A casual friend of mine killed himself. He threw himself off a bridge and cracked his skull open against the rocks below. The funeral is on Wednesday, but I'm not going to be here.
I went to see Rich, and he was crying. It's jut not what he needs right now, selfishly enough.
It's horrible, seeing him. I know, it's best for him, but he's like a child. He looks so lost, and confused, and tiny. I asked him if he's going to take the counselling, and he nodded reluctantly. Thank god.
I watched a video of a school dance with some friends, and I mentioned it to him - how we'd slow danced and it was adorable, we looked so young and sweet. I said "that dance is one of my favourite high school memories!"
He said, "that was one of the best moments of my life."
I remember spending a lot of the night crying, but from the video I can't see why, or remember.
I said something about how I'd loved him so much back then, and how I still did today. He didn't laugh, sort of looked sad, but nodded. I apologised, 'I know, you don't want my love'. 'Who said that?!' 'Eh, you did?' 'Oh.'
I asked if it hurt. "The stitches? Not as much as..." he trailed off, pulled a face, pointed at his temple.
It wasn't until later I asked him why. "I don't know. I just thought it might... help."
I suppose I can understand that, crazy as it sounds.
"Did it?" A thoughtful pause, and a nod. "Yeah, in a way." In a way. At least now... it's out there.
I'm going away for five days on Wednesday, to Glastonbury. I'm going to clear my head, and enjoy life.
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