Trying to grow hope from a small idea

I haven’t written in some time.

It has almost felt pointless to try to make sense of the increasing chaos in my life by trying to write about it here. But I’ve just started one new positive habit, so I will take that as a reason to write here again.

The last two mornings, I took a small keyboard to the local cafe, and, with headphones, practiced a little. Just for five minutes each time. I felt embarrassed doing so, and yet, it is a habit I need.

Because of the chunk of years that the accident and its ensuing depression have cut from my life, I have felt too devoid of hope to practice at home. When I try to practice at home, all the painful memories of being discouraged in my efforts to learn about music, as a child, and even, as a young adult, come back to haunt me, even when, prior to the accident, I had finally been able to push that pain firmly into the past.

Trying to practice in the cafe, has made practice possible, as the distraction of what’s going on around me, dilutes the effects of those hopeless feelings, and painful memories. I wonder if it also helps, by making me feel less alone, when confronting a challenge that I find so easily bruises my ego.

I hope that, if I can practice, a few minutes a day, that, in a few years time, I will have the grades required, to study Composition at The Guildhall, to fulfil this one dream I now have left, this one dream that gives me something to look forward to.

Lately, the local girl I’ve written about before – Anista – has said that she hopes I’ll one day find a romantic partner, to provide me with emotional support.

Since the accident, I’d given up on ever finding love. I began to briefly hope again, when I had a crush on a drummer for some months between 2021 and 2022. He said he cared about me, but I eventually realised he didn’t care at all, and that he’d only wanted to use me. I’m glad I never let him use me, any more than the far too much of my time I gave him. For a few months after I stopped communicating with the drummer, feelings of loneliness I’d never had before lingered. It has now been some time of, again, not feeling lonely, my having again forgotten the possibility of meeting someone. But Anista, simply by being able to imagine such a thing, has caused a little hope to spring up in me again.

Life feels ever more scary, ever more lonely. It is hard to imagine my wanting to continue to exist in a world in which either my mum or my dog doesn’t exist, and this terrifies me, when both have health issues. This has led me to wonder: could Anista be right? Could I hold on to a partner when there is no other soul left for me to hold on to? Then again, I continue to have so much admiration for the person I’d been before my accident, who was so complete in herself, and who would’ve, I believe quite rightly, considered love a bonus in life, love being, in her opinion, a set of winning lottery numbers that could neither be planned, nor hoped for. Such was my reverence for love. In recent days however, I admit to’ve been finding comfort in the idea, of finding someone, to the extent that I may even be wanting to believe there are possibilities in my life that can’t really be there, in particular, in one local I’ve known for some months.

Instead of trying to escape into these ideas of finding love now, it would be far better, if I could continue focusing on efforts of recovering from depression and anxiety, on working towards going to The Guildhall, and trying to find a patron to support me in these dreams. I think it is more likely I would find a soulmate at university in any case. I hope that at university I could finally have both the learning experiences, and the social experiences, that I missed out on, at the horrible university I went to.

Today I read some comments under YouTube videos on the subject of dating, where many agreed that a woman who is upfront about wanting a serious relationship should be run away from as fast as possible, and that older women, especially those like me, who have had zero romantic experiences, are also to be run away from, as though this lack of history must be indicative of these women not being deserving of love. Not every human has been blessed with being born into functional, stable families, not every human has had to choose solitude in order to pursue their passion in their early adulthood because they had – till that point – only known discouragement from friends and family, and not every human has suffered from an accident that led to years of debilitating depression and anxiety, that, for the large part of those years, confined that person to their home.

I wish I could find someone who loves me the way that Stanhope loves Bingo. He loves her completely, mental health and all. He sees beauty where another may see damage. It’s one of the many reasons I consider Stanhope’s character to be of such quality. He has so much heart. He truly loves.`

The poor local I mentioned above, who I’ve recently been letting myself imagine might care about me, is just someone who’s made the mistake of being kind and thoughtful whilst belonging to the opposite sex. Admittedly, interactions with him have left me wondering, why I’ve not experienced similarly apparently caring interactions from men who have liked me in the past. Not that many have obviously liked me. In fact, the only man I’ve ever heard tell me they liked me was the drummer, and that was only because I told him I liked him, and because he was trying to use me. The others, I can only speculate on, are only two men I worked with at the office job I had years ago. Neither of them ever said they liked me nor asked me out, but looking back, I think they may have liked me.

But yes, there have been things to worry about, far more serious than romantic pondering, worries about the future, of being able to continue getting by with bills, worries about the health of my mum and my dog, my heartbreak upon learning that my family are getting rid of the family home I grew up in, my fear of not seeing my mum when she is moved closer to my sister’s home.

I have to keep reminding myself, that amidst all this loss, and possibility of further loss, I’ve been trying so hard at life, and that I must feel proud of myself for this. My efforts to learn have been helping me to feel better, both this renewed effort to learn piano, and my reading on a subject I’ve recently acquired an interest in, as a direct result of the instability of my own life: Socialism. But even today, when I felt I was doing well with my efforts, there was unignorable dread underneath it all. I am in constant fear of the future. Moments of calm are inevitably interrupted by feelings that I do not deserve the calm, as it seems so unlikely that the reasons for any calm I have now will last much longer.

I recently even learned that the vet I had come to trust with my dog Abu – Niven – has left his clinic, and that the clinic do not have information on where he may have moved on to, if he is in fact, still practicing at all. Learning this upset me so much. It made me realise that having Niven there, made such a difference, that it helped me feel less alone, in my care of Abu. Niven was always so encouraging, commending me on my efforts to look after Abu, and that had also meant so much to me, at a time when I am overly aware that so many would judge someone like me, who has suffered from long-term mental health issues, as worthless.

Abu has been giving me new reasons to worry, as his coughs seem more frequent, and in recent weeks, a rhythmic noise has begun to constantly emanate from him. The noise is quiet, and therefore would be difficult for a vet to hear at a clinic, but I’ve noticed it during the quiet of night. Having said that, the noise is loud enough that I have now bought a little white noise generator to try to help distract me, and perhaps even Abu, from the noise. He has also lost some weight.

For now, I am grateful to’ve started my piano practice habit. I hope I can keep it up.

I hope there is hope.

I hope I can return to a music project too. It has been hard to go back to the music projects when life has been turbulent, and when my confidence of working on those projects continues to diminish the longer and longer I spend away from them. I know that making efforts on those music projects would smooth the seas of my fears a little, by giving me more reasons to hope, but I still wish there was somewhere I could anchor up to for a bit first.

I am grateful for the encouraging words some have given me in recent weeks. I remind myself of these words when I feel useless. I will try to be proud of myself.