Well, OT I guess. As in sad-personal-life-stories-OT.

  • Khab 29 Oct 2002 01:15:26 6,583 posts
    Seen 16 hours ago
    Registered 20 years ago
    Sorry, this'll be very depressing, but I sort of have to went some stuff somehow. I'm not looking for pity or even compassion, I feel a need to tell someone who doesn't know, and whom I don't have to confront right now. So, the internet, and this little slice of a community I know that is pretty decent about most things gets to hear this.
    You've been warned.

    ---------§Sadness alert§--------------

    Richard died saturday. He presumably overdosed on methadone, but we wont know for sure until the autopsy.
    I grew up with Richard, he was my playmate for some time during the early school years. You see, his dad and mine are cousins, though they grew up more like brothers than anything else. So Richards' dad and mine wanted us to grow up together, naturally. They moved here from a town some way off in '83 or so. Richard and I went to pre-school for two years together, one year more than usual, since we started early. See, someone had decided parents might want their young preparing a little extra. Anyway, Richard's family lived about half-way to the pre-school from my point of view. That, and the fact that for some reason we were not allowed to bike there meant that I usually biked to Richards', left the bike and walked with him the remainder.
    We played a lot together, and although he was the only one of my playmates that didn't let me decide most of the stuff, it worked out. Probably because he was so wild, even my stubbornness had to give in. Richard would climb trees, steal apples, lift small stuff from the local store, be in fights. The only time I did that was when I was with Richard. By the time we were teens, heíd broken both his legs, an arm, his collarbone and his wrist . Iíve never broken a bone in my life. Many of those sweet childhood memories of forbidden fruit and naughty things would not exist had he not been there with me. I possibly might never have stolen fresh fruit from a tree if it had not been for him Ė thatís how careful and conscientious I am. Richard was not careful. Sometimes I thought he didnít care if he lived or died, which may well have been true.
    During the late 80s, our entire extended family used to celebrate Christmas at my parentsí house. At those times, it was full of people, old and young, all running about doing things. Richard and I were the only ones in our age, and we were in the right age for Christmases. I remember one Christmas when we must have run up the stairs to the door at least twenty times because we thought we heard Santa coming up the stairs. When he finally did come, weíd gotten so jaded weíd missed it, and someone else beat us to the door.
    We were both spoiled rotten. But somehow he was spoiled in a different way. Itís true that I got lots of toys, and usually the ones Iíd wished for, but Richard got lots of toys, and the toys he wished. Anytime. I had to wait for Christmas or a birthday, Richard would nag and nag until his poor parents gave in and got it for him. Once, on the day after Christmas, he was really jealous of the Wampa Iíd gotten. When we got together the following day, he had one of his own.
    Still, I envied him. I envied him his appeared self-confidence, his popularity in school, his prowess at anything athletic, where he was as good as I was poor at anything we tried our hand at. We both started playing Badminton at the same time. After two years, Richard was the district champion while I was still in the beginnerís class. I looked up to him. After three years in ďrealĒ school his parentsí divorced, and Richard moved downtown with his mother. After that, we still saw each other a lot, although not on the same terms as before. I was easily impressed with his city manners, and Richard liked to impress. He told me wild stories of what went on in school and after school in the city. I lapped it all up, believing every word. And still it irked him that I almost always did better in school than he did. He told me so this summer, the last time I saw him.
    As we grew older, we also grew apart. Soon after starting 7th grade, Richard started telling stories about drinking. He could drink a whole bottle of vodka in one sweep, he bragged once. I always thought that was a complete lie, but now Iíve started to think that maybe there was a sad truth behind it. It was sometime here he started smoking hasch. I donít know the details, and I wonít pretend I do. I had no idea until much later. What did happen was that we stopped seeing each other, other than for Christmas or birthdays or other family events. Still, he was always Richard, and three or four wintersí I went up north with him and his mother and stepfather. We skied all days long, and then spent the evenings playing in the snow outside the house. The last winter we mustíve been 14 or 15, I think.
    After this, I never really knew him. We went to the same high school for nearly a week, before he switched to another, less theoretical program. He found a very special girl, and they got engaged after a mere month, and stayed together for years. They moved out and got an aartment together. He never finished high school, though. He dropped out after two years and started on something new, which didnít last. To be honest, after that I canít remember the sequence of events too well. I remember when mom told me that it had surfaced that Richard was using drugs. I was shocked. I knew he was somewhat reckless, but not that bad, surely? It turned out I was even more naÔve than Iíd ever imagined. A few years a ago I got to talking with the special girl, it mustíve been a year or two after they broke up for good. She told me his whole story, with the hasch at 14, her waiting up long nights for someone who never came home, her dragging him out of shabby places, and the depth of his addiction. I donít think Iíd realised how bad it was until then. I know I didnít have any idea that heíd started so early, because I felt so tricked and betrayed by someone I loved and admired. That hurt. Iíd always thought the two of us had a special relationship, and that we were honest with each other. And he never once even so much as let on about it. I remember once, when he admitted to trying snuff (as a form of tobacco use) the first time. I remember getting all cold, and then very sincerely begged him to promise me never to do drugs. He kidded me for it, saying I was silly to think him that stupid. For some reason I thought that since he had promised me this, he wouldnít do it. I was a kid, and a sheltered one at that.
