I don’t know where I want to be or who I’d like to see. I don’t know what I want to do. In spite of all the amazing experiences I was able to claim, I was still unhappy, maybe even more so in the mountains. I was so ready to be home I surprised myself, but now, here I am, back where I started – nothing has changed. I’ve tried lying to myself about this unfortunate discovery by concentrating on all the new friends I made, the beautiful scenery I lived among, the first time I spent more than two weeks away from home, but I truly don’t feel any different. In a way, I feel as though I failed my task, my duty to myself. I got out, it had been a long time coming but I finally got out and retreated to the mountains just like I had been forever threatening to do, and then I came back almost six months later, happy to be home and not yet missing Montana. I have been home for a week and have already been polluted by the overflowing volumes of sadness, gloom, hate, confusion, and hopelessness strangling my circle of family and friends. The paranoia is thick. Sisters refuse to speak to each other, addiction is killing its vessels, and hatred is closing in on even more death. Why do I have to be such a drama queen sometimes? Yellowstone was good to me, it was I who fed myself nonsense and desired to be alone when the crowd was all gathered. An outcast by choice, but life has become insanely lonely, and my anti-social tendencies have given way to a lack of social skills. I managed to make friends nonetheless and we are planning a reunion next summer – same place, same location – Gardiner, Montana.
November 26, 2001