Hope might have killed

„I don‘t think a little hope ever killed anyone.“
„Maybe it will kill me, if you keep throwing it at me to shut me up.“

Yes, this conversation really happened. It was much longer, and included a lot more fury on both sites.

I wonder why people keep doing this.
Why do people always think that denying any kind of emotion will solve the problem on its own?

This was a conversation between me and a friend who denies that the forever lockdown we have been stuck in for months and are not expecting to get out of too soon will have any kind of effect on people, and also that everything I am missing is no reason to be sad.
And this makes me want to explain to him again what it is that I have lost last March, which means that I am spiraling down into a sadness that I have had enough of.
I think of friends and family members that I have not seen in over a year. I think about not having made small talk with anyone in over a year. I think about not having been on campus in over a year, and writing my thesis without the original project and without ever talking to anyone about it. I think about staring at the wall for three hours straight, and about not having been to the funeral of my grandmother, or not having said goodbye to my cat when he was put to sleep. I think of this feeling of homelessness deep inside of me, and the need to stop feeling this weight deep inside of me, and I don‘t want anyone to argue against it ever again.

But what do I want? This friend I told that I would like to comer over and put the knife that is stuck down my throat into his chest so that he cannot ignore it any longer.
But honestly, I would just like for someone to acknowledge the feelings I have had to deal with for more than a year now. Why is it so difficult to say words like „I also miss some people at the moment“ or „It can be sad to do everything alone at home“ or „Some day we are going to drink that bottle of wine together, again.“ Why is it so hard to admit that an important human component is missing while we are on our own, not seeing each other, while some of them die alone we are left with staring at the wall for years? Denying what is happening convinces me even more that we have turned into perfectly functioning pieces of flesh that deserve just another slap into the face and are denied the sensation of having skin to even receive this.

This was why I summoned my witch and became one myself. It breaks my heart in what kind of Dystopia I have to live in, and what it brings out in us, and the right to be sad would actually make it easier for me.

„I mean, he practically asked for the knife“, my witch giggles. „Make sure it is silver. He might be a suicidal werewolf.“

Now I am laughing so hard that it makes me shiver, and I realize that I do not want hope, but the reassurance that my feelings are real and everything that I am missing was also once real.

Hope might sometimes kill people after all, but my witch is keeping me safe for now.