Hope

You're put on a roller coaster. Strapped in place by a seat belt that is so tight, you can't wriggle out of it, though not for lack of trying. I don't like roller coasters, you think. I didn't ask to go on this ride.

Confused, you look around for the ride operator. Where are they? Nobody is around. You are alone.

A commanding voice booms out of nowhere that the ride is about to start. Are you ready?

No, you think. I'm not.

Ready or not, it announces, here we go.

The ride begins. Slowly at first, for maybe a few seconds, and you wonder what you've gotten yourself into. Even though, as far as you know, you didn't do anything to get into this in the first place.

Then, in a moment that barely lasts long enough for you to take a breath and brace yourself, it speeds up.

The first time you go around the track, you don't know what to expect. The unknown terrain ahead that you are being forced to speed through is terrifying. The loops, the climbs, the sudden and deadly drops. You are screaming, screaming, screaming, as the wind rushes, rushes, rushes, and you are scared. The fear is what you are drowning in, the first time around.

The second time is not much better, or the third. How many times am I going on this ride? Eventually your brain catches on to what is happening, even if your heart won't believe it quite yet.

Around and around you go, and by this point, you have the track memorized. Sometimes you even enjoy the thrill. After all, it is a roller coaster.

But what happens when the thrill fades?

When the buzz of excitement just becomes a behemoth in your brain?

When the pride that comes with finding out that you are actually pretty strong turns into the overwhelming realization that, now, you don't have any other choice?

When the initial pleasant surprise of getting around the whole track without being afraid and oh, wow, I didn't think I could do that dissipates, and circumstance doesn't allow you to finish the statement with a but I don't want to? I don't want to do it at all.

What happens when you want to get off?

What happens when what used to be easy becomes so... not?

When what was small becomes a lot?

When your body can't keep up with everything you want to do and have and be

And your mind conspires against you

And the world doesn't understand how easily you can be broken

What happens when you break?

What happens when you can't put the pieces back how they were before?

What happens when the best you can do still leaves something missing?

What happens when you search and search and search

And you keep on searching

For something

Something

Anything to fill that hole

Anything that would fit into the fractures that life battered into you

Anything that would close the gap

Close it and seal it

Seal it securely

Safely

Solidly

Solidly and surely

Surely and for good

What happens when you can't find anything?

When the tape you manage to scrape together isn't enough to bind the gaping wound

In the fabric that makes up you

What happens then?

How do you find hope?

How do I move forward...?

Why should I?

Why

Why

Why

The sun rose this morning, and the colours were so intense

The pinks were like rose petals patched across the sky

The shades of orange almost smelled like citrus 

The blues were clearer and deeper than a serene and still lake

And you saw it all

Up close, so close

Close enough to reach out and touch a star

Right before it was drowned out by the daylight

From the highest height of your rollercoaster, you were close enough

I'm not thankful for it, you think

But I am thankful for the sun

The sun rises every morning and sets every night

You let it bless you with its rays

And you wish on every star

At night, you close your eyes and wish

For so many things

For one thing in particular, but other things too

And you keep riding around and around

Around the blue loop

Dealing with it all the best you can

Hoping that one day you will be able to get off

But mostly, hoping for hope.