Hope: defined by Merriam-Webster, as “to cherish a desire with anticipation: to want something to happen or be true.” I’ve spent the last couple of years of my life in hopeless despair. For the first year, I was so depressed, that I couldn’t find a reason to continue. My friends soon tired of my depression and my lack of response to their suggestions to make my life better. One even went so far as to tell me that “I wasn’t doing what I needed to get better.” Yet, who decides what “I” need to do?
My anguish was neverending. I would lock myself in the bathroom at work and cry. Innocent words or phrases would send me spiraling. My life was a nightmare that I could not wake up from.
After a few months, the anguish turned into a deep, lingering melancholy. While the audible episodes of my pain decreased, I could not find meaning or hope in my life. I went through the days on auto piolet; doing the things I needed to do. Work, kids, sleep, bills; work, kids, sleep, bills. On and on the days progressed, one as endless and hopeless as the next. While there were times I could find my laugh, my sense of humor, or my smile, it was all, so, pointless.
The days marched on and got significantly worse. Although I found a new job and new friends, the ache in my heart never ceased. I could bury it for a bit, but it was always there, a throbbing reminder of everything that was wrong with my life.
And then one day, he returned. It was slow at first, tentative. The circumstances hadn’t changed much since he’d left. He was still unavailable, but he was willing to be my friend. We talked, he apologized, and I lashed out. One step forward, two steps back. We danced this dance for many months. Sometimes we grew frustrated with each other. But it never lasted long, one of us always extended the olive branch.
He was my heart, my soulmate, and I was…I am still not sure. I knew he loved me, but he didn’t want me and that left me confused and heartbroken. But one day, seemingly without notice, things changed. They became easier. The old comradery was back. I felt my heart beat one more time, then again, until slowly the ice thawed and a spark of something filled the air.
We talked like the old days. Sharing thoughts, hopes, and dreams; hopeful stories and what-if scenarios. I would get lost in the story and talk like we’ve already made these choices. Then I would remember where I was and reel myself back, apologizing profusely for going too far. And yet, he didn’t seem upset about that, at times, he even seemed to enjoy the fantasy.
I am not sure when I realized the hope was back. The light at the end of the tunnel was flickering and I could once again see it. No longer was there nothing but darkness, despair, and regret. I felt some happiness filter through the layers of armor I’d adorned. And it scared me to death.
Was it real? That hope? Or was I imagining it? Was I only seeing what I wanted to see? What would happen if I believed in it and it wasn’t true? Would I feel the crushing weight of disappointment fall on me again? Could I survive it this time?
After much thought and pondering on the subject, I decided I had to try. I had to cling to hope, I had to cling to the light. I had to believe it was real because what I hoped for most of all was the only thing that would save me. It was the only thing that would save us both, in the end. Because I believe with all my heart that what he wants most is the same thing I do. I just have to hope one day he’ll see it too. And in the meantime, I will cherish that desire with anticipation. I will hope because what if, it is real?