I just posted one of the most introspective blog posts on my myspace.

You ever feel like you were used. I mean really used? Not in the "what a great night picking up this bimbo, wipe your tits off because of the pearl necklace, be out of my bed by 4 before my girlfriend gets home" used. Not the "he gave me his credit card and now I'm going to be Fort Knox wealth in diamonds" used. I mean used. . .have your trust violated? Sure you have. . .everyone has!

What amazes even me, for all my intelligence and being able to read people and know exactly what they think, feel and where they stand with me, is the idea that people I trust have violated my trust, forgotten I exist and talk to me only when they want something. . .a drinking buddy, someone to bitch to, a hook up for booze. Whatever! People I took a vow to be friends with ended up being mostly scum under my feet and it bothers me.

I graduated college in May of 2005. I am in graduate school. Friends of mine have moved away, but some have come back to visit. Was I told? No! Was I asked to come with when something was planned? No! Was I called? No! I would do this whenever I am in their home town! I would do this a week before! I'm not given the same courtesy. Why? I view it at a maturity level idea. I understand the meaning, value and commitment being someone's "friend" entails. There isn't one person I know that I wouldn't drop everything for to be with if I was called. One of my friends has had four heart surgeries. If he has a fifth, I will be in the waiting room.

One of my friends thinks he's met the one. If he pops the questions and invites me, I will be there with bells on.

Sadly, most of my friends don't have the same level of commitment that I do. They're still mired in this sociopathic childhood idea of friends of convenience.

In my life, I have had exactly 10 people I can call true friends. I mean that. 10 in 27 years. One committed suicide in 1997 while dealing with things he keep from everyone. His suicide note had two words in it: "It's Over." One over-dosed on heroin in a bus station in Tulsa, Oklahoma in 1998 when he called me to pick him up because he thought Tulsa and Tucson were close to each other. The last thing he said to me was "it was nice knowing you, Aram. Thank you for everything." I read the story online the next day about the body being found. One friend ended up moving to North Carolina and I haven't heard from him since. That was in 1999.

I have 5 people I consider friends. People who have grown up and have truly shown themselves to be loyal, honest and class act gentlemen! The rest I view as ersatz friends. . .fake friends who use what I can offer for their own personal ends, be it my ability to buy alcohol for a party, my ability to spin music for an event, or the ability to put down a down payment for spring break.

The last two months, people who I thought were my friends have completely vanished from my life. . .or better, I have from theirs. Which is fine by me. Last week of July, I skip the light fantastic out of Tucson for a 33800 dollar a year teaching job and pickup my Master's Degree classes in Yuma, Arizona.

Tucson has too much pain for me and it hurts being here. I fell off the wagon three times here. I got divorced here. My family almost fell apart here. My brother succumbed to schizophrenia and had to be hospitalized three times. And people I thought were my friends and thought were adults regressed to schoolyard idiots in front of my eyes. Tucson has offered me little, except membership in a Fraternity chapter, five true friends and my bachelor's degree. It's hurts so much to be here.

So, now I am leaving. And the painful smile people who know me have seen for a long time is there. Because, deep down, I wasted 10 years of my life being here, chasing things I now know didn't matter and not caring how the chase ended. I've spent 10 years making ersatz friends. . .and now, I get to start over once again in a new place, 200 miles away.

At least I have my family, my health and five real friends I can talk to. Because the rest of you. . .if I don't respond, I've come to the understanding that you aren't a real friend. . .you're an ersatz friends. And I have little time anymore for dealing with the pretense of fake friends.

As I write this, I'm listening to Gordon Lightfoot's song "The Mountains And Maryann." One line says "and the losers that I left behind, I'll think about some other time." The only difference is the losers I'm leaving behind I will never think about again. Maybe that painful smile will go away then.