March 28, 2012

January 21st, 2012

The sheets are starting to not smell like him anymore.


I thought it would take longer than a few days for that to happen. But I suppose I’ve been spending a lot of time in that bed lately, so the smell’s begun to fade, just like my memory. I realized today that I can barely remember what his voice sounded like. The way his eyes used to sparkle. The things he used to say. It’s only been a few days since I saw him, but it’s all starting to fade and that fucking scares me. How long before I forget him forever?

I never want him to fade from my memory. I keep trying to force myself to remember all the little details, but it hurts too much. It hurts too much to remember your voice and to remember that look in your eyes. And yet I don’t want to forget.

… which one do I want? Do I want to remember or do I want to forget? Maybe it would be easier if I could forget everything. Forget Jim ever existed.

The trouble is, I can’t.

I’ve tried. Really, I’ve tried. I’ve tried everything I can to make myself forget him. I haven’t posted in a few days because that’s all I’ve been trying to do. Drinking. Drugs. Trying to drown his memory. It works for a while. I can forget for a few short hours. But then it comes back worse than ever and all I can think about is how disappointed he’d be if he could see me now. High off my fucking arse, trying to forget him. Pitiful, really. I know it is. Sometimes I wonder if those few hours when he doesn’t matter are really worth the pain that comes later.

What scares me is I know they aren’t.

And I keep doing it.

Am I getting addicted again? Am I going to end up the way I was when he first came to me those four years ago, after I’d returned from the war to find my family dead? Drunk, drugged, miserable excuse for a human being. Only it will be worse than before because there won’t be anyone to save me. I’ll end up overdosing and killing myself.

I’m trying to stop. Fuck, I am. But when I go for more than a few hours without something (heroin, alcohol, morphine, anything like that) I start thinking about him and how he used to smell, and how he used to sound, those stupid little nicknames he called me, and then I break down and take more of whatever the fuck I took in the first place and then I can forget for a little while longer.

I’m falling apart. I can’t take it much longer. I need to move on, but I can’t.

I don’t know if I ever will.

-Sebastian Moran