It's hard to be hopeful on days like today. It's hard to really believe that Logan could ever overcome the evil growing within him when he's as miserable as he was all afternoon: The vomiting, the pain, the frustration. While part of me is angry and has my defensive wall firmly set in place, another much smaller, much quieter part whispers 'well, the worse things get, the more impressive the miracle could be'. Yes... if I really believed in miracles. I suppose I still do. I'm just not sure that I believe they'd ever happen for us; for me.
That aside, the emotional ebb and flow feels almost akin to abuse; at times I feel like a rubber band that's been expanded and contracted so many times over the past 6 weeks that I could snap for good at any moment. I know that people are subject to stretching because it makes us grow into better people, but when I look at our situation, I find myself thinking 'dude, this is a bit much'. Just a bit.
Just sad. Frustrated. Tired. Missing normalcy. Aching for a normal, boring Friday night. But knowing that it won't happen anytime soon, if it ever happens again.
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