Some days are good. Some days are bad. Some days I cry in impotent fury. Some days I shed tears brought on by an unexpected kindness.
"I have learned to love you and Hunter," said a letter I received today. "You are the most beautiful and compassionate person I've known." Kind words in themselves, but just out-of-this-world surreal considering who they're from.
My whole life has become surreal. I am living a teleserye-worthy story today, only I never wanted it, only ever wanted a boring, happy life. Someone must have noticed I hadn't filled my quota of struggles yet.
"Hardships often prepare ordinary people for an extraordinary destiny." "God reserves his hardest battles for his toughest soldiers." But I'm not tough. I'm not strong. I try, but more often, I just pretend. And there are even times I can't keep up the pretense.
The hours before I sleep are often the worst. After a long day, night is when the defenses come crashing down, when the ghosts rise in the shadows. I've learned it's entirely possible to send drunk texts while stone-cold sober. I've learned I'm still reluctant to not observe good grammar and proper spelling, even when I'm ranting. (Mile-long messages, I tell you.) I've learned I can be icily eloquent when hurling insults. And I've learned there are still some levels to which I just cannot sink down. Much as I want to; much as some people deserve it.
I read today that the Pope was once a bouncer. Isn't that crazy? And cool. I can imagine some girl trying to get in a nightclub protesting, "But I really am 18 years old!" And the bouncer saying, "Right. And I'm the next Pope." And then years later...it happens.
I guess anything can happen. I don't allow myself to hope, not yet, maybe not ever. But maybe I'll allow for the possibility that strange stuff is possible; that there may be a bigger plan somewhere, somehow; that in a world where a bouncer can become Pope, a bruised, broken, sad, scared girl can still have her happy ending.