Need
Dear Journal,
I made Jack tell me everything. And now I wish that I hadn't. He said that I was out living like a king, feasting, and napping all day while he and Sam and Teal'c were killing themselves in the mine. I hate myself for that. How could I have done that to them? They're my friends. And I don't even really remember doing it either. The only theory, the only reasoning that I can offer up is that for a little while at least, every time I went into the sarcophagus, I could forget. Not just forget what I was doing in the moment. Not just forget that I had abandoned my friends to a life of slavery in favor of my life of luxury. Not just forget that I was lying to a beautiful, lonely, pained woman for the sole purpose of leading her on until she let me and the others go, with no intention of ever returning to her. Not just forget that by doing so, I wasn't only hurting her, I wasn't only hurting myself, I was also hurting the memory of Sha're. I was betraying my wife, my one and only true love. It wasn't just those things that I wanted to forget. I wanted to forget the past as well.
Ever since we came home from P7J-989, the Gamekeepr's planet as Jack calls it since he never can remember official designations, I've been having nightmares. Not the same nightmares I had as a child when every time I closed my eyes, all I could see was the fallen temple display and the men working to dig my parents out before it was too late. Not the nightmares I had as a teenager of their mangled bodies being wheeled past me on stretchers, my dad's body being loaded into a black bag on the scene, and my mom being rushed away on an ambulance. Not the nightmares I had in college of a double closed casket funeral, their pale faces staring back at me from picture frames atop the simple wooden boxes just before they were lowered into the ground never to be returned to me. No, these nightmares aren't even the ones I have of the look on my grandfather's face as he drove away after the funeral leaving me to the care of the state. I could go on for ten pages about the countless times I've woken in the middle of the night in a cold sweat wishing things had been different. But the nightmares I have now, ever since P7J-989 are of me trying to save them, trying to talk them into coming out, or pulling them out by force. Sometimes in the dreams, I'm still there when the cover stone drops and I die alongside them. That's what I wanted to forget the most when I went into the sarcophagus.
I could make up all these excuses about how Shyla was my Delilah. About how she used her beauty to persuade me to give in to her every desire. About how she convinced me to go back into the sarcophagus when I was already healed. About how she kept delaying my requests to free the others until I nearly forgot about them altogether. About how she eventually convinced me to marry her with the promise to let us all return home for a short time first. It is almost like she had talked me into revealing the secret of my strength and then cutting my hair off while I was asleep to steal that strength from me. She got me addicted to that machine knowing all the terrible aftereffects it would have on my body physically and mentally and emotionally. She had seen it happen to her father. She knew that getting me addicted, knew that cutting off my hair would hurt me, but she did it anyway to suit her own ends. I could indeed call her Delilah, but I'm not going to.
Truth is, I care too much about her to blame her for everything. I chose to keep getting back inside that machine even after Sam warned me of the dangers. Turns out that Jolinar left behind a few useful things in Sam's mind after all. Like the ability to sense symbiotes, or the occasional helpful memory. She still can't explain how she knew, just that her subconscious was telling her it was dangerous. I suppose that's a puzzle that we never will solve.
The one thing that I do remember about the past week is the withdrawal. I've never been addicted to drugs or alcohol, but I imagine that this was just as bad if not worse than coming down from a heroin high. The only difference is that after you give up drugs or alcohol, a small part of you still craves that feeling. I won't lie, I did like forgetting for a little while, but I have absolutely no desire to ever use a sarcophagus again. Not even if I'm on the brink of death and that's the only way to save my life. It's going to be a very hard day before you'll ever drag me into of those things again. General Hammond suggested that I go to one of those anonymous addiction programs in case the withdrawal, depression or cravings ever do come up. I'm not going to do it. I really don't see it being a problem. But if it is, I know I still have three really good friends to get me through the mess.
I'm only really left with one regret. And that's Sha're. Sam's the one who reminded of it. Sure, I'd thought about it, but I'd pushed it aside. Her direct address of it really sent me into tailspin. She's tried to apologize, but I won't let her. Right now my mind is filled with one question, and one question only: If we ever find Sha're, will she forgive me for kissing Shyla, for telling her that I would marry her although it was only a lie? I may never really know the answer to that. I haven't given up hope of finding her, I know that much, but every day that hope grows smaller and smaller and less consuming. If we do find her, and she forgives me, I'll still never be able to forgive myself for forsaking her even if I didn't fully mean it. I may want to forget the pain of losing my parents, but I never want to forget Sha're.
-Dr. Daniel Jackson