An entry on hope and despair from someone who has been here before
TW: depression, suicidal ideation
If you or someone you know is struggling, please know there are resources available to you such as 988.
“People speak of hope as if it is this delicate, ephemeral thing made of whispers and spider’s webs. It’s not. Hope has dirt on her face, blood on her knuckles, the grit of the cobblestones in her hair, and just spat out a tooth as she rises for another go.”
-- tweet by @crowsfault on march 10, 2022
At 11:50pm Tuesday night, my friend called me while pacing outside her house in the cold, fighting off a panic attack about the election results. With a broken and defeated heart, I told her that if she was calling for any words of encouragement or wisdom…I had none.
I dissociated for most of the call, as I had been all day and I can feel the desire to even as I write this. I want so badly to live in ignorant bliss, but my stupid bleeding heart wouldn’t let me if I tried. This phone call was probably the wake up call I needed to face reality.
As someone who prays every morning for the highest good for all, this week’s news leaves me heartbroken and devastated. A flurry of questions storm through my mind, some that I can hear clearly and others that sound like a cacophony of noise:
Where is the good in this? How do we move forward? How did this happen? Where’s the logic? Where’s the empathy and compassion? How did hate win? Am I in the minority? Am I too sensitive? Is there any good that will come of this?
What’s the f*cking point?*
This question has come up a lot over the course of my life, but most loudly during the lowest and darkest points of my life – when SI has been the strongest, when hope has been at its farthest. So when I find myself faced with this question again, I reflect on what’s gotten me through this season before.
Laying in bed, curled up under my weighted blanket, staring out the window at the blissfully ignorant hummingbirds, I ask myself, What has gotten me out of my darkest depths?
What kept me going when I didn’t see a point in existing because a caregiver told me they wished I had never been born?
What kept me going when I didn’t see a point in pursuing a degree for a future I never planned on living?
What kept me going when I couldn’t get out of bed for days on end, unable to eat, brush my teeth, shower, or go to work?
In high school and college, it was my dogs. Cody, the family pug, and later Bambse, my cattle dog who I affectionately call my depression dog. Their unconditional love—when I couldn’t get it from my own caregiver—is what kept me going. Having to take care of them, feed them, bathe them—when I couldn’t even do it for myself—kept me moving forward. Slowly, painfully, but surely.
I’ve mentioned many times on my podcast before how books, movies and TV shows kept me afloat too, especially having grown up with such caregivers that never let me see friends outside of school. TV characters became my friends. Movies were containers to feel. Books were my escape into adventure and intrigue—and later, into my soul.
There have also been many times during these darkest days when I’ve found the smallest of glimmers in the most unexpected places: A stranger paying for my coffee, another complimenting my smile, a teacher saying they were proud of me, observing strangers being kind to others, watching their faces light up with relief. And as such, I try to pay it forward* and have noticed similar glimmers of joy winding their way around my heart each time.
*The movie “Pay It Forward” came out in 2000 and while I haven’t seen it in many years (and has Kevin Spacey in it), I remember the message of the movie being so good and the ending being so sad. But if you’re in need of a reminder that kindness and compassion exists in the world, I would recommend it.
When I really zoom out and look at how I went from a 10-year-old wanting to disappear, to a 29-year-old actively trying to stay alive, I see that it’s because I kept going. I continued to put one foot in front of the other. I had seasons of darkness and of light. Of hope and of despair. Of grief and of joy. But I kept going, hoping against hope, persevering for an unknown, believing yet not quite believing that maybe one day things will get better.
I texted my boyfriend’s grandfather, who worked at a polling place this election, and asked him for any encouragement or words of wisdom because I felt so hopeless and discouraged from ever participating in politics on any level ever again.
The first words of his reply struck me.
”I do have faith...”
I’m crying now as I write this—not because the person I voted for lost, but because I have lost my faith in humanity, in empathy, in justice, in logic, in common sense, in this narrative that people who view certain demographics as less than, as inferior, shouldn’t hold positions of power, much less the highest position in our country.
As I read his message, I found myself moved by the idea that there are so many other people out there still holding onto hope, still having faith. That after everything we’ve witnessed and endured and fought for and seemingly lost, there are those who keep believing, who keep hoping, who keep moving forward toward possibility.
And maybe one day I will be that person again—someone who can be hopeful and courageous and dream of a world where people have autonomy and are treated with common decency and have access to basic human rights—but not today. Today I am sad. I am angry. I am scared. I am despondent.
So to anyone reading this who still has faith, thank you. You’re one of the reasons someone will find the courage to keep going, to keep holding on and find their own hope again. You’re one of the reasons someone will see light in this darkness and find safety in this storm.
Again I ask (myself and you, the reader), What’s the f*cking point?
To answer this, I find myself looking to my camera roll—what are things I savor and find precious? So much so that I feel the need to immortalize them on my phone so that I can look back on them and relive them?
Lots of pictures of my pets, books, quotes, sunsets, the sky, my loved ones, snippets of various adventures and experiences.
You know the final scene from Pixar’s Soul? Where Joe is riding the subway, noticing the beauty of the seemingly small things in life?
I guess what I’m saying is that, on a personal level, the point is the small things. The point is the possibility of joy, of change, of potentially good things we can’t even begin to fathom might happen to us.
There are so many things I’ve yet to experience—books that might become my new favorite, TV shows that might awaken a creative spark in me, movies that might become a source of comfort, conversations that might leave me feeling grateful, places that might remind me of how big yet small my own life is, people who might reignite hope and become safe spaces.
I hope all of this for you.
While this entry is more focused on finding light in our own personal darkness, I’d like to remind you/myself that both things can be true: we can create light and know darkness still looms; we can strive for safety and know others are not safe; we can set boundaries around politics and still be active in our advocacy. But I believe, as a recovering people pleaser, that the better we can show up for ourselves, the easier we can show up for others and still have faith when others do not.
Whatever darkness you are facing, you are not alone and together we will keep on keeping on, hoping against hope.
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