Hope. A thing with feathers That perches in the soul.
I’ve despised the word & concept & discussion of hope for quite some time now.
After carrying such immense hope for so so many years & working so damn hard & for so incredibly long, all I gained was homelessness, more pain & traumas, & becoming hopelessly disabled.
Hope almost feels like a "dirty word" at this point in time.
Fourteen years of night terrors & insomnia.
Ten years of auditory hallucinations, severe depression, anxiety, self-harming addiction, etc.
Three years of seeing over 30 doctors who put me on over 30 medications, each one causing more harm than good &, ultimately, destroying me entirely. Yet the doctors blamed me & it shows throughout my hundreds of pages of medical records.
Years of indescribable pain & heartache & all I have to show for it is even more pain--mentally, physically, & emotionally. A deeper pain than I ever thought I could know of or experience.
After all those years of hard work to seek answers & healing, it only caused catastrophically devastating effects for me & my life that continually worsen with time.
I was tired of “hope.”
But things have changed this year, taken a turn for the better & the crazy & the fascinating.
I began to have small personal victories where I was reminded of my immense inner worth & my ability to overcome any obstacle in my path, no matter how seemingly impossible. It feels like lifetimes since experiencing such gratifying confidence in myself—& not driven by the ego, either!
Dissociative identity disorder (DID) is so vastly complex, I doubt I’ll understand it all by the time I die, hopefully several decades from now.
I am daring to hope again. Daring to dream new dreams. Daring to believe in myself again. Daring to have faith in my future. Daring to hope that this will all make sense someday
in a satisfying, fulfilling way. Daring to believe that I can achieve the impossible.
Will you dare to jump with me?,
into the unknown with nothing but
faith, hope, belief, & each other.