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More than thirty years ago, I met a woman at university named Justine. We were young, we shared a similar goth-punk aesthetic, and we were both part of a leftist political group. For a short period, we were closer but that faded; she was intelligent and insightful, a student of drama and communication, but also prone to emotional extremes and could all too easily switch from tears to aggression, which really puts me off. