(For anyone who may have missed Part I, I would suggest starting with that by following this link: https://roadtotranscendence.wordpress.com/2015/09/18/vegas-part-i-the-arrival/?preview_id=544 )
Upon leaving Colorado I had naturally resigned to the idea that I would most likely never see my boyfriend again. Of course, that inevitably intense loneliness quickly became my most unwanted and yet equally unavoidable new best friend. We ate together, slept together. In fact, we had become so secretly entwined that it quietly consumed me with each passing day. Leaving my aching heart withering away as my increasingly malnourished soul began to match that of my body. Fortunately or unfortunately…as I often find the two are more synonymous rather than opposites…I was wrong. He came for me. No one else ever had, but he did. For I had become his addiction, his drug, his crutch in a life he had fought to shy away from. Now he was fighting to find me.
Having been there for a couple weeks, I found myself unwillingly touching base with my brother who proceeded to tell me that my boyfriend was on his way to Vegas for me. Of course I thought he was playing some sort of a cruel joke, I believed he was lying. After all, that is an art form he had perfected long ago at my expense. However, a few days later there he was standing by my side looking out at our dark kingdom. There we were homeless in Vegas…together. I remember feeling as though I was suddenly drowning in a seemingly endless state of confusion. How had this happened? Why had he come? He needs to leave. As badly as I needed someone, I also could not resist these circling thoughts of how I just needed him to go and yet he stayed. So there we were searching for a place to sleep when we came across this fenced in storage area in the Circus Circus parking garage. It was locked, but that did nothing to stop us as we squeezed in between the gates and slept there for the next couple nights while staying warm by wrapping ourselves in the random pieces of old carpeting that, like us, had been forgotten long before. The days that followed were spent strolling the Strip in search of guidance. Where were we to go from here? What should be our next move? The only problem was the painful recognition of our situation. We were homeless, which meant not many people were willing to give us the time of day. Instead, most looked at us as though we were nothing more than the trash they had left for pick up earlier that morning. Some simply looked through us as others would not even look at all. According to society, a society we had once been a part of, we no longer existed. Our lives no longer mattered.
Of course, like many who are homeless, we were quick to find the drug scene. Who wouldn’t when you discover you no longer matter or even exist in the eyes of others? Plus, it was easy. Too easy. In fact, I would go as far as to say that it found us. Initially we began a relatively quick fling with a beast, an underground monster, as we were welcomed to the not-so-wonderful world of crystal meth. Thankfully, our glimpse into his vicious eyes was enough to scare us away, which merely returned us to another not-so-brief love affair with heroin. All of which are best left for another day.
As for he and I? Clearly our relationship did not last. We remain friends to this day, but there is something about an experience such as this that changes everything. Of course we keep tabs on each other to be sure the other is safe and “okay,” yet nothing more. I have no need or want to see him on a regular basis. Not because I do not care for him, but because the knowledge that he holds some of the same memories as I do is the definition of pain. At the same time, it often angers me at the memories he was oblivious to. That he himself never experienced because while he came to find me, he failed at being there for me. Or at least in the way someone should be for someone they claim to love and while I do not doubt he did everything in his power, it simply was not enough…because here I am in a state of unrest. A state of pure survival, forever battling these demons that creep into my daily life. These monsters that rule my dreams leaving me no place of solitude. No place for rest. No peace.
Which is exactly what Vegas was for me, a year of constant fear and uncertainty. Sleeping with one eye open became a way of life. In fact, it was essential in order to remain alive and still I question why or how I had managed to.
I suppose there were certain experiences or people throughout the years that left me with hope, no matter how small it might have been. Even his arrival in Vegas seemed to be perfectly timed. As though it had been orchestrated by some other being. These small glimpses of hope were something I kept deep within my heart. I saved them for those rainy days and in spite of it rarely raining in Vegas, it was one never ending rainy day. Thankfully I had these glimpses to keep me going. To keep me moving forward. When first becoming homeless I thought I had lost every bit of hope I may have once had. I believed my fate was to die there and yet his arrival was a perfectly timed reminder that I would be okay…or so I thought…even if only for a fleeting moment…