Hope as a Joke

When Hope Feels Like a Joke

There are days when even breathing feels like a task — when waking up feels heavier than sleeping, and when the word hope begins to sound like a lie we keep telling ourselves to survive. I have reached a point where I no longer find comfort in the promises of tomorrow. Things that once gave meaning now feel hollow, and the people around me, even the closest ones, seem to look at me through a lens of misunderstanding. They see only what I show them — a quiet smile, a calm face, a person pretending to be fine. But deep inside, I am fighting a storm that no one sees, a battle between what I wish life could be and what it has become.

These days, my thoughts are rarely kind. They circle around my failures, my disappointments, and the way everything seems to go against me. Every step I take feels uncertain, as if the ground beneath me could disappear at any moment. The dreams I once held close to my heart now feel distant, like fading lights in the fog. And no matter how much I try to hold on, they slip through my fingers. I used to believe that things would fall into place one day — that hard work and patience would somehow lead to peace. But lately, I’ve begun to question that belief. Hope, which once felt like a guiding star, now feels like a cruel joke — something that teases me with possibilities that never arrive.

It’s painful when people think you’re not doing enough, when they look at you and assume laziness where there is actually exhaustion. They see only the surface — they don’t see the nights spent worrying, the silent breakdowns, or the weight of trying to hold yourself together when everything inside is breaking apart. I walk through life carrying invisible scars, smiling when I want to scream, laughing when I want to cry, pretending everything is okay because that’s what people expect. Sometimes I feel like a clown performing in a circus — a joker wearing a painted smile — while my soul quietly bleeds behind the mask.

I try. I really do. Every single day I wake up and try again — to stay strong, to stay hopeful, to find reasons to keep going. But it’s not easy when nothing seems to go right. When efforts go unseen and progress goes unrewarded. When family, the ones who are supposed to understand, begin to think you’re lost, lazy, or wasting time. They don’t see the war inside me. They don’t understand how hard it is to stay kind when the world feels so cruel, how hard it is to believe in myself when everything around me says I shouldn’t. Their words sometimes hurt more than my failures, because I expected them to be my shelter — yet even there, I feel misunderstood.

But even in this darkness, something in me refuses to give up completely. Maybe it’s the same foolish hope I say I no longer believe in. Maybe it’s just habit. Or maybe it’s that small, stubborn part of me that still remembers who I wanted to become. Life can be cruel, yes — it can break you down piece by piece, test your patience, and crush your spirit until you begin to forget what joy even feels like. But maybe pain has its own strange purpose. Maybe all this struggle is not meaningless, even if it feels that way now. Because even broken things can shine under the right light. Even tired hearts can learn to beat again.

I’ve realized that people will always misunderstand what they don’t experience. They will judge your silence, laugh at your failures, and assume the worst of your intentions. That’s just the world we live in. But I can’t keep defining myself by their opinions. I have to find a reason to stand, even if no one else believes in me. Maybe hope isn’t about expecting things to get better. Maybe it’s just about refusing to surrender, even when everything hurts. Maybe it’s the quiet courage to keep walking when there’s no light left — trusting that somewhere ahead, something will change.

So yes, these days I feel like I’m walking through fire — but maybe that’s where strength is born. Maybe losing everything I once depended on will teach me to depend on myself. Maybe being misunderstood will teach me self-acceptance. Maybe the emptiness I feel is just space being cleared for something new. And maybe, just maybe, hope is not a joke — it’s the faint heartbeat inside me that keeps whispering, “Not yet. Don’t give up yet.” I know I’m not fine. I know I’m still lost. But I’m trying. And maybe that’s enough for now. Because one day, the same people who think I’m wasting my time will see the truth — that I wasn’t lost, I was just building myself quietly, painfully, piece by piece. And when that day comes, they’ll realize that behind this tired smile was a heart that never stopped trying.

For now, I’ll keep walking — even if it’s through the storm. I’ll keep trying, even if no one sees it. I’ll keep believing, even if hope feels like a joke. Because maybe, one day, the joke will be on life — when I rise again from everything that tried to break me. 

                                                                                  

Jo❤️