Hope. What a complex and complicated word. In the last several years of battling a chronic intractable migraine disorder and autoimmune disease, I’ve found myself taking this elusive hope and stuffing it into the back of my closet.
Good riddance. I found that every time I started to let myself feel it, I fell from such great heights right back into the bottom of the pit.
It has been safer to stay in the darkness. Hope — as I have been defining it — has been too painful. In a strange way, staying curled up in the darkness has cloaked me in a protective layer.
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