I felt it necessary to record my thoughts, lest madness take me before I have the chance. There is a small measure of hope I have found which, as the dawn breaks vividly through my window, I take it upon myself to embrace. Little left is there of that strength which once carried me. I am no longer a bearer of a recent agony, nor a long-time sufferer of events both traumatic and distant. My symptoms are not the embodiment of pain. Rather, that which I bear and suffer is a complete abandonment of faith in humanity and desire to continue in any measure toward what few goals I have left. And yet, gained from a night of darkness and uncertainty is that small measure of hope. My own reasons are not enough by which I can be compelled to move forward; it is only through the knowledge that I serve as a not insignificant piece of a grander puzzle that I may recover just enough energy to continue, to trudge my feet grudgingly onward, if only for another few steps.

Perhaps the last of which will come soon. But it will not be this night.

There are no angels keeping watch over you. There is no devil tempting you toward sins. There is no God to love you and protect you.

Family abandons you. Friends betray you. Love fades.

Face it: you're set adrift on a cold rock in the vast emptiness of space. Your pathetically short life is meaningless, and any thoughts of otherwise are self-delusions.

You truly are alone.

"That's not a star, that's a satellite.."

A friend posted this video earlier today.

Following the advice of the video, I decided to spend the afternoon painting.

On my way to class tonight, I found myself smiling for no reason. Perplexed, I checked inward for some clue, and was surprised to find that the burning anger which I have felt nonstop for the last 4 days was gone. 

Well f$&@.

I guess there's something to it. That could cause problems with my future career plans.

Taking down the photographs one by one, mementos of all that I've lost.. all that was once warm and safe, now cold.

My eyes turned away from the angry sun retreating towards the horizon. A steady, hot breeze swept my hair across my face. Still somewhat unsettled, I cast my gaze around this place which just minutes before had been only a fragment of a distant memory, a memory I chased for nearly 10 years and across a thousand miles. And yet I had found not a whisper of what I had hoped to find.

But what exactly had I hoped for? Meaning? Reassurance? Some kind of connection to all that which I've lost? 

Like so many hopeful treasure hunters before me who had stood before those same mountains, I searched and found nothing. 

And yet, while I feel a crushing weight in my heart, it comes not from the disappointment of walking away from these mountains empty-handed; rather, I instead mourn the coming of the end of my quest. The idea of imagined gold at the end of the rainbow is a far more alluring prospect knowing that the end of the rainbow will never be found. I reached the end of my rainbow, and upon discovering nothing, I regretted for a moment ever undertaking this quest; for the idea of the gold gave me hope, and hope gave me a reason for living. But that regret faded quickly. The pursuit of my imagined treasure led me to a wealth of other riches along the way. And even though this quest ends unsuccessful, I certainly do not walk away empty-handed. 

The Arizona Saga has ended. My eyes turn again to the sun on the horizon, eager for the next chapter in this adventure.

Even the light of the brightest star fades from sight in the approaching dawn; so, too this must end. Goodbye my friend.

Few things make my little heart flutter more than the prospect of dessert.

Whoa. Over one year later, and realization hits me like a hammer, coming to terms with a truth which I already knew. Why today, why now? Why not the thousand other times I have agonized over every detail, attempting to piece together an explanation?
Your fragile overinflated ego and my very existence were at odds with each other, and when the choice came between keeping one or the other, you chose to preserve your ego instead of challenging some very difficult personal truths. And you checked my blog obsessively afterwards because your insecurity couldn't let you go without seeing what I might be saying about you; because your thin guise of ego must be constantly fed to keep it inflated. That's the difference between real strength and faking it: when something happens which poses a threat to your idea of self, it's seen as a threat which must be neutralized. True strength allows for the possibility of redefining self, because self is hardened, can weather the storms, even paradigm shifts, and still come out intact. You even cried out to me for help, literally, crying on your bedroom floor, saying you wished you had the core strength which the deep, honest places within you are willing to accept that you lack.
Of course, by then you had already made your choice. You made your choice a month before, sobbing in our hotel room, swearing that you'd make up for the things you'd done to me without meaning a word of it. Simply echoing the spoken words of strength which perhaps, at one time, were truly delivered by good men for just, honest reasons, and since repeated by lesser men without any true understanding of their significance, watered down and sodden, until they reached your impressionable ears, and you, eager to project an image of confidence with no true concept of it, eager to appear strong with no intention of following through, you greedily devour these processed, sugar-sweet remnants of greatness, now mere hollow meaningless shells, and you engorge yourself, then promptly vomit them back up indiscriminately to everyone you meet. On first glance you appear to be a fountain of excellence, but once my eyes adjusted in the low bar light and haze of cigarette smoke, it's quite clear that you're just spewing bullshit.
This chapter of my life is over. No, I'm not healed. But I can finally move on and accept the truth. Did it have to take over a year? Probably. I wish it hadn't. I tried to fix myself instead of accepting that someone I cared about would actually do something so horrible to me. The real lesson is learning better how to choose the people to care about.