Preface:
Two days ago, I received an email, asking for my mailing address. A magazine would be arriving shortly and I would be on the cover. The cover shot would be a self-portrait, a photo I took nearly three months ago after my trip across the US and back. A story would be inside about me and my trip accompanied by photos I took on my journey. Circulation to a demographic consisting primarily of people from my homeland. The land of the desert sun. The land of tanks and dunes and shwarmas and filth and disease and riches and wealth and health and happiness.

What I would give to be cradled in my desert land right now… to bask in that love… but nothing can save me now.

I.
Not long ago, an infatuation swept through my body. Through every vein, through every pore, in every heartbeat and in every breath. Not love, because I know better. Forty years of love like mine and you memorize the menu.

What I felt, I kept hidden. Something I’ve done throughout my life.
See Dana.
See Bev.
See NameWithheld.

I knew what I had inside of me, I should keep buried. What I had inside of me was wrong. Here was a woman who laughed. Here was a woman who smiled. Here was a woman who was beautiful. Here was a woman who was everything I could hope for. Here was a woman who made me smile.

And Sting’s voice echoes in my head, “This girl is half his age.”

And married. And with a newborn child at home.

Only a madman or a monster would tell her how consumed his thoughts were and how he struggled nightly. How he lost sleep over it, waking in cold sweats. Only a madman would tell her.

Or maybe, just maybe that madman – and here, I should clarify that this madman is me – maybe that madman would simply get rid of all of his worldly possessions, strip himself down to nothing in his life, hop on a scooter, and ride as far away as he could go. Only a man truly dedicated to inflicting pain on himself would estimate the best move he could make, the most clarifying and inspirational move he could make would be to torture himself by being utterly and completely alone in places unfamiliar for weeks upon end. Only a madman would see that THAT was his best option.

Run as far the fuck away as he could. To clear his head. To clear his motherfucking head.

Clarity came. It really was rather obvious when it hit; once I had a chance to distance myself. Standing on the sands of Padre Island, clarity came. And then, looking out at the Gulf of Mexico with not a soul in site for as far as my eyes could see, reality hit me: I am alone. I have no one. And this is my life.

It was a sad moment. And I cried.

II.
Throughout my trip, the resentment I held for another woman, a woman I felt was poisoning any chance I had of something ever developing between my infatuation and I, slowly started to dissipate. I realized the foolishness of everything. And then I saw her, and I felt very used. And what the object of affections had told me all along was confirmed. And I left the child in me behind.

Clarity came once more.

I returned to this place after my trip. My friends noted a new swagger in my step; I had returned with a certain je ne sais quoi. I had stepped into who I was. I walked in the front door and said, “Hello. I’m Scott. This is who I am. This is what I do. This is what I like. This is what I don’t. And life is grand. My god, life is grand. And I love you, my friends.” I became more of me.

Some people didn’t like this me.

III.
When I returned, I saw the woman I loved. She was beautiful. She was still perfect. And I was contentedly happy for her in her life. Happy for her. My emotions were properly where they should be and my head had cleared.

I told her how I had carried inappropriate feelings for her, feelings I had never expressed and, as she knew, certainly not acted upon. I felt it best to be honest with this friend. No harm would come from me telling her that I had seen her as yet another mirage of that mythical Girl from Ipanema. I had thought she was. And let me get an Amen as the choir screams from the rafters, “The Truth shall set you free!”

I believe I even told her of how I grew to resent our mutual friend, that I saw her as a hindrance to something that would never conceivably (and I obviously would never have let) happen.

I was free. Free to live my life the way I had. My mind was clear.

IV.
Freedom. Freedom to be me. Freedom to be who I am. And who I am… I’ve been waiting for this moment for all my life, oh lord.

I am a man who sees the beauty in life. And I’ve seen so much.

The girl and I don’t speak any longer. We had a misunderstanding which is inconsequential. And then I became a villian and monster to her. After looking at everything, I decided the best course of action was to simply walk away from everything her. I wished her well and left her behind.

Everyone comes for a season, everyone comes for a reason.

I’ve been fortunate to have the people in my life who have been here. I don’t hate myself for being who I am. I love me. It’s hard when others hate me. It’s hard when the ones I loved hate me.

Epilogue.
I’m going to the hospital now, I believe. I have a lot of pain. If anything should ever happen to me, I love you Alec and Zach. And everything belongs to you.