Struggle To Recall (Jalex)

A third of the time it feels like I'm sleepwalking. A third of the time I drink myself to oblivion. A third of the time I'm just sad.

With all of that making up my life right now, it's difficult to find time to do anything else. On days when I don't feel like I'm actually awake I go on with my day distracted, distant, and unusually silent. On the days I am drunk I have trouble remembering my own name. On the days that I am sad I shut myself away from everyone else and refuse to answer my friends. It has all become rather lonely; just me, my guitar, and alcohol. 

All because of him.

All because he left.

All because of Alex Gaskarth.

I don't hate him; I could never hate him. My friends say I should, but I just can't bring myself to do so. When you love every single thing about someone, whether it be their annoying habits or their humour, it's difficult to turn that love into hate. When you love everything, there is nothing left to hate. 

As much as I hate to admit it, when he left I became a wreck. A few months ago I was the social, loud, out-going, and charismatic friend that would be called whenever there was a gathering of some sort. I was always out and enjoying life whilst surrounded by those I loved. Alex was always there with me. Now I rarely go out, and when I do it's to buy food and alcohol, or I have been dragged forcefully out of my apartment by my previously mentioned friends. It's as if I sit in silence now, rarely speaking if I'm out and not speaking at all when I'm at home.

Drinking helps...kinda. When I drink alone I end up lying on the couch and giggling at the ceiling. When I'm out I always end up with my shirt off by the end of the evening. When I drink it is a worrying amount I must admit, but it helps numb my mind and pretend that everything's okay. I mean, I assume it's all okay but I never remember anything. From what I have been told, I have weird mood swings when I'm drunk (which I never had before Al-...it happened). One minute I will be laughing, and the next I will be going on about Alex. It's weird, I can drink until I forget where I am but it's as if Alex is tattooed in my mind. Sometimes his name is difficult to recall, and sometimes his image in my mind is blurred around the edges, but he's still there. That same smile, those same eyes, the same soft hair. The memories become distorted for a while, but I still remember.

It's all Alex, Alex, Alex.

So far, I am doing an excellent job of trying to move on. Ha. I wish.

This evening finds me sat alone in my living room once again, Green Day playing quietly from the stereo and a bottle of Jack Daniels in my hand. As the lyrics of 21 Guns fill the room, I stare at the unopened bottle of alcohol and reflect. Reflect what I had and what I lost. Reflect on what I am doing with my life. I think about what I'm going to do tomorrow, wonder about whether it will be any different than today (or the past four months). Then I go back to thinking of Alex. Tracing the letters printed on the label of the bottle with my index finger, I struggle to recall the reasons Alex left. Was it me? Am I to blame?

"Why did you leave?" I mumble under my breath.

Then I go to unscrew the cap of the bottle and start my usual evening routine, which is drink the majority of the bottle and wallow in self pity. Along with that I will try to forget, but completely fail and end up remembering. Then I'll find something funny and start laughing. Then it will go full circle and repeat until I finally pass out at around three or four in the morning. Before I can even begin attempting to open the bottle, there is a knock on the door. I sit frozen, staring at the hallway that leads to the front door. There are two answers as to who is at the door. 1) It's a friend and if it is they will start asking me to open the door, or 2) it's some sort of sales person who will leave without another knock.

I come to the conclusion that it's neither of those when there is another knock at the door. Maybe it's a delivery man. Did I order pizza? I don't think I did. Another knock, this time it sounds more urgent. Slowly, I place the bottle carefully on the table and rise from my spot on the couch. The knocking continues as I traipse down the hallway. Upon reaching the door, I regret not having a peep-hole because that would make this guessing game of 'who is at the door' a lot easier. With a sigh I turn the handle and pull open the door, expecting an axe-wielding murderer or something.

I don't know if who is actually at the door is better or worse.

My breath is caught in my throat and I feel frozen to the spot. This can't be happening. This can't be happening. This can't. Be. Happening. The world seems to have just stopped. No sounds, no movement, nothing. It's just me and him. That same smile that made my heart flutter, those same eyes that I swear could see my soul, the same soft hair I loved to run my hands through. Part of me wants to wrap him in my arms as tight as possible; another part wants to punch him so hard he falls to the ground with a bloodied nose. Instead I just stand and stare, struggling to form words. After a minute of trying to create a suitable sentence in my mind, I simple say one word.

"A-Alex?"

"Hello, Jack."