Letters to Billy, number 3

Billy,
   I am, once again sitting in my garage, thinking about you,  and all the times we sat here, on this very couch, talking about everything and nothing. I am still sometimes really mad at you for leaving us like you did, but today, I am just sad that it is almost Christmas and I won't get to see the silly pajamas that Kim would have bought you this year. Or see Brad and you and your Dad sitting on the porch, drinking coffee in the freezing cold.  But mostly, I am just sad that you are gone. I miss your smiling face, more than I can say, and I miss my  friend.

   There have been so many time these last five months that I have picked up my phone to call you. I've needed your sarcastic wit and no bullshit attitude to get my head right, and then I dial your number and remember. And fall apart a little bit,  all over again. For the most part, I am past being mad at you, but I don't think I will ever stop being sad when I think about you.  I have often wanted to call and talk to your Dad, but I am afraid that it would be painful for him to talk to me. After all, he and I got to know each other over Christmas at Kim's house in Lubbock,  and it was such  good week. I know this is depressing, and probably the iind of shit you would rag on me for, but I have to grt this out somewhere, and the universe picked you to listen, I guess because nobody else seems to wamt the job.

   Mick and I are about over with. We are just going through the motions these days, trying to hurt the other as much as possible before the end. At least,  it seems that way most days.  I am quitting the dope, hopefully for good this time, and he doesn't want to stop yet. Says he doesn't need to,  and that his continued use should not affect my quitting.  Of course, you know as well as I do that is a fantasy. In a lot of ways, I have known from the start rhat we would never make it,  he and I. We are both too strong willed and unyielding to ever really have a chance. When this is all said and done,  I dont think I want to be in a relationship again. I think I was meant to be alone.

   I seem to be attracted to men who either hurt me and say they love me or just tolerate me until someone better comes I along. Mick is no exception.  I thought he was,  but he has turned out to be one of the worst. He is physically violent and then denies that it ever happened. One day I fear he will really hurt me, or worse. But,  of course,  he makes it very difficult to leave. He controls the money, the car, and even took my key back. I've lived here nearly two years amd I do not have a house key.

   Sorry, I got off track there for a minute. I guess my point is, it has all fallen apart without you here. I miss you, and  I love you, amd  I guess I always will.

Love,
Jeremy

Another Letter to Billy......

Billy,
Can I just say, without being a total asshole, that I'm still so pissed off at you that I wish I could punch you in  the face? And I find it terribly unfair that I can't.  But, slowly but surely I am learning to curb my anger,  at least where other people can see it, or can see my face.  Of course, that only works for people who know me, and can hear my bullshit, even on the phone. It has been two months since you killed yourself, ans I am still mad at you, but I never could stay mad at you for long, and my guilt and grief and just fucking blah to everything fucking depressed attitude won't let it go just yet......fuck, man, how could you do that to us? It still just strikes me as a little surreal that you aren't here. Although,  I suppose that feeling could be the massive amounts of narcotics I have consumed in the last sixty days, but one never knows about these things, does one? I don’t blame you for the drugs, I was already doing that, but I'll say I have done a steep increase in intake since then. Again, not your fault for being dead, but mine for being fucking stupid. So yeah, fuckhead, I forgive you. And I still love you. And I probably always will. And I haven't drank any of your scotch yet. I will, though, the first time I think about you and be happy. I don't think that should be an angry drunk - I kind of think of it as my goodbye to you, since I did not attend the services. Well, I could have, but I, well,  I just couldn't get in the car. I don't regret it, though. Mick told me it was very much NOT you, and you would have been pissed. I would hope you were too busy getting high with Jerry to attend your own funeral. I mean,  where are the perks, if you can't do an eightball with your idol,  right? Anyway, kid, it's five a.m., and I should get some sleep (ha!) since I have much to do on the morrow. I love ya, kiddo. Be well, wherever you are.

Love,
Jeremy

Bill Farrell, April 11, 1989 --- July 24, 2013

Billy,
I can't believe that you were sitting at my table Sunday morning, laughing at morons with me and Mick, and now, on Friday morning, you've been dead for almost 48 hours. I keep thinking that maybe I'll wake up, and the email I got yesterday afternoon, and the phone calls, texts and other messages will have all been a bad dream. I am so unbelievably angry with you, and at the same time, I am so incredibly sad that I won't get to see you again. You broke both of the Mick's hearts, just so you know. I had to tell them both, and it tore me apart to do so. My Mick just collapsed onto the sofa and wailed for you, about how he loved you, and you were his friend, and how there was now nobody to talk him down when he got all stressed and freaked out over anything or nothing. And about how smart, and funny, and kind you were, and how goddamned beautiful. And I fucking hate you for  doing that to him, my sweet, high strung, oh so breakable man. You fucking broke him, you selfish bastard, and I hate you for it.

I just dont understand what drives a healthy, mostly sober, mostly employed man with so much to live for, to pickup a fucking gun and put it to his head ad pull the trigger. I dont know now, and I probably never will, because rather than pick up the fucking phone, you pulled the trigger. I can't imagine what your dad is going through right now. He found you, you know. His oldest son, the one he favored most. That's what you gave him to remember. That and the guilt of owning the gun you used. He still hasn't spoken. Fuck you for that. He is a good man, and he didn't deserve that to be his last image of you.

As for me, I have never craved a shot of heroin more in my life than I do right now, even when I was detoxing the last time. I just want the world to disappear for a little while. The problem there is that I have finally built a life for myself, after all  these years of struggling and fighting and fucking up and losing and failing. I finally have it together, and one of my best friends, then kindest, most gentle, generous soul I knew until I met Mick, fucking eats a bullet. I bought a bottle of scotch for you when I heard the news. I haven't had the balls to open it yet. I feel like, if I do, that will make it all real, and I don't fucking want this to be real. I just can take this. Anything else, but not this.

I know there wasn't anything we could have said, most likely, that would have changed your mind. I know that we did all we could to make sure you were happy, and safe. But it still feels like,e I failed the biggest test of my life, and other isnt anything I can do to make it better. Right now, I am sitting by myself, in my garage, writing a shitty letter to a dead man, and I feel like I'm drowning. My husband is in our room, laying in the dark, drowning in his own way, and I don't know if I can fix either of us. Just so you know the truth, kiddo, I'll tell you one more time. We love you. Both of us, all of us, almost every person you ever met, loved you. I know that you and I figured out years ago that we were better friends than lovers, but i  still had a special place for you in my heart, and now there is a giant hole there. I still love you, Billy, and I know Mick feels the same. I hope someday I can get past this huge knot of anger I have  in my gut right now, so I can forgive you for quite literally blowing a hole in all out lives, but right now, this moment, all I can say is that I miss you, you fucking coward, and I am sad that to can't call and tell you.

Love always,

Jeremy