I took a rough phone call today. One of my best friends from the beginning of my military career is now struggling with heroin addiction. He called me knowing my past, and asking for advice.
I tried to make him promise me that he wouldn’t kill himself, even if his next line of attack against addiction didn’t work out. He was nice about it, and tried to dodge it, but he steadfastly refused to make such condolences.
This motherfucker was ruthless. He was flamboyantly gay. He got teased and fucked with hardcore at the crest of DADT. He didn’t emerge unscathed (obviously). He’s my friend, he’s my inspiration. One time a drill sergeant told Corey to lead us to the schoolhouse. He underestimated Corey. Corey marched us better than any DS could ever hope. He growled a “LEFT FACE! FORWARD MAAAAARCH!!!”
The end was even more poignant. “Group HALT!!! Have a great day at skeeew-eeellll!!!”
He’s a goddamn hero. And he wants to die.
At least this time it came back without making me feel responsible. He told a funny little story about how I refused to give him any heroin (knowing it would be his first encounter). I wasn’t sure from memory, because it was such a hazy time. I’m carrying around some pretty crushing guilt from the friends I used to have that are no longer alive…
Still though. I’m sick of saying that long hard goodbye to my good friends.
I guess that I just don’t know.