Haunting Me

Ever since picking up Thirteen Reasons Why, I can't stop thinking about Greg G. I even went so far as to pull up the archive story from the OC Register and sat and read it over and over and over again. I haven't been able to sleep the past few nights, and I attribute it to my obsession with this book. It took me over. Even now as I try to distract myself with other stories, I still can't shake him from my thoughts.

I was 18; Greg was 21. He was a sweet guy. Not at all my usual type, he looked like a very young Hulk Hogan - he was tall, blond, tan, had a small mustache, very buff. He liked working out so much he encouraged me to become a body builder. Ummm, no. We met at a church picnic, and talked all day. I remember silly things like how he introduced me to the proper way to eat a Taco Bell soft taco - yeah, I know, that's dumb. I don't remember us doing anything other than simply spending a lot of time together - doing the mundane things like washing our cars together, working out together, sitting in park swings and talking, talking, talking.

We dated only for about a month. He was not the first in a series of guys I would find that would want to use me as their sobriety, as their lithium, as their escape from parents who couldn't give a damn. I never understood how I attracted men who didn't quite have themselves together, and I always pushed them to stand on their own two feet. And when they wouldn't, couldn't, I know it seems cold, but I would walk away. I couldn't save them. Wouldn't save them. After what happened to Greg, I actually stopped dating for a few years.

I knew he had a past substance abuse problem, but he was clean then. I think it was only just barely. I knew Greg was clinging to me, for his life. I just never thought it was that literal. I broke up with him because I thought he needed to find his own way before being in a relationship, find a program that could help him be healthy on his own, not use me as his rehab.

And that's why I've always felt guilty. I've always suspected he immediately went back to the drugs. Why else would he have robbed a stationery store? Twice! He even apologized to the person working there for doing it, saying that he had to. Had to. And then the tragedy - fleeing, crashing his truck, putting the gun to his head... The shame, the desperation he must have felt, the hopelessness. The need to escape his demons permanently. The waste of his life.

I will never forget talking to his mother on the phone. Crying with her. For her pain. For my own pain. For thinking that I could've saved him if I would've held him up, kept him straight. I often think of her.

I just can't shake it right now. I remember him. He touched my life and made me more careful. Much like the way Hannah touched Clay in the book. So Jay Asher did it right - it was honest, it was real. I'm anxious to read more from him. Just hopefully on another topic. This one struck too close to home.