Who let the hope out?

Pandora’s story is on my mind. Not only did she release the evils into the world, she also released hope. We live in the hope that life will get better… and so we continue to exist. But what if this is as good as it will ever get? Human nature cannot accept that, so we live a dreary existence, seeking pleasure as and where we get it. We battle despair with Prozac; we lull the mind with routine, we give ourselves goals, we convince ourselves of the existence of a higher purpose, and we live like rats in the sewer that is life. Only the brave can admit that there is no hope. And once that reality hits home, they decide to do away with the sham that is life. But for the rest of us who are brought up on the lie that life is a gift, we trudge on desperately seeking greener pastures. One day we will cease to exist, but we push such thoughts deep into the recesses of our mind, and we choose life. These days I am learning not to rely on hope, but it raises its silvery head often enough to prevent me from ending it all. And so I say to myself, It will get better. But it won’t, will it? I’m supposed to be thankful that I don’t live in poverty, that I lead a charmed life. If a man who has lost his brother, nephew and wife in a span of two years can find joy and satisfaction in life, what reason do I have to complain. So I’m grateful for my existence, and wait hopefully, like a dog waiting for someone to pat his head. But one day, when the despair settles permanently, when I finally accept life without Pandora’s hope, I will end it all. In the meantime, I have to sleep, so I can rise in the morning bright and early to catch my measly worm.