" 'What is hope?' she said. 'An expectation of good, which though uncertain has some foundation in what is known? Then we have none.'

'That is one thing men call "hope",' said Finrod. 'Amdir we call it, "looking up". But there is another which is founded deeper. Estel we call it, that is "trust". It is not defeated by the ways of the world, for it does not come from experience, but from our nature and first being. If we are indeed the Eruhin, the children of the One, then He will not suffer Himself to be deprived of His own, not by any Enemy, not even by ourselves. This is the last foundation of Estel, which we keep even when we contemplate the End: of all His designs the issue must be for His Children's joy. Amdir you have not, you say. Does no Estel still abide?' "

-- J.R.R Tolkien, Athrabeth Finrod ah Andreth

 I need your love like the water

and the sun

But I can not swim,

and I got burned.

At the memory I can stand

only saying "perhaps,

if it was, will be. I can't

look at it as me, in the past,

but as another person

another life:

in Virginia a runaway

is a happy country wife.

She has my eyes,

And darker hair.

She dress sober along the days

but still in lace at night

when in strong loving arms

she lay,

and tenderly caress

who kept her to say goodbye.

"perhaps, if it was, will be."

If it's in my power, it will.

I've come to the conclusion that I have no option but to go back on antidepressants. I reached an all-time low a few nights ago. I'm not going to discuss the details publicly; I've only discussed it with one person, and I'm going to keep it that way. But it got the darkest it's ever gotten, and things simply cannot go on the way they are. I hate it, but there's simply no other choice right now. Well, there is that other choice, but that's exactly what I'm trying to avoid. It's actually to the point that I'm really wishing I had some of the old stock around still, so I could start immediately, because I don't see the doctor until tomorrow, and then I have to wait for the prescription to process and come in the mail, and then I have to wait for them to start taking effect. And the thought of a few more weeks in this state is formidable.

Here's the problem:

I face a lot of challenges in life. Serious, debilitating pain, every day. Injuries that significantly limit my mobility and activity. Difficulty navigating the maze of social interactions. A head full of bad memories and regrets, a traumatic past, and a natural disposition to melancholy anyway. It's a challenge for me every day just to get through the day in good order.

 

Everyone, even if they don't have those kinds of difficulties, needs something to give them motivation, a basic sense of purpose and meaning. A tangible reason to hope, something to work towards. I don't mean hope in the larger sense, as in metaphysical or eschatological hope. I mean something more proximate and immediate, more visceral and emotional. I mean a reason to get up in the morning. 

For me, with all my problems, I need something powerful and positive, to counter the mass of negatives that are stacked against me. Something that, when it's time to go work out, and I don't feel like it,  motivates me to get up and do it. When I'm hiking up a mountain, and my back is killing me, gives me a reason to keep going. When the negative thoughts come, and I feel like there's no point to my life, no hope, is a point of light to focus on, a star to guide me in the darkness. A vision of a better version of my life toward which I am working, to counter the one that arises when I look at all the negatives. 

When I was younger, it was my kids that kept me going. For the last decade or so, it was the hope of love, and for most of that time, the image of one particular woman. But now there's no version of that which holds any power. Now, whenever I try to imagine some better version of life for myself and get moving, the thought that my daughter is dead sneaks in, and steals any motivation I might have. Because I feel like I don't deserve to have that better life, actually would feel guilty if I did have it. It just lets all the air out of my tires.

Then, for a while, it was another girl, and her love. When that darkness came, especially this new darkness of having survived a child, there was the thought that someone loved me, liked me, was depending on me, to keep me going from day to day, even if I was just limping along the shoulder on the rims. But without even that, I've got no ammunition to fight with against all those negative, demotivational thoughts. And so I just sit here. 

 Mother: "You're a pessimist."

Me: "Well, I was raised in an atmosphere of complete pessimism. What do you expect?"

Mother: <laughs> "Well, so was I."

Me: "Yes, I remember Grandma."

Me: "You know, the terrible thing is that I'm really not a pessimist. Deep down, I'm really an eternal optimist, a hopeless romantic. But the world never lives up to my expectations."

Mother: "It's called facing reality."

Me: "F--- reality. I'm going down fighting."