Monday
An old friend died recently. The cause of death has not been made public, but he is believed to have killed himself. The news came as a profound shock. Though I knew he had had mental health problems, I thought he was largely out the other side and had found a way of living with them. Our relationship was unusual. We rarely – if ever – socialised together, but knew each other intimately. We were in the same psychotherapy group for many years. I’m still going. He was a lovely man. Generous, warm, kind and very, very funny. And damaged. Though you can take that as read. My heart goes out to his wife and children. When I was in rehab more than 35 years ago, one of the counsellors told us that, statistically speaking, half of us would be dead within 15 years or so. At the time I just thought she was trying to shock us into changing our behaviour, but it turned out she was telling no more than the truth. Half of us were dead well within the time frame. Since then the death rate among those people I knew who were addicts has at times felt attritional. Quite apart from the usual suspects of relapse, overdose, Aids and suicide, the incidence of death through cancer and heart disease have been far higher among the addicts I know than other people. It might just be a coincidence but I suspect not. My dad, towards the end of his life, used to say that old age wasn’t for wimps. I’m beginning to know how he felt. The number of people who used to know me as a young man are getting fewer and fewer. It’s starting to get lonely.
