Disclaimer: EXPLICIT CONTENTS. Read at your own disposal.
Two days ago I came across good friends A and G who I knew about two years ago. We opened up and had a deep conversation about each other. A talked a lot about his exciting childhood years and who he was five-six years ago. G told us of his countless achievements when he was a student debater and toured the world. Both stories were so captivating. Then there was me. Frankly said I had nothing to say about the past so I didn’t really say anything. It was when A asked me how my teenage years were like, that got me.
I have been having thoughts about myself lately. Just last month I visited the Furlongs for the first time in five years. At first I was afraid they would not accept me and throw a wobbly at me instead just like what they did the night after Philip’s funeral. Glad that things went quite as planned — they would talk to me heart to heart and said the past should be left in the past, although Mrs Furlong still hated me but I didn’t blame her for it. They told me where Philip’s body was cremated and let me see the ashes. It’s amazing how five years can make such a difference.
That night at the garage, I saw him from afar in a turquoise jacket waving his hand and scurrying towards me. He told me he just sucked a dick for three bags of smack because he couldn’t tolerate his intense craving anymore and had a really bad day. Just like any other drug addicts, he would literally do anything to get high. He asked me with a gasping breath where J and N, our junkie friends, were. I said I didn’t know. His parents Mr and Mrs Furlong were devout Catholics and they kicked him out of the house after they found heroin in his room.
All I could recall was that the next 20 or so minutes after that small talk, he snorted it all unstoppably. Then he went outside to get fresh air. He apparently had trouble breathing due to too much snorting. A few minutes later I found him lying rigid on the floor choked on his own vomits and unable to move — what I saw was beyond painful and it was the last time I saw him alive. Tried to call an ambulance but it was way too late. No, he didn’t commit suicide — he had heroin overdose. I lied to yous this whole time and I regret it ((
It’s devastating to think that only a few years back he was just an eccentric boy-next-door who was always excited about his dreams. His alluring face was hidden beneath sunken cheeks and dull eye bags. From then on I could never forgive myself for not saving his life. I was so angry at God for letting that happen. I got so depressed that I turned into a heavy drinker and didn’t stop until I was diagnosed with weakened heart disease a few months later. My life was literally everyone’s nightmare.
I realised I never told anyone about this. Yes, that was really me. That meeting with the Furlongs ended the hard battle I had these years and I’m starting to forgive myself now. I sincerely hope all of you won’t look down upon me now that I shared the story and reveal my darkest secrets.
In memoriam of Philip Furlong
6th of June, 1994 – 14th of July, 2013.