I don't know if I ever want to fall in love again. I got news today that my boyfriend from nine years ago died in his sleep over the weekend. He was only 41 years old and so very young. God, I really loved that man. He was so sweet. He had a heart of gold and I knew he would never ever intentionally hurt me. But god, he was so damaged. So messed up in the head. So full of nightmares and demons and ghosts that even huge amounts of alcohol couldn't keep them away. I still remember how he used to wake up in a cold sweat from nightmares every night, nightmares that he refused to talk to me about.

He drank himself to death. He was already doing that nine years ago when I met him. But I was so stupid and young back then. I thought he was so much fun, so the party hardy although older frat boy. Being with him was like being back in college. That is until I woke up three months after we started going out and realized my life and apartment was a mess. We drank between us three big bottles of alcohol every week. We would start on Friday and keep going through to Saturday and Sunday night I would crawl back to my apartment completely hung over and wiped out.

My life revolved around drinking with him and having sex with him, punctuated by episodes of mushroom and acid or any other drugs that he could obtain for us. He was so much fun. He reminded me so much of college.

Until we started getting kicked out of clubs because he was too drunk. Or better yet, they wouldn't let us through the door because he was so lit up. Then came the episodes of him falling down drunk too many times on the sidewalk or me dragging him into his apartment because he'd fallen down drunk in his doorway or that one awful time the bartenders at Gordon Biersch begged me to take him home because he had fallen asleep at the bar.

He and our relationship was unraveling before my very eyes. And I was unraveling too. He tried to stop drinking sometimes, but it was so hard. By the second day, he was so damned mean to me. By day three I'd make him a drink and give it to him begging him to drink so he would stop being mean and stop yelling and cussing at me. I don't think he ever forgave me for making him drink on day 3.

I went to a meeting of Al Anon once and there I was surrounded by women or men who would hide the booze from their loved one and I wanted to get up and yell, but if they don't drink they're such jerks. What's wrong with giving them a drink and having some peace in the house and relationship. I never back to Al Anon.

I begged him once and dragged him to my therapist. He would pretend to resist me, but he would always do whatever I said. He was always good that way. My therapist told me at my next session by myself if I was prepared to go through a dry out period with him. Was I prepared for the fact that if he stopped drinking he might not love me anymore. Was I prepared to stop drinking? Was I prepared for the fact that if he did sober up, he might become a totally different person.

Her questions stung me. I realized in that session that I didn't love him enought to want him sober. I mean I loved him, but I was afraid that if he went straight he'd stop loving me. And I couldn't face that, not after what I would have had to go through to get him to that point.

And so I left him after six months and leaving him was the hardest thing. Despite all the bullshit, despite all the crap he put us through, I never lost sight of what a great guy he was underneath but I knew that if I stayed with him, he would eventually die sooner than later. He told me he never wanted to outlive his parents. He would hold me in his arms in the beginning and tell me we were twins. He told me a month after we broke up that he glad I had left him because he lived his life on the edge and I didn't. He told me I wanted a spouse and kids and he didn't want any of that. He told me sometimes he just wanted to die. He told me that he'd had a death wish for a long time. He told me that he didn't want to ever hurt me and being with him would eventually hurt me.

I guess he was right in a way and wrong. I'm hurting now because he's gone. And death is like this really messed and strange thing because I know I'll never talk to him again. I think he just gave up. I think he just got tired of living on the edge, of the nightly nightmares, of the demons and memories that haunted him, I think his spirit and soul just gave up because they were so tired.

And all I have left are my good memories of us together like when we watched Grand Canyon and he started crying. Like how much he hated that I sang Puff the Magic Dragon to him in bed but he let me do it anyway. How he loved it when I called him HR Puff N Stuff. How much fun we had on our trip to Death Valley and how he dared me take off my shirt and ride topless in the covertible, which I did because I knew he would love it. How much he really listened to me when I analyzed movies for him. How I Ioved the way he smelled and how just getting a whiff of him made me me want to jump him and start taking off my clothes. How often I just wanted to slam him up against a wall, take off his clothes and let my mouth make him feel really, really good and big smile to his beautiful face. God, and just how much fun we had just laughing and having a good time, especially in the beginning when we were so into each other and we would spend hours together just laughing and watching TV.

But maybe you only get to love like that once in your life, quickly, passionately and tragically. At least that's what I hope because I know I don't ever want to feel this kind of hurt in my life ever again.