I wish

When I was a kid I was such a baby that the only way I was able to play doom was if I had Simpsons doom on. Otherwise it was too scary

I discovered Demon hunter rules, it’s like rogue but fun

I still send him texts. I just want him to text me back.

I hurt so much right now, and I need my tank to talk to and just tell me it’s gonna be OK.

Rest in peace, my beautiful, wonderful friend. You were my person, my one link to the outside world, and now you’re gone. I’m completely lost as to what I’m gonna do now. I’m just lucky to have had you in my life at all.

Love you, Tank.

It took me a few days to put 2 and 2 together but I suddenly remembered a text you’d sent me recently. And The reason you were going through the hell of a crash was because you’d promised me you’d be sober when we met. And it makes me feel so good to know I was worth that hell to you.

The only solace I can take from this is the knowledge that on October 30th, you told Geoff you were deleting all your apps and profiles related to partying and you were deleting contacts. You were gonna try again for real. This time it would stick.

I wanted so bad for you to be in the hospital like the time you’d had that tumor removed. I wanted with every fibre of my being to know that you were OK. I remember sending you frantic texts and emails begging for a response that never came.

When nothing went through any more, I didn’t know what to do. I had forgotten your sisters name. We didn’t have any mutual friends outside of the partiers I could ask. Every day I tried to figure out where you went and every day I’d end my search with “he’s probably fine.”

When you disappeared from iMessage early November I didn’t know what to do. You’d disappeared many times, but not like this. Whenever you were trying again to kick the habit you’d stop responding for a bit while you crashed and detoxed, but you were always reachable. Your texts always delivered.

When you sent me a laptop because I didn’t have one after my breakdown, you put a can of Clamato in the box as a reference to a random joke we’d made with each other months before. I still have that can on my desk.

When I was deep into psychosis, you somehow always said the right thing to snap me out of it. You never questioned what I was seeing, just steered me towards seeing the truth. You always made me feel heard. You understood my fucking unreal anxiety and how it affects me and you were always patient.

I’m going to miss sending you photos of Aphy to cheer you up. Or getting frog facts from you. Your gossiping about bears in Toronto. Your funny voice memo stories about crazies at the baths.