That’s me trying to start this post.
I think I have written and deleted about a hundred different sentences now.
The reason it feels so hard?
Well, i guess it’s because the place in which I find myself seems to directly contradict the positive essence that I wanted for this blog. I don’t think I’ve ever retold the story of Pandora’s Box here, but the name of this site refers to the mythological equivalent of the biblical story, The Garden of Eden. In it, Pandora, unable to contain her curiosity, opens the magical box, and in so doing, releases despair; poverty; disease; misery and all the evils of the world. At the end of the story, Pandora opens the box one final time, and the remaining ‘thing’ flutters out, touching the wounds and the sadness of those afflicted by the evil.
It was Hope.
And that’s what I want to write about.
Now you get why I walk around the subject, shying away from its core.
Because hope is hard.
These last few weeks, I’ve followed the story of the little girl Alice Gross, who disappeared for a month.
I prayed. I thought of her often. I thought of her family and friends. And more than that, I HOPED. I hoped she’d be found alive. I hoped that that guy Arnis wasn’t involved.
Alice was buried last week.
On a personal level, I hoped that I could fight Anorexia. i have prayed for the strength to battle the illness’s longings, that I might stand my ground, spit in its face, I hoped that I could defy it. Eat good food and cope with the backlash.
Now I flounder in a sea of hopelessness. Waves of despair crash over me and my choking head is lurching up and under.I pray for strength to stay afloat, but even as I pray, the land I need to reach is beyond the horizon line.
Hope seems to be a polystyrene float that offers a false and fleeting sense of safety in a boundless ocean. It feels as though it is a promise made by liars and cheats who know that the sea has covered the world.
Sometimes, hope feels cruel.
My question is, can anyone live WITHOUT hope? Can a person ever really be without hope?