Hope is one of those words that I tend to shy away from. Hope to me implies that life will get better. Just maybe it is in some strange way.
Ever since being diagnosed with Fibro, having to end nursing school in my last semester, and to top it off dealing with my mental illness, I have not had much hope.
Then I received an e-mail the other day that has changed the way that I think. Maybe I was not supposed to be a nurse. I speak about my mental illness on a pretty regular basis. I found out in that email which particular service dog has been assigned to me.
Over the past few months, I have realized that I want to speak out about mental illness, the help that assistance dogs can provide for those with mental and physical ailments, and the overall acceptance of people with disabilities.
This weekend, I get to see my kids and spend time with them. I am grateful that I am here to see them. There are still many bad days and struggles, however; I am trying to get through them the best that I can and live my life for me and no one else.
For me, that means being myself and not conforming to what others want of me. So for once, I do have hope that things may be turning around. Life certainly has taken a different path than I thought it would.