Hope and all that could have been

What is hope?

When I read the following definition,

‘The feeling that what is wanted can be had or that events will turn out for the best’

It sounds far too subjective

A feeling

Wanting

Turn out for the best

If this was a gambling game

Who would take odds

Based on nothing more than feelings

Feelings impacted by beliefs, moods, opinions

And with an outcome that could turn out to be any which way

No guarantees

I don’t know

Maybe I’m too skeptical

Too cynical

Jaded

For hope

Or maybe

Hope is too vague

Too unrealistic

Too wishy-washy

For the likes of me

As hard as defining hope is,

Even harder is picturing it

What does hope look like?

I tried conjuring images of different things

Nothing exemplified what hope stands for

It all seemed too cheesy

Blue skies

Green pastures

None of which inspire

Feelings of hope

I guess if I try hard enough

I would say hope looks something like…

Eyes closed

Jaw slack

Relaxed posture

No tension in her body or features

Like she’s found peace

Or at least

Knows it’s coming to her

Calm

Serene

Confident

In knowing

That hope is tangible

And what she has hoped for more anything

Is hers for the taking

Maybe

One day

I will be able to close my eyes

And in a moment

Feel the tension leave my body

My breaths full

And Effortless

The racing thoughts fading away

The dull heaviness of depression being lifted

I wonder who that woman will be?

When everything weighing her down

Is finally gone

And it’s just her

The her that might have been

If life hadn’t turned her into someone else….

It’s never too late

A year and a half ago I only had an appreciation for Art other people created.

I always had creative urges within me.

To do something with hair, make up, my room, my body…To just see art around me.

And then when I needed it most

The ability to create art came to me

I was 37 years old

This wasn’t the way I thought my life would turn out.

I thought I’d be an old cool social worker working with disadvantaged youth…

then life happened…

Maybe through art I’ll find a way to become okay with that.

Maybe this is all part of the story of my life…

Quality Of Life

What defines quality of life?

Society would tell us

It’s a combination of good health, secure economic and housing status, family and friends and recreational activities

Reading over the aforementioned characteristics

It doesn’t seem like achieving a decent quality of life would be difficult

But all of that changes when you have a chronic illness

Especially one like MS

It doesn’t usually happen over night or in the blink of an eye

But over time

An MSer’s quality of life deteriorates or at the very least changes dramatically

Comparing myself to those qualities of a good

I can’t help but think I’m a little doomed

I don’t have good health

My economic security is interconnected to my chronic illness and changed greatly in the last few years

I’m lucky that I’m secure in my housing

My recreational activities have become limited

Friends and family especially during these trying times

Are not very accessible

And in the spirit of

transparency

I was never a very dependable friend

So these days

I can’t say I expect much from people

Anyway both family and friends come with their own sets of challenges

I recently had to take Gabapentin for a sensory pain I was having

The pain reduced probably by more than half

But my quality of life suffered

I felt lethargic and down

I didn’t complete any art for several days

I was pretty much restricted to my couch

So I was faced with the dilemma in making a choice between quality of life and pain management

I kept thinking

What’s the point of living if it consists of being like a zombie?

Granted I’d be a zombie in less pain

But a zombie nonetheless

I guess

In the end

I’d rather experience pain

And live

And doesn’t that just perfectly sum up my life?