’t work.
I imagined John’s fingers reaching out to mine on a mat next to me that wasn’t there. I could almost feel him. Realizing that this wasn’t helping me, I opened my eyes to take in my surroundings. John wasn’t next to me at all. A young woman with a long braid was lying on her mat, instead. When the tears dropped out of my eyes and I could see clearly again, I noticed in the dim light she had a tattoo on her shoulder.
That’s all it said.
That’s all it took.
That was my sign.
John had been there, after all.
In a single breath, Hope came to visit, at least for today.