I don't know if this is the right place to post this but I need to get it off my chest.
Cytiuz and I met in college in the spring of 2006. I was 18 and he was 19. From first glance we BFFS, and were utterly inseparable. I could tell you in detail the exact moment I met him and how cute he looked. The tight jeans, suave haircut, stunning blue eyes, he was standout from the start and I knew I would fall for him. As you could predict, we became lovers for a brief period time, though we broke it off early since the circumstances weren't ideal and we just wanted to have fun (it was our college years after all). I won't go as far as to say he was abusive towards me in our more intimate encounters, but he was definitely rough, which I asked him multiple times to not be. After the breakup, we still communicated daily, but made a point NOT to get back together until after college or when we got our finances settled and careers locked in. Both of us had numerous flings, but I can personally attest to missing him when I was making sweet love to my numerous paramours, especially after I heard he had hooked up with a slim blonde from the local Sorority. We made up each time the jealously set in, and both of us remained very happy for a few years.
It was all amazing until he ended up breaking his pelvic bone while on a skiing trip up in Vail, Colorado. After the injury he began to act bizarre. At first the recovery seemed to be standard procedure, but over time the pain worsened, and so did his attitude. He began antagonizing everyone in the room, refusing help from his friends, family, and hospital staff. The medication abuse set in a few days after his release, and it from there it only got worse. I would be called almost every night by his younger sister that he would have outbursts in the middle of the night, ranting about how he dominated "noobs" (not sure was that means) in a video game and how he was considered a "melee pimp" (bear with me please, it's heartbreaking enough just to type this). Then the bills started flying in from the hospital, which took a hefty tool on just about everyone in the house. His dad broke sobriety and started binge-drinking every night to forget about his debts. The mom was still raising three other young children who she could barely afford. Cytiuz's siblings were starting to act out, some from temper tantrums, and others from teenage angst. My friend was taking this the worst though. In his brief moments of clarity, I would visit him and would usually break down into tears. I would just beg and cry, for all that's all I could do, for him to remember who he used to be: that amazing 19 year old boy that swept me off my feet and reminded me that life could be amazing, even if just for a moment.
It didn't work. The drug abuse got worse, his dad devolved from an accomplished family man to a deranged alcoholic in a matter of months. The mom reached her breaking point and eventually asked for a divorce, for which she received a hefty beating from both husband and son (a dynamic duo, in basketball and in domestic abuse). The police were called many times, more than I can count, and I could do was console my brother as he would cry when the sirens would close in, asking why my friend was doing the things he did. I couldn't respond through my own tears, and eventually had to move out to a hotel. I just couldn't handle what was going on. I wish I didn't go that weekend, it will be something I regret for the rest of my days. Not too long after I took my "vacation" my mom phoned in. I didn't want to answer, assuming it was about drama, but I did it anyway. I know I said regretting not being there, but I can help but feel as if those few extra hours before heading back would have done wonders for my mental health.
What I returned to was tragic, and it made me break down at the mere sight of it. I was greeted to Cytiuz's yelling, as if he had been stabbed through the chest by a knife. It was the howls of which I did not thing possible, that only my imagination could conjure up. He started playing this... game? I don't know how else to describe it. The screen movements were too quick, and by the time I could get a clear view he had smashed the desk, and was uncontrollably spinning in circles on the ground. The look on his face said it all. Pure emptiness, like a soul that just had its insides ripped out and all that remained was a hollow husk. The paramedics arrived about 10 minutes later, with him alternating between incoherent babbling and repeating the same five words, "Please stick together in melee". I still, to this day do not know what he meant by it, but it still rips me apart to think of it. To think that I could have somehow helped, maybe aided in his recovery from the accident. Then I remember that no one expected this, it was just completely out of the blue. We still don't know if he reacted badly to the medication, or the physical therapy made him unstable, but nothing helps in soothing my conscience. His family, though, oh my god his family. What happened to them was unspeakable, and I would not wish it upon my worst enemy.
His mother, unable to cope with all that happened, ended up flinging herself from the third story balcony. Squashed like a watermelon on impact. Even dental records could barely identify her, so they had to use the night gown as official confirmation of identity on her death certificate. The father gained custody of the children, and to this day he abuses them. I know this for a fact, no matter how much he lies through his teeth to the courts. It's scum like him that makes me feel angry, just irrationally angry, at everyone and everything. I still speak to the younger sister. She blots out most of what she experienced, and seems to be ignoring all the problems that went down. Blissful ignorance I guess, but it will come back to bite her eventually, I can just feel it. Cytiuz, my first love, was rendered a mute vegetable, now residing in a state penitentiary, eating through a tube and playing Scrabble with the friendly African American guard down the hall.
As for me, I don't think I will ever recover. Everything I experienced reduces me to tears at the mere thought of it. I break down at the worst of times. Showers, work presentations, getting cappuccinos at Starbucks, you name it I probably cried during it. The images are so vivid in my head that my eyes swell up. Every day I wake up, that is the first thing I remember. The excruciating pain, it isn't anywhere near what they actually experienced, but that does NOT invalidate my pain as a fully autonomous human being. You know what hurts the most though? At times, when he had those moments of clear thought, I genuinely thought he was making progress; progress towards being the person that was by best friend (and momentary lover) all throughout my young adult life. Sometimes, when I lie down at night and the darkness starts to get to me, I start to think that maybe it would have been better if he had just died in the accident. It could have been written in his obituary that he was a good friend, loving son of Marie-Anne and Christoper. He would have died a celebrated man. But that's not what happened, and now I'm stuck with these recurring nightmares, related or not, and it is the same shortness of breath every time. That feeling of utter terror that comes over you when you finally realize that this is your reality, and there isn't any escaping it. I will be going in to therapy soon with hopes that I can feel something else other than miserable, dull anger towards things that weren't even my fault.
The one small patch of evidence I have towards some sort of closure is this short twitch clip, which was sent to me anonymously a few hours prior to his final outburst. I don't know what it represents, even after all this time, but it helps to hear his voice again, during one of his more stable moments. It it that same, soothing voice that would comfort me when I had a hard time during exams, or when I would have one of my many anxiety attacks. The voice that always get my attention, even if it was over laundry or that silly motorcycle that he loved taking out with Robbie and Lionel every Friday night on interstate 405.
If any of you knew who he was, here is the video. I hope it brings you some solace, or lets you remember Cytiuz when he was his normal, quirky, fun-loving self:
https://clips.twitch.tv/KathishIronicTapirBrokeBack That's it man, that's fucking it. It's a sad, horrible story that might have been avoided. It's a shit story and I hate it. I don't know what keeps me going, but maybe it's just that small sense that maybe one day I can get better. That I can get
through, and learn how to feel again. I hope that it's possible, but I won't hold my breath.
