if you're still here, there's still hope.

This is hopedieslast.

Not a brand. Not a platform. Not a recovery plan.

This is where I put the truth so it does not rot inside me.

This started as survival. It still is.

I have been collecting diagnoses since 2009. Depression. Anxiety. OCD. C PTSD. Major Depression. ADHD severe enough to erase time and hunger. GAD. Social Anxiety. Insomnia. BPD. DPDR. DESR.

If the DSM speaks in acronyms there is a good chance it knows my name.

I have done therapy like penance. CBT for depression. CBT for anxiety. CBT for trauma. Psychotherapists. Social workers. Return to work programs I did not finish because my body refused to cooperate. I am still in therapy. Trauma does not clock out.

Psychiatrists came and went.

One named the ADHD.

One named the BPD.

One named nothing and billed OHIP anyway.

I have emailed more therapists than people I have loved. Ottawa clinics. EMDR specialists. Psychologists with calm faces and promises they could not keep. If there is a mental health directory in Ontario my name is in it somewhere unread.

I read the books. Barkley. Hallowell. Ratey.

Driven to Distraction might as well be a confession. I highlighted everything. Then lost the book.

The symptoms are not poetic.

Muscles locked so tight anxiety pulls bones out of place.

Migraines without pain just distortion and ringing like a warning siren that never shuts off.

Insomnia that drags me through the night stretching pacing bargaining with my own mind.

Hormones that turn every month into a controlled burn.

I am afraid of being seen. Afraid of being perceived. Afraid of being judged.

And still I am here. Writing. Exposed. Uncomfortable. Alive.

The medication list reads like a receipt no one wants to look at. Antipsychotics. Antidepressants. Stimulants. Beta blockers. Acid reducers. Iron. Vitamins. Supplements stacked like talismans.

I do not take pills. I perform rituals twice a day and hope my body cooperates.

So why this exists.

Because hope dies last.

Because my nervous system lives in constant threat mode and I refuse to disappear quietly.

Because the forms never tell the truth.

Because healing is not linear and survival is not pretty.

This is not a wellness blog.

This is not inspiration.

This is not ten steps or gentle affirmations.

This is the aftermath.

This is the middle.

This is what it looks like when someone keeps going without a map.

If you are here maybe you recognize yourself.

Maybe you are tired of being palatable.

Maybe you are still breathing out of spite.

Maybe you are not okay but you are not done.

Welcome.

This is hopedieslast.

With scars, shadows and unkillable hope.

 

-a