End of the Road

Due to the utter depravity of my fellow man, he whom I had once instilled so much faith at one point in my life (a point, ironically, I now no longer have the opportunity to reread), the first seven volumes - the physical volumes - of this journal are gone. They were stolen out of my car during the show tonight (along with the blue road/briefcase in which they were stored), along with all of the collaboration mix tapes I'd made over the past fourteen years, and a hefty portion of my CD collection (everything I had separated out into my gray case, the CDs I considered "cool" and worthy of being listened to whilst driving).

I honestly don't know how to deal with this. If there was anything that was important to me of what I owned, it was this journal. It was the fact that I painstakingly took literally days of my life (if you add it all together) to record and recount the way I thought, the way I saw the world around me (even if, as was often the case, I was more or less in error about it at the time). Seven and a half years of my life feel like they've just been ripped out of me. Nearly the entirety of my love life was in there - the chronology of Nicole and Melanie especially - are something that I will never, ever be able to replace. All of the wonderful moments, all of the painful things that caused me to grow - it's all gone forever (unless, by some miracle, it's found somewhere and someone's able to trace it back to me - but I'm not holding my breath).

This is easily the most depressing thing that has ever happened exclusively to me. I've had worse days in my life, I suppose, but it's hard to see them or think of that now when so much work has simply vanished because of some asshole. Really, there is not a strong enough word or series of words to express the absolute rage, violation and utter sadness I'm feeling right now. I have a pit in my stomach that I don't know will ever completely go away. The journal was, in a sense, my security blanket. Now that it's gone, and I've lost so much of my life to some whim of some germ, some sub-human fucker, I have to come to terms with that, and it's really difficult.

So, in short, all of the entries from 1.Feb.1990 through 27.August.1997, and then sporadic entries (including everything that I didn't transcribe about the Mesick-West wedding and the week in Colorado) is gone.