"I can't." he replied, shaking his head. His eyes rose to meet hers. "I want to. I mean, I wish I could explain it, but I can't. I just don't understand what all this is." He gestured helplessly at the room around them. "It started .. I dunno .. 6 months ago maybe? I started .. started to hear things. Like a whisper, or conversation that's just far enough away that you can't make out the words. Then later I started to see stuff. Movement, from the corner of my eye, or when I was half asleep. It kept getting stronger, happening more. I'm seeing and hearing things that aren't there. I don't know if it's ghosts or spirits or I'm going mad, but they just won't leave me alone."<br/><br/>The words seemed to pour out of him as he continued to speak. "They don't all see me, or want to talk, but when they do, I can't stop them. I don't understand half of what they want to tell me. Hell, I don't know if they even know what they want to tell me. Sometimes its not words. It's images, or feelings, or maybe what they went through." He shuddered. "Ever feel what it is to die? I have. I've lost count of how many times now. But it's not dying, it's .. the memory of dying. The memory of words and images and thoughts and I don't know what are my thoughts anymore."<br/><br/>He looked around the room. "Can you blame me for getting drunk? It's the only way to make it all stop."