"Did your parents ever say something that has stuck with you throughout your life?" The answer to this question didn't even have to come to me, it's been here all along. It is one of my constant companions, gray like a figure of death, it often sits quietly in the corner of my room, unmoving. Shadow-like and affecting everything I do. Enmeshed in its web are pessimism and depression, the thought that this is always how it is, or always how it's been. Hopelessness, though in a maliciously subtle way.
As a rational adult I can look back and see that the power these words have had over me are not logical, rational, and certainly not healthy. In fact, more than likely they were completely situationally specific, but they hit my already untrusting, uncertain young mind that struggled unconscioulsy, quietly, with the truth of abandonment. And the words were: "Don't get your hopes up."
"Don't get your hopes up." Was it about my excitement over an impending ice-cream cone excursion, or my endless chatter about the rides at Disneyland, that prompted her to ever so lightly tap the glass and shatter my hopes? It wasn't malicious says the loyalty inside me, and yet, those words made me grow up in an instant. Those words conveyed the fact that I already knew that this world was not to be trusted, that hopes were not to be trusted, because the truth is, it will all crumble and crash and screech to a halt. If I had any fledgling optimism or idealism about the world, the authority of that command struck me to my core and have shaped my view since then. Because I don't get my hopes up. I have tentatively dipped my toe into the waters of long-lasting commitment through marriage but don't have my hopes up (too high) that there will be fidelity, harmony, or "you complete me" moments. Perhaps I can get my hopes up that there will be functionality, moments of sunshine and hand-holding, and silent breakfasts over oatmeal and the Funnies. I don't have my hopes up that this election will bring any sort of resolution to the wars, or freedom or that my social justice class can make a dent in racism or heterosexism. I don't get my hopes up that my friends will be there when I need them, or that my degree will provide any lasting happiness. Most frightengly, I don't get my hopes up that if there is a God, that He is really Benevolant and Good and the epitome of Love. My life is like life in Oz, with shams just around the corner. I just hope that I will see clearly the reality before me, so that my heart will stay protected.
And so tonight, with the inability to express my words to my lover, I painted how I felt. It's entitled "Mountains of Impossible Hope" or maybe "Impossible Mountaisn of Hope," because Hope is there, but it's dark and scary and almost completely inacessible. And yet, something softly calls to me, like wind through the trees.
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