It’s on nights like these that I reach deep inside for hope, trusting that there is some piece of surviving, some bit of energy that I’ve overlooked in my previous struggles, a stowed bit of vigor that I might call upon to get me through this night. A few extra spoons tucked away for a rainy day. But I find tonight, like most nights, nothing in my stores of strength; no extra spoons anywhere to be found. I have nothing left to draw on. So instead I must stretch out what little energy I have and make it last until I’m able to sleep.
Spoonies are familiar with this struggle, this unfortunately familiar twisting of insides and stretching of self. We fight this battle every day. We spend weeks rationing bare numbers of spoons where others have them to spare. For us, each day is a struggle, each hour is an agony, even a minute is an eternity. Sometimes getting from one second to the next is all we can do. But we do it, and if we are wise, we celebrate it. We celebrate each second we survive without giving up, because each second we survive is one second more than we thought we could.
So tonight I celebrate as I survive each second, because one second is all I can handle at a time.