Some days, particularly days like today, I wish so badly that I could just give up. I wish that I could wipe my hands of it and walk away and forget about it. I wish I could accept defeat. But I Cannot and I will not. For I am a prisoner of hope.
There is nothing I want more out of my life than to have a child. There is nothing I wouldn’t sacrifice to give my husband a baby, one born of our own flesh and blood. As much as I may want to stop thinking about this, as much as I wish I could just relax and let it happen. I cannot. For I am a prisoner of hope.
The heartache I feel on a daily basis, the smile I am forced to paint on my face, the sincerity in my voice when you announce you’re pregnancy, these are all my battles. This is all my pain. They may be small compared to the war we are facing now, but they are my worst enemies. And yet, they are my greatest achievements to date. They are proof that I am Still fighting my own body for the most precious gift one can long for. And they are all evidence that I am a prisoner of hope.
If you have ever pulled a test out of the trash to check once more for those two pink lines. If you have ever cried for days upon days at the joyous announcement of your friends third pregnancy. If you have ever been angry at the site of a beautiful pregnant woman. If you are constantly questioning, “Why her? And Why not me?” If you have broken into pieces at the news of another pregnant teen. Then you are also a Prisoner of Hope.
It is not a calling one would ever wish upon another. It is not a battle any woman should ever have to face. It is not a fraction of your life in a bigger spectrum. It is your truth, your burden, and your entire being, engulfed in the prison that is your smallest portion of Hope. The minuet spectacle that your heart absolutely refuses to release. The smallest of fragments that your mind will not give away.
Who could have guessed that such a tiny fraction of Hope could so powerfully keep you it’s prisoner for so long? For when you are a prisoner of such hope, you are at the mercy of some one else’s timeline. A timeline you cannot see and one that is impossible to understand.
So I am left with nothing else but to ask again, Why am I a prisoner of Such Hope?