Back stabing friends
3
I had a "friend" who sort of went off the deep end, ultimately dying of a heart attack in his 30's. He talked bad about EVERYBODY over the years, so I probably shouldn't have taken any personal offense, but I did. He wasn't the sort of person to confront you to your face; the poison would be spread around about you when you were involved elsewhere. Like the Devil in "The Exorcist", he'd tell lies, but he'd mix truth with the lies, making his brand of mendacity all the more toxic. People I considered my enemies talked better about me than this guy did, who supposedly was my friend. I was never quite sure what his problem was. At one point, he told me he had been diagnosed as a schizophrenic, which I guess would explain a lot. Another time, he told me he wasn't schizophrenic; rather, he had been identified as an "alcoholic with sexual identity problems". Whatever. One time he pulled a knife on a mutual friend, accusing that friend of trying to steal his girlfriend. I think our mutual friend gained more than a few gray hairs before he was finally able to talk our irrational friend into putting down the knife and acting sensibly. Sometimes the friend would be heavyset; other times, after binging on pills and cocaine, he'd become skeletal, which, with his dyed black hair, made him look like one of the characters from his own nightmare. When he was "up" or feeling good, he could be a good friend. He was smart, funny, acerbic, opinionated, talented. He played drums well, and was in several bands, starting while he was still in high school (he wasn't out of high school before he appeared on the Uncle Floyd show). I'd stop hanging out with him periodically but, because we lived so close to each other, it was impossible to totally avoid him. Each time I saw him, and talked with him, he seemed nuttier than the last time I had seen him. He'd travel to NY and engage in exceedingly dangerous, self-destructive behavior, sexual and otherwise. With more sadness than bitterness, I finally separated myself from his circle for good. Then, a few years later, he seemed like he was starting to get his life back together. He went back to school and was working towards a Masters degree. I was told by someone we both knew that he wanted to see me again. I told this someone, "Yeah, sure, maybe we can get together for a few drinks or whatever" but I never intended to follow through on that. Only a few months after that, he was dead of a heart attack. I feel like I've made my peace with whatever he once was, or with whatever he might now be in some other phase of existence, but the truth is...I think of some of the off-hand but very cutting remarks he made all those years ago, and they can still hurt. Despite that, I'm sorry I never went to have those drinks with him. Peace, buddy...
