Wanda's Ramblings

Hope

Hope

Why do I keep going when things get tough? Why I would place my life, standing, finances, etc. in jeopardy to help another?

These questions have plagued us all at various times, I’m sure. At the ripe old age of 62, I feel like I am beginning to reach an age of understanding that qualifies me to begin to answer those questions as they relate to me. I’m also at an age where these questions have begun to beg for an answer.
I’ll start with why I think I keep going. To be honest I have chosen not to keep going in life several times as I am a suicide survivor. Today I just need hope to keep going so I think the primary reason I have chosen suicide over life several times was lack of hope. There was a famous study done with rats to determine their ability to avoid drowning and we will leave the ethics of that experiment for another day. In the study, among other things, it was determined that a rat that was saved close to giving up and drowning was able to hold out for much longer the next time.

I believe that I emerged stronger after surviving each of my suicide attempts. This also gave me hope that was similar to the rats in that study by surviving when I thought I had given up and died. All of the successful suicides that I have known the details of have similar parameters in that they all had a component of lack of hope. My Mother took her own life and reading through her writings of those last couple of months showed me that she was out of hope. So, if it is hope that keeps me going how do I find it?

I was abandoned by both my Mother and my Father in my youth, so I spent considerable time in institutions and orphanages. I also spent several years in mental hospitals as well as incarcerated. I was also sexually and physically abused so much of my youth was filled with hopelessness. In hindsight, my behavior and decisions during that period were really a form of psychological suicide because without hope I had no sense of the future and had very self-destructive and potentially life-threatening behaviors. During that period, I didn’t care if I lived or died because without hope my life had no meaning.

I emerged from that period into what from the outside would seem like a relatively normal life. Even though I had the trappings of a life such as a job, car, apartment, etc. I still had no hope because I had skipped growing up and the emotional growth that comes with it. During this time, my alcoholism really took off and I drowned my fears and anxiety in alcohol, drugs, and false relationships. Since these were not effective coping skills I still had no hope and had a few suicide attempts. In each of these attempts, I woke up grateful to still be here.

Much like the near drowned rats I emerged knowing that I could survive more than I thought I could. Unfortunately, while this did build a new resilience in me it did not equip me with better coping or living skills. Because of this the next many years could best be described as a determined grind in that although I would push on in the face of adversity I still had not much hope of things getting better. The vague hope that things would get better coupled with overdeveloped survival instincts was why I kept going during that period.

In my book, I describe the next few years in a chapter titled “Narrowing” because that is what was happening. I was slowly losing or giving up things and my life became a meager existence with my only hope coming from a bottle. The only way I could face another day was knowing I could get drunk. I guess weirdly it is similar to how I live my life today with the one day at a time philosophy. I can get through today knowing I could get drunk tomorrow but back then I got through the day knowing I would get drunk again tomorrow.

Fast forward to me getting sober and I found hope in the eyes of an old man who told me his story while doing my intake at a drug and alcohol rehab. I could finally relate to someone else about my alcoholism, saw life and hope in his eyes, and I was no longer alone. And while it has dimmed a few times over the last 9 years that small ember of hope I picked up that day is now a bright flame.

I see hope kind of like a credit card in that I have to have enough on the card to make withdrawals when I need to. Before getting sober my only hope was in the form of an afterlife better than the life I was currently living. That kind of hope wears very thin very quickly because it is the same thing I was doing in my youth, hoping for better days without doing anything to help make it happen. While I do still believe in an existence outside this one, by enlarging my spiritual and emotional life I increase the limit of my hope credit line because I am finding true happiness.

With that philosophy in mind, I have faced many hurdles in recovery and after making a withdrawal from my hope card I was able to refill it quicker each time. I have said many times that gratitude is my superpower, and nothing will fill or increase my hope balance quicker than gratitude. When I am grateful for what I have and what I have achieved it reminds me of what I am capable of. I still depend on my higher power for strength but more and more I am seeing that strength dependent on my actions.

In the end, the final stage is where I now have a very good sense of my hope balance, and instead of lamenting over a lack of hope I actively rebuild it by going to more meetings, talking to support friends, or acts of self-care. This has been proven out recently as I navigate easily through what I would have seen as show-stopping tragedies a few years ago.

Life is tough, but it is a lot tougher without hope!