    The last three or four years heís been in and out of institutions, sometimes getting better, sometimes falling back into the habit. A little over a year ago he moved down south, where he had been treated for some time. He got an apartment and a girl. He always had a girl, no matter if he was up or down, in or out. He was clean, and got checked every week. Sometime here he violated some sort of treatment by drinking beer, and was sentenced to four months. At least that is what he told me in June on the train. I met him, after a trip Iíd made, on the train. He was going to Turkey with his mom and stepdad and fiancee. I talked to him for several hours, and although he had himself a few beers, he was clearer in mind than Iíd seen him for a long while. We talked about old times, and he remembered some, if not all. He asked around for our old classmates and friends, and I told him what they were all doing. After a while he loked at me shamefully and said ďSo Iím the only one whoís messed up his life completely, eh?Ē. I answered that he had not messed it up completely, he was on the right track now, wasnít he? He was coming back and was going to show them all. He didnít believe me. We talked about our home town, and the fact that Iíve stayed put. I said I simply love it, it is my home. He turned down his eyes and said that it held far too many bad memories for him. He looked scared when he talked about the possibility of prison. About a year ago two of his friends died, when theyíd gotten hold of a too clean shipment of something. Richardsí half-sister was with him when they called and saked him if he wanted to come, and he told them he was broke. A day later, they were both found lifeless in a hotel room. I think that scared him for a while. I didnít talk to him about it, but somehow he seemed hunted, like something was after him. I suppose it might as well have been drug-induced paranoia as anything real. I gave him my numbers as we parted, though the only one I got in return was his girlfriendsí mobile Ė Richard had had to sell his to a pawn shop in order to pay for the train ticket. Some weeks after, we learned he had fallen back into his old patterns when he returned to his old town. He was at it again. I felt bad for him, because for the first time in a long while Iíd actually talked to him, and Iíd thought he had at least some hope for the future.
    This Saturday afternoon, as I stood in my local GAME, hoping to swap NFS:HP2 for something more entertaining for a while, my phone starting bleeping out its tune. It was dad. He sounded upset. He started by saying Richardís sister had called them, and by then, of course, I knew what it would be. His fiancee had woken up on saturday morning and found him lying cold beside her. Something about methadone. I donít care to tell much more of that day.
    Methadone is the theory so far, before any autopsy report. It is also most probable, although apparently nothing points conclusively to him taking any that night. He had also had bouts of panic anxiety the last weeks, a condition which increases the rate of ones heartbeats. It is therefore possible that he died of Ďnaturalí causes. He could also have overdosed on purpose. The prison sentence was still there, and was due to be executed in a couple of weeks. No matter what it was, though, Richard is dead. It doesnít matter how much I fret and agonise over things I might have done or said, or what might have been if if had not been. I will always wonder if I should not have done more for him, if maybe he had made it to his 23rd birthday, which was only 16 days away if I had said something differently, or if something had happened, or not happened.
    I donít know what the moral of this story is. Possibly that you should do whatever it takes, try as hard as you can and never give up on someone. Possibly that no matter what we do, things will still happen that we donít want to happen. Whatever it is, I have now told it, at least in some part. And maybe Richardís story, through my eyes, can help someone somewhere with something. And then at least some good has come off it.
  • Moonbender 29 Oct 2002 01:46:17 407 posts
    Seen 11 years ago
    Registered 20 years ago
    Man, I'm so sorry. I've never lost anyone close to myself, so I doubt I can say I know how you feel. Regardless, I do hope writing it down helped you in the way you hoped it would. :|
  • skalmanxl 29 Oct 2002 09:10:52 982 posts
    Seen 10 years ago
    Registered 20 years ago
    It really does help, and thanks Khab for sharing with us. It does give one some perspective about things concerning themselves also, I was moved.
  • Khab 29 Oct 2002 11:10:59 6,583 posts
    Seen 16 hours ago
    Registered 20 years ago
    Thanks guys. As otto says, it really helped just putting it all down somewhere. Somehow it helps that others read it, too. It helps to share these memories, which I've always shared with him and now don't, with someone else.
    That way I'm not all alone in having them anymore.
  • Sud 29 Oct 2002 17:55:26 241 posts
    Seen 12 years ago
    Registered 20 years ago
    Man, that's a sad story. I feel sorry for you. Anyway, to get your mind off it, care to tell us what you thought about NFS:HP2 ???
  • mal 29 Oct 2002 18:17:20 29,326 posts
    Seen 3 years ago
    Registered 20 years ago
    Thanks Khab, that was beautiful. Thanks.
  • lardy 29 Oct 2002 22:10:12 52 posts
    Registered 20 years ago
    Whoah, I knew this board would have a broad range of topics but that sure stopped me in my tracks. That's a really sad story and I really don't know what I could say that could help... take care.
  • Pirotic Moderator 30 Oct 2002 10:45:15 20,642 posts
    Seen 1 day ago
    Registered 20 years ago
    sorry to hear the news Khab, but thanks for the story. gets you thinking about many things - i know what its like to lose people close to you and its never easy, but u stuck by him which is the most any friend can do.
  • MrWorf 5 Nov 2002 18:15:34 64,172 posts
    Seen 8 minutes ago
    Registered 20 years ago
    Yes, it does.
  • otto Moderator 28 May 2007 11:16:19 49,322 posts
    Seen 5 years ago
    Registered 20 years ago
    Writing these things down helps. :(
  • Deleted user 25 November 2010 10:50:19
    Post deleted
Sign in or register to reply

Sometimes posts may contain links to online retail stores. If you click on one and make a purchase we may receive a small commission. For more information, go here.