reflections; part 3

I dated a guy in sixth grade, back when i was a different kind of depressed and did badly in many of my classes. He was the kind of person who came from a ‘troubled background’: Neglectful and irresponsible parents, drugs, and an abusive older brother. He broke up with me and I cried every night but, you know. I got over it, went after some other people, and drifted away. I spent an afternoon with him once last year, while he was smoking weed with one of my friends, at his request; apparently, he really wanted to talk to me. To catch up. I didn’t want to, but I did anyway. He recited a passage from Shakespeare to me. It was alright, you know? Not pleasant, not awful. What I noted was that he seemed to be doing much better. I was very happy for him, even though I wasn’t very happy myself, ‘cause I knew his past. I knew his family. He seemed to be breaking out of it, heading down the good path.

Very recently, I found out that he has drug-induced psychosis.