Black Ribbon

We seem to have become obsessed with the idea of ribbons, wristbands & badges. Indicating support of some group or other, or perhaps in regard to some idea.
A visible indicator.
We are a visual creature, after all.
So much is identified by sight. We crave symbols.

But without understanding what the particular sign actually denotes, what is the point of doing so.



Ribbons, badges wristbands - whether tied to a particular period of time or not - tend to become rather meaningless or trivialised. There are so many 'ribbon' days for this, that or the other. Why is this any different?

Primarily this is intended for those of us who live with these illnesses. Have no doubts: these are illnesses. They are far more debillitating than the majority of people realise.
It is a terrible sadness that such people honestly believe that saying something along the lines of "chin up" is both positive & practical assistance. Just telling us to "cheer up" automatically makes us feel better.

We know it is not nearly that simple.
Telling somebody enduring these (& other such illnesses) only does harm. It is no stretch of the imagination to realise that if we could feel better - to cheer up - we would already have done so!

Wear a black ribbon for your own sake.
Wear a black ribbon even if it doesn't show for anyone to see.
Wear a black ribbon, not to draw attention, but to increase awareness.
Someone else may realise they are not alone, as we often feel. Something as simple as a hug can make a difference to someone unwell. Giving that hug can feel just as good, & better.
Now that is worthwhile.

Hugs for you all!

Hope

Not for the first time i am waiting for an appointment with a therapist. A clinical psychologist, this time. Not the first time i have done so, either.
Counsellors, psychologists - surely a psychiatrist in there somewhere, i just cannot remember how many - definitely a GP or more in the mix, yet have any of them really helped? Meds have been high on the agenda, so far as Doctors are concerned, then referrals, tho not always.
Some of these 'therapists' have been well-meaning, tho rather ineffective.

But just for a change there is a little mouse of hope creeping about. Where did it sneak inside & how did it find a way in; i don't know.

I am Broken. I am Damaged. I know that.
Do i dare hold out for anything in the way of hope?
Without hope in the darkness wherein we dwell, where are we bound?
For so long all that i have been doing is the same routine: just making it thru the day. Surviving. Existing!
Where is the hope in that?
If there was any possibility of hope, it was travelling without any & perhaps finding some on the way. Or hope finding me.

While i may be trying to locate & 'glue'  all the pieces of my Self into a whole - knowing i will lose bits & pieces along the way - some shape or form approximating that once i was is the best i can expect. Or hope for.
There's that word again: hope!

Somehow it found me. Just a little. When i wasn't looking for it, let alone expecting anything of the sort, hope snuck up behind & pounced at my ankle.


Knowing i am Broken, just what is it that i can hope for? Recovery??? Not likely. I am far too Damaged. Like so many all i know i can hope for is a day where i don't continue to feel so miserable, worthless & the like. Then another day. Then another.

The hope that the sudden appearance of light at the end of the tunnel is not merely a train (my usual expectation) but light: daylight.
That is something worth hoping for.