Today I visited a grave, I hadn't been there since we buried my childhood friend at the age of 41 in 1996.
We grew up together from the age of 5 and went to the same boarding school at 11.
I was abused there for 4 years, it wasn't a happy place.
We left in 1968 and lived in the same small town, so saw each other about, hung out as teenagers do, got married and all the regular stuff.
In May '96 he went back to the school and hung himself from a tree in a secluded part of the grounds. A place I knew well.
At the time I suspected why he did this, and a couple of years later it's something I exlplored with my therapist. I was 90% sure he was abused as well, but by another gang of older boys.
Today I shed a tear for him and was suddenly punched by a memory of a conversation we had at school when we compared out experiences at the hands of our abusers. I can't remember the exact words but I know this conversation took place.
Now I'm 100% sure, I've never been so positive about a memory in my life.
It's bad, tonight I feel like shit. This funny, decent, nice guy with a wife and kids was killed by these bastards.
If there was any justice they would stand accused of murder.
Spare a though for Mick, he never made it here

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Go confidently in the direction of your dreams! Live the life you've imagined. As you simplify your life, the laws of the universe will be simpler.
Henry David Thoreau