Looking back, the fire seems very symbolic. In rituals, fire is symbolic of change, purification, stuff like that. It makes sense now. Well, when you look back at your life, a lot of things start to make sense.

But the fire. I wasn’t there. I was in a van on the way back from Las Vegas with friends. My cell phone rings. It’s my roommate. He tells me about the fire. It was a shock, but I was excited. Everything was coming to a head.

C was becoming more unstable with me, and I just wanted out. I was realizing that the relationship was not making me happy, because I started basing decisions and changing myself in order to accommodate her. I realized that had been going on for a long time, and I was losing myself. I wanted it to be over. I needed to find my self-esteem again. The whole relationship with C was a slow erosion of my self-image. I slowly started to see myself as a loser, never being good enough. At least, not good enough for her.

And I wanted to move out of my apartment. It was a great living situation, the rent was dirt cheap, the place was huge, and the place would be better than before after the landlord made repairs, but I really needed to have a place on my own. And what better way to go looking for a new apartment than being burned out of your old one.

It was a good starting point, that fire. That was nearly three years ago. And since then, things have accelerated for me. I have gone through and have grown so much since then. I can say that I am definitely in a much better place now than where I was.

Everyone could use a good fire now and again.