stuck forever in between

From the time I was very little, it was blatantly obvious that I was a hopeless romantic. But not the normal kind that you see in Disney flicks or read about in trashy romance novels, I was more the masochistic creepy lover. A step below obsessed, you could say that I had a tendency of getting very passionate. Not to say it didn't go both ways, I either loved you so much my head wanted to explode or I hated you with a fiery fervor. There were no inbetweens, it was all or nothing. Which is what makes my love life really quite interesting. But of all the boys I've gone through, he was the one that had the most impact on me.1

Like all good love stories, he and I met by total accident at a party. Truth is, I had just seen my ex hanging all over some girl. I wanted to throw up it made me so sick. So I clutched my stomach and right as I was ready to make a run for the nearest bathroom, a large body bumps into me. The first thing I noticed was his odd resemblance to Sid Vicious. This oddity later caused my nickname for him, Heroin Angel. But that's a different story. Everything was totally incoherent to me at that point so when he seemingly asked me a question, I dropped my head a bit as a yes. It may have confused someone else but he understood, he was always so good at that.2

After that I blacked out. Too much liquor does that to me. He called me a lightweight, I called myself stubborn. But I woke up on the bathroom floor, curled up with large boots next to my head. It almost made me want to throw up again but I resisted the urge. Looking up, I saw him. Smoking a cigarette and picking at a hangnail but he jumped slightly and jolted his head in my direction when he realized I had risen. The edges of my lips curled in my infamous "sorta smirk," he smiled too but much more widely.3

Perhaps it sounds silly, childish, and dumb but I think that right then is when I fell in love. The boy sits in the bathroom with me while I puke and then pass out, and whatever else I might have mumbled or did in my drunken state, that alone means he can't be that bad.4

Fast forward a couple months, he and I are now officially a "we" and we're very much in crazy love. Sure there were random arguments about him always taking heroin and popping ecstasy pills or me always getting drunk and throwing up after meals, but nothing could ever really break the bond he and I shared. But there was something, a bond he'd made with the demons inside himself that, no matter what, no one but himself could break. If I'd have known sooner, than maybe I could have helped him from himself but I didn't. He kept it from me for so long, what was I supposed to do?5

Three nights after our seven month anniversary, he calls me up at an ungodly hour in the morning. I knew automatically that he was on heroin because his words were slurred and he paused at weird times. Since he'd woken me up in the middle of the night while I was sleeping, I was a little bit less than understanding. What he called for now escapes me, I really can't remember to this day. All I can remember is the nest morning, after hanging up on him angrily just about six or seven hours earlier, getting a phone call from his on edge sister, Shannon.6

He had committed suicide. He killed himself by over-dosing on black tar heroin. The news literally knocked me off my feet, and not in a good way. Tears were falling from my eyes before I even had time to process what was going on. I had trouble holding onto the phone because my hands were shaking and I could hardly speak because my body had gone completely numb. My mother drove me to his house, wouldn't let me drive myself even though she was crying too.7

His wake was the following Wednesday. The line to see him one last time was out onto the road and his mother cried, letting out horrific moans asking God why he'd taken her son. But he hadn't. I understand it must be hard for a mother to understand or want to accept that their son killed himself, though. It was even hard for me at first, I was racked with so much guilt I almost felt like doing the same. But he took the easy way out and my love for him so quickly became hate. At the same time, however, it'll always be love. He was my in between. He is my in between.8

It's been eight months tomorrow since his death. And I still feel the way that I did that morning those long eight months ago. My body still gets numb at random times and when something reminds me of him, I start to shake. Why? Why do I do this to myself? Why am I married to someone I will never see again?9

Because he breaks the barrier of my emotions. He is my in between.10