I just finished watching the series finale of Dexter, and I have to say, never before have I went from loving a series to hating it so quickly and so passionately. I loved Dexter from the very minute that I laid my eyes on it, the brilliant portrayal from Michael C. Hall and the concept itself was the stuff of legend. I suffer from social-anxiety disorder, which, I know, is nothing like what Dexter had, but I drew a lot from the character. His constant desire for acceptance, restlessness, and awkwardness, someone that isolated himself to the point that he was so distant that he believed himself to be beyond return. In the later seasons, as he became more "human," I grew up, and a lot of my fears dissipated. He didn't always make the best choices, but he made real choices, like me, everything that came easy to others felt alien to him.
It wasn't until the third season that Dexter started to dwindle, however, it quickly picked up once more with season four that was arguably the best season of the series as a whole. Then, though, the rest of the seasons failed to return to that glory. They weren't bad, or terrible, but they weren't the same greatness that made me enjoy the show, nor the books written by Jeff Lindsay for that matter. (Although, Jeff Lindsay's book-franchise actually brought fantasy elements into the series like saying that Dexter's dark-passenger was a offspring of King Soloman. WTF?)
I was hoping that the last season of the series would bring me some closure to what was an experience that genuinely meant a lot to me. That did not happen. The last episode was the stupidest piece of garbage that I have ever come across, and I recently sat through Mortal Instruments, so I know a lot about stupid garbage. I won't spoil anything, but I will conclude with saying that Dexter will always have a special place in my heart, nothing can change that, but Jesus Christ did that end suck.