I vaguely remember there being one here... but it's been such a long time, it seems like nothing more than just a foggy dream from weeks passed.

Over the past four and a half months, I've drifted off into seclusion, so afraid of facing myself and facing the rest of the world day after day. The online world, that is, although I'm frightful enough in the so-called "real" world that I guess they're one in the same to me at this point.

In this time, I've managed to break my heart, spirit, body, and soul, losing confidence on a daily basis, inhaling emotional pain as if it were the air I breathe, and tearing apart the last few friendships I had left. Even though my intentions were good, in addition to breaking my own heart on several occasions over these months, I've also broken several of my close friends hearts along with me, bringing me perhaps more pain than ever imaginable.

Every day since the day I left, January 29th, I checked FA, watching it like a ghost hovering from limbo, refusing to leave but not even sure what I was looking for. Perhaps that was a mistake all along, but I do feel that it's been somehow important for me in coping with my stresses. Somehow. Even though I may not have been here, I've been watching with a cautious eye, keeping up on things, and, with the exception of a marriage of one of my closest friends, a friend which I felt terrible for leaving behind and to whom I give my congratulations to, I don't feel like I missed too much.

To those of you that missed me or worried about my sake, I apologize for abandoning you without notice and without goodbye. I was ­— and still am — in a very dark place, yearning for the days when I could actually smile around friends, and rather than explode in an attention-seeking goodbye journal or some long, lengthy rant, I knew in my heart that attention or concern wouldn't fix anything and that I had to find a way to fix my problems alone.

It took me two months after that before I was able to act in an attempt to quell the torment of my heart, knowing that I'd be breaking one of my dearest friends' heart as a result. My only hope now was that it was less heartache on her than it would have been had I not have absorbed all of the pain myself and forced her to compromise rather than me putting her needs first in every situation possible. I would rather her hate me than hate herself, because I'm so used to hating myself that I'm fine being another magnet so long as it means sparing her pain.

I promised I wouldn't be back until after I had done that, but after that, after all of that pain I caused and after all of the turmoil that still swirled in my heart, I didn't have the ambition or desire to return. I just... I just wanted to be dead to everyone. I still do, but I've reached perhaps the deepest low I've been at so far and I finally feel this is a fight I can't win on my own.

Heh, I know I'm probably just going to end up regretting this decision to return. Every single time I act, it seems as if the worst possible outcome occurs. Hope has been the bane of my existence as of late, like a sick, twisted delusion to me; every time I have hope for something — anything — not only does that hope come crashing down onto me in a blazing fury, but it turns out far worse than it was before. I've hoped for so many things, consciously making efforts to move forward and better myself, but every time I try, it only ends in failure.

This return isn't looking for sympathy or attention. I think mostly it's there for those who actually had sincere worry for my wellbeing. If I wanted attention that badly, I would have come back much earlier; but to say I don't need any is clearly a lie, as I surely would have waited longer if it were true, huh...

I already know there's nothing anyone can do. Not ultimately. I know that, in my current state, I'm not a very pleasant person to be around, so I'll try to keep my presence to a minimum. I know that there are several people out there that want me to write this or that, but tough, unlike last year, where I thought I couldn't be any more devastated, this year I don't even have the desire to want to accomplish something in order to satisfy my own ego and prove my self-worth. Those stories proved nothing. My art was really very lousy when I look back at it. I shouldn't have half-assed everything just to accomplish some inane monthly goal and should have actually worked on the things that were most worthwhile. Oh well. That's just another part of me that has died.

So what's the point of this journal, really, anyway? There isn't one. You probably just wasted your time in reading this, to be honest. But, for whatever it's worth, there was one story I wrote over the past week for therapy, in an effort to reach deep into the belly of the beast plaguing my heart. It's in my scraps and I figured it's so much better writing a euphemistic story about my own personal history than bitching and moaning about it in some epicly long journal.

Will I be back someday? And, when I say 'be back,' I mean back as the Zeph most of you knew, the happy Buizel, the friendly one that had a knack for writing and a penchant for Pokemon? I don't know. I honestly don't. I've hurt just about everyone close to me that there's a deep, constant fear that I'm only going to hurt more people. There's a void of confidence in my soul that has caused me to act meek and timid, yet hiding it on the exterior out of fear of garnering undue attention. These things I will need to overcome before I'll 'be back.' These things I'll have to work out before I'll be a worthwhile person again.

That's all I had to say. Sorry to disappoint.