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The Titan
Patrick Goins
5 June 2002

I'd be lying if I said I wasn't angry. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't hurt. It hurt like nothing before, a deep and tormenting spiritual gash that bled me dry. It cut deeper than anything had ever cut before. Confusion followed. Rumors and hearsay spread about former feelings and if they were even felt at all. Trust disintegrated. Life was like some slow motion capturing of a car wreck. Watch closely… you can see the exact moment the gas tank explodes, killing the driver. I wanted to just run away, as far away from the siren that sent me against the rocky shore of heartache. I wanted to run away from my pain. I wanted to turn away, but the spiritual carnage was so great that I was drawn back into the hideous fender bender of my own broken heart. She was my first love. She was my first kiss. She was my first heart break. How was I inadequate? How was I less than the buffoon that she chose over me? At this time in my life I was almost 6 feet tall, 175 pounds, black hair, brown eyes. I was at the peak of my physical condition, stronger than I had ever been before. I was only 17. I was so much different than every one of my peers. I was a 30-year-old trapped in that body. I was so much better than that other guy was, but she refused to see this. I was a titan among Olympians. I struggled against societal restraints on relationships; I struggled for my sanity. In the end the outcome of this struggle was unclear. Did I come out unhurt? No. Did I come out smarter than before? Yes. Did I come out more bitter? Yes. High school dating was not what I wanted. I didn't want the strange formality of it, the sick and twisted business side of the early negotiations. It was alien to me. I didn't like it. I only knew what I wanted. I only knew that I wanted something more. I wanted to make someone happy. I wanted to fulfill someone. Like some cosmic jig saw puzzle, I wanted to be that piece, that one piece that fit perfectly to complete the puzzle. Everyone looks for that piece; they find ones that are like it, they think it is that one perfect piece so they try to make it fit. They hammer it down, rip it, shred it, and mangle it to fit that gaping hole in their spirit. But it doesn't fit. It will never fit. I truly believed then that there was someone that I could complete. That was all I wanted. I only wanted fulfillment, someone to fill the hollow of my discontent. Deep down I felt that she was out there, looking for me as much as I was looking for her. Or maybe she wasn't looking for me. Maybe somewhere she was content in living for the present in the arms of her high school sweetheart, living the day for what it was. Maybe she was a homecoming queen or prom queen, maybe she was class president, and maybe she was everything I wasn't. I only knew that she was out there. I knew that with every fiber of my being. I felt that with all my heart. At that time I was a poet. A romantically cynical poet. Poets, by nature, are the punching bags of human emotion. I felt that. Life was a 300-pound football player with a bad attitude in those days. All my friends had problems of their own. We were all searching for our way out of the disillusionment of this harsh reality that we had been cast into. We were all searching for something. I was searching for a cure for my own horrible self-doubt. I was searching for a purpose. I was a titan then, subjugated and broken. But even the fallen can ascend again.

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