There’s this song by Blood for Blood (if you haven’t heard them and don’t like hardcore, don’t waste your time. You’ll want to stab yourself in the ears.) called “A Bitch Called Hope”. I used to relate to that song a lot, hell even now, more than 8 years later. Hope is a hard thing to hold onto sometimes, but one thing I’ve realized through all of these years? I need to have hope. I need hope to thrive, to survive, and to strive for more. With out hope I get nowhere… as I proved for a couple years as a teenager.
At the same time though, when you hope and pray for something, especially when you’ve worked your ass off for it, and whatever it is falls through? It’s devastating. Sometimes hope can almost destroy you in the end, and knowing that is what makes it so hard. Hope is a bitch, a cold-hearted bitch, and that stupid bitch will screw you over if you give it the chance. So sometimes I’m wary of hope.
I’ve always lived by the motto: Hope for the best, expect the worst and work your fucking ass off in the meantime. I think that whole line of thought is what has gotten me labeled as a pessimist more than a handful of times, but you know what? It works for me. It keeps my ass in gear, my mind working, and helps me prepare for the worst in any scenario. It allows me to continue to bust ass for something I want, but kind prepare for if things don’t work out as planned. Almost mutes the devastation if it comes my way.
There has been so much going on in the past few years, quite honestly a lot of it got me down for a while there. In the not to recent past I had almost given up hope that things would get better. I saw nothing in my dead end jobs, nothing good coming out of being a single mother working sometimes upwards of 16 hour days. I lost the motivation to love my life and improve what I didn’t love. I did the basics for my daughter, made her life as perfect as I could, but as for everything else? I shut down. In all reality, that helpless feeling I had as I watched my life circle the drain broke me. It did, it broke me far worse than the abusive marriage I was in, my self-caused train wreck teen years, anything. That hope that I had clung to for so many years just disappeared.
When things were getting to be damned near unbearable, I finally caught a break. I was offered a job, and then immediately offered my current job. Then, like a brick through a bay window, that hope was back. I knew that if I kept busting ass, life would get better. You know what? It most definitely has. It’s never ending hard work, but it’s worth it. Last Spring/late winter, one year ago, I was sitting at this kitchen table trying to figure out how to afford my gas bill. I was barely making enough to afford food, much less my bills and medical treatments. I was sitting at this table, praying for a hand up, a break, something. I was headfirst into a bottle a lot of those nights, because at that point I didn’t even want to cope. I just wanted peace.
Now? Things are much better. Not perfect, but enough to make me happy. I’m still at a wonderful job, I’m in a wonderful relationship, and I’m working on my relationships with my family and a few old friends. I realized that I need to keep busting my ass and fix my life, and since I was given that sliver of hope, it’s been a fight to keep it ever since. It’s nice to be able to look back and reflect, the contrast between last year and this one…. it just proves that it was worth it all. That things DO get better if you work for it, and having that little bit of hope just pushes you along.
Hope is still a bitch though, but hope is here to stay.