When hope is something pressed into your hand.

Hope. Hope doesn’t have to be impressive, or heralded with shouts of praise.  Sometimes hope is just something little, something that is just pressed into your hand. Anyone who has seen Rogue One will know what I mean when I say that. (No spoilers). Hope can be small, tiny, hard won and painful to receive. Sometimes hope is the new prescription you didn’t know you needed, handed to you by a sympathetic psychiatrist.

Not much to say here. Just an updated diagnosis and the chance for hope that I didn’t have before. Because even though it is threatening to hear the words “Severe clinical depression,” and “potential obsessive compulsive disorder”, it is also relieving. Because now there is the possibility, now there is the chance, that life doesn’t have to be like this. Now there is potential for change. Now there is hope.

And suddenly, those many, many, many miles to go do not seem so long.

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