Orb Lord and Judgey McJudgeface

He's been back in touch, publically, via a FB group of which we are both members. He says he has been homeless in London, but has a support network and a psychoanalyst, and that he is of sound mind.

And I am only mildly sorry for him with added disbelief, because he lies a lot. If he was indeed homeless he was either a) chucked out by his Mum cos drugs, b) didn't pay the rent on his place in Hackney cos drugs c) off his t*ts wandering the streets cos drugs.

He thinks I am very harsh on him. Am I?
Possibly.

But while I want to encourage any psychoanalysis that helps him get to the reasons behind his addiction and his exhibitionist behaviours, I can't get past my own ad hoc, probably badly informed diagnosis; I think he's had a full on psychotic breakdown and the way out, if there is a way out, includes a metric ton of counselling, yes, but also medication. I think the new name he adopted became a sub-personality of its own, currently dominant and a total AH.

The way is not to relent. So, all conversation repulsed, except for genuine and full encouragement re counselling etc. There lies the route, if there is any route. And there I wonder if I am being as harsh as he says. It certainly feels unpleasant and so far from our old friendship I am almost angry with it, with me, with him. Angry because?

Because I have images of us talking for hours over drinks in Balans, falling into the Friendly Society among the barbies and gnomes and chickens, dancing in the streets of Soho, struggling with the logistics of leaping into the rooftop pool at Shoreditch while holding an espresso martini... Good times. But we can't just keep on adding to the same high. Time comes to leave the party secure in the knowledge that there will be others, and if the fun changes maybe it's because we changed first. Not much but enough.