People can’t look down from the heights

People Can’t Look Down from the Heights
Interviewer: Kveta ConkováSpeaker: Anonymous
PragueJune 2000
It all started in 1997 when I was eighteen. I had a job that I really liked. I worked as a clerk in a small electronics store. I would go to work each morning, and was happy all day long. When I came home I practiced playing songs on the record player in my room. Music was my hobby and my love. I loved the records and tried not only to understand them but also to learn to play them like a professional DJ.
But in time I began to feel lonely. Many a night I sat by the window and looked outside, dreaming. I was longing for love. But there was no one I could love passionately, no girl I could care about so much that I would die of grief without her. One day my best friend came over and introduced me to his girlfriend. I fell in love with her instantly. I knew right away this was the love I had been dreaming of. I wanted to penetrate her whole body and brain. I wanted to lick her all over like a sweet lollipop. But she wasn’t mine.
I couldn’t fall asleep for light-years. I knew I couldn’t have her. I would never dare to do that and cause pain to my friend.
In the course of time the three of us became inseparable. I got to see her every day, and was secretly in love with her.
Then suddenly my only friend had to pick up and leave and go across the ocean. He had to go to the place where Indians used to live, between the heavens and the earth. He had to leave her behind. The two of them had been together since their childhood and believed that only death would part them. Then fate split them apart for a time. After he left, she went through a very difficult time. She felt desperate and humiliated, right before my eyes. I saw it all and suffered in silence. I suffered because she kept refusing me, saying, “You know well that you’re my only love’s best friend.” I practically had to watch her have intercourse with guys who were climbing all over her. Then one night after my parents were asleep she came to my room where we made silent, passionate love.
I have no idea what life has in store for me but I do know that nothing will ever be as beautiful as being with her.
We spent a week together. Then she left forever. I couldn’t live without her. I stopped going to work and lost everything I had: I got hooked on drugs. I didn’t know what to do next. I hit bottom. I stole, lived on the street and picked garbage containers.
When I couldn’t take it anymore, I wrote a farewell letter. “My dearly beloved mother! Please forgive me and don’t be sad. It’s not your fault. And not yours, my love. Life means nothing to me anymore. I don’t want to go on – or maybe I just don’t have the strength to. Good-bye.” I went to my parents’ apartment and in their bathroom shot a deadly doze of heroin up my veins.
My mother found me with foam at the mouth, a swollen head, and a needle stuck in my arm. My unclean blood was all over me.
Please, mom, forgive me for what you saw. I know you see me the way you always have – as a small child. And I could hear you whispering to me, “My honey baby, you’re the best little boy in the whole world.” Well, mom, thank you for saving my life. Thank you just for being. Now, in the year 2000, I’m starting my third treatment. There is no way to predict what will happen. I’m twenty-one and feel twenty years older. People can’t look down from the heights of a luxury high-rise, or walk down the steps and understand those who are less fortunate than they are. When those people fall down unexpectedly from their superficial thinking, from the highest spheres of selfishness, reason tells them to rise up. Their souls have had a shock. That was my case. For a long time I refused to see many different things and paths in life. I have to admit that I’m ashamed of myself now. Perhaps if I ever manage to shake my heroin habit, my experiences will help me become a better person.