Hope left a long time ago. It frustrates the life out of me that people tell me I must have hope. Why? Why should I have hope? Hope only leads to disappointment.
Hope died. Then she was cremated. Then the ashes were put in a sealed bomb proof box. Then the box was buried deep in the ground. Then a huge tree was put on top. Hope is gone.
I miss her.
And I find it unreasonable that people want to pretend that Hope is still alive. She’s gone.
Back in December 2015 when I visited the GP about my mood problems Hope was still very much alive. If you’d have told me then that a mere 8 months later she would be gone I wouldn’t have believed you. She was so strong.
They killed Hope with their assessments, waiting lists and shit drugs. And stupid things they’d say; about magic wands; or yoga; or how lucky I am; or what exactly do I expect them to do about it; well, they’d each finish Hope off a little more thoroughly. How could Hope survive such an onslaught? She couldn’t.
So Hope is gone.
As I was writing this my GP rang me, returning a call from earlier. It was a helpful conversation and, just as simple as talking to someone understanding, I felt a tiny seed of Hope return. Perhaps new Hope can grow? Now, wouldn’t that be a marvellous thing?