Breaking up with Stacy is not the easiest thing for me to do, but it is what I must do to move on with my life.

Stacy Guess, a very well-known musician in Chapel Hill, died in March 1998 of a heroin overdose. I was his last girlfriend. He stayed with me the week before he died. During the last few months of his life there was a struggle between us to get him off of heroin. I wanted so badly to keep him alive and for him to be well again. He was unable to do this. We'd constantly fight and break up and get back together again, all because of his addiction.

I became obsessed with getting him clean—so much so that I put my own needs and feelings on hold. I lost my job because I missed too much work trying to help him get through withdrawal so many times. When Stacy overdosed and went into a coma, I was fired because administration didn't want me to miss any more work. I lost friends. Some people couldn't understand why I stayed with him. When Stacy died, one friend told me that he wasn't good at dealing with "this sort of thing" and ended all contact with me. My health deteriorated rapidly because of stress. I was always so concerned about Stacy that I would neglect my already unstable health. I couldn't eat, I couldn't sleep, and I would miss important doctor's appointments out of apathy for myself. My life consisted of me always trying desperately to keep him off of dope. There were times when he attempted to go through withdrawal that I would sit and hold him while he cried. The hold that heroin had on him was so overpowering that he would eventually break down and manage to scheme his way out of my care in order to get high again.

When his addiction compelled him to lie to me, I would overlook things he told me that I knew were not true. He would lie about where he was going, where he had been, and what he was doing. He was so embarrassed about how far he would go to get high that he would avoid telling me about it. He sold almost every possession. When he ran out of things to sell, he would manipulate his friends into lending him money. I never told him that I knew he was lying. I'd look into his eyes and I could see his guilt suffocating him. I think he felt worse about his deceit than I did. Maybe that was why I kept my mouth shut.

The last week of his life he was living with me; another attempt to get clean. Even though he had voluntarily given me his truck keys as a preventive tactic, by this time I had given up trying to control his actions. I knew that he would do what he wanted anyway. In some ways, my last few days with Stacy were the best of our relationship, or at least better than it had been just before. He told me he was dedicated to mending our relationship. He also told me that for the first time in his life he wished he had never tried heroin. We were closer than ever before. I finally allowed myself to feel a bond with him once again. He told me he loved me just a few hours before he overdosed.

It is difficult for me to explain why I endured so much for this man. I suppose I stayed with him because I loved him; I felt his life was worth preserving. He was gentle and kind. He had an unusual combination of modesty and charm, and a quiet intelligence that made him an interesting conversationalist. He always made me feel beautiful no matter what. Despite how strong my feelings were toward him, if Stacy had lived I honestly can't say how much longer I would have stuck around. Every day I think something different.

After Stacy died, I became a recluse. It was too difficult to go out and see all of the people who had known him. Even people who barely knew him would talk about him as though he was their best friend, which I suppose I can understand. Stacy knew a lot of people, all of whom were special to him in their own way, which is nice because his life affected so many. But it made me sad because when everyone is special, no one is. I began feeling that my connection with Stacy was unimportant in comparison. Then there were the various rumors, some of which I still feel forced to contend with (I still hear rumors about how much he cheated on me). One rumor about how he died hurt me deeply. The Independent Weekly, a local newspaper, printed that Stacy was dropped off at the hospital and left behind alone. This information is untrue. I was at the hospital that night and know differently. I am unsure as to how The Independent Weekly received their information, but it certainly wasn't from the hospital or any family or friends who were at the hospital that night. The article implied that Stacy died alone, which infuriated me because it made me feel that my last days with Stacy were inconsequential.

It seemed that everyone in town had their own take on Stacy's life and death, and even our relationship. It almost made me feel that my whole experience with Stacy must have been all in my head, but I knew that that simply could not be true. I decided that my connection with Stacy, which was now only a memory, could only be preserved inside of me. I held on, I still wanted to be close to him. At night, I'd dream that it was all a mistake and that he was still alive. But when I would wake up, the realization of his death would hit me all over again. I would sleepwalk my days away, pretending that he was right there next to me. I even tried to be more like him. I involved myself in self-destructive behavior, hoping it would make me feel closer to him. But it didn't. He was gone and it didn't matter what I did. He was never coming back.

And yet, still, everywhere I go and everyone I see reminds me of him. He haunts every restaurant, every bar, and every movie theater that we'd ever been to together. Every time I see one of his friends out, it's another sting in my heart; they try so hard not to make eye contact with me and act like they had never hung out with Stacy and me together. I've decided that breaking up with Stacy is the only way to get my life back. I know I should have done this a long time ago, but I didn't. I couldn't.

Stacy, I love you, but let's face it, you are a lousy boyfriend. It's time I said goodbye.

Goodbye.