A Bitch Called Hope


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.


Don’t Drag Me Down


When you have a chronic illness it seems like it’s a constant battle to find the right medicine. ¬†Constantly trying new ones to see what will work so you can feel like a normal human being again. ¬†A lot of times those medications fail and you’re back to square fucking one. ¬†It’s frustrating, it really is, especially once you reach the mental (or physical) realization of “What medications are left for me?”

I think the worst part of this whole battle is the proverbial carrot. ¬†(Wait for it, my fellow Crohnies, you’ll completely understand in a minute.) ¬†The proverbial carrot, HOPE. ¬†You try each med, just praying that this time it’ll work, that this time you’ll feel normal. ¬†You get your hopes so high that you might not have to suffer, and sometimes? ¬†Sometimes those hopes crash in a¬†fiery ball of fuck you.

What’s even worse is when the meds DO work. ¬†When you start feeling great, but it doesn’t last. ¬†That’s what blows. ¬†It’s¬†disheartening really, it’s hard to comprehend. ¬†You finally get to feeling like a normal human again, and then there it goes, right out the window.

I guess that’s life though, taking my own advice this time, I’m not letting this little flare get to me. ¬†I’m still new to Remicade and 6mp (plus antibiotics). ¬†Just because it’s acting up doesn’t mean that I need to panic. ¬†The trick to surviving (mentally) a chronic disease is not letting it drag you down.

So here’s to keeping my chin up and curling up with my heating pad tonight. ¬†:)