Par cerību, kura mirst pēdējā
What hope means, and what recovery means, is getting up every day in the full knowledge that nothing means anything and we’re all going to die pointlessly and too soon, and getting on with shit anyway. It means not listening to the semirational sliver of your brain that believes staying in bed drinking liquid ice cream is the better option. And eventually — maybe soon, probably not — things change. Eventually, probably not today, you feel better, or different. That’s what hope is. That’s it. That’s all. It’s bullshit and necessary and anyone can do it. You’re welcome.

In times like these, surviving — making the basic statement that your own life matters as much as anyone else’s — is a political act. When the world consistently tells you that you are unworthy of kindness because of who or what you are, being kind to yourself is an act of rebellion. It’s not the only important one, but it’s the basis of all the others. And it’s scary. And it’s exhausting, having to feel things all the time. And some people would rather fold themselves against the warm blankie of comforting lies or cower under their own violent nihilism. Because some people are cowards. But you’re not.

https://www.wired.com/story/laurie-penny-on-hope/