Have you ever been down for so long that you tell yourself people's names at night, just so you can remember them? Remember some chunk of home, of what's supposed to be your real life? At first you try to remember what they look like, but slowly that starts to fade too, until they're nothing but a name and a shadow in your memory and then, then you start wondering what's real. Are they? Are you? What about these people you can't remember? Or are the people around you real, their lives, their stupid little lives that are going to kill you and everything you used to believe in?
[He takes a deep breath and scrubs his face.]
Will you forgive me if I'm not ready to part with that yet?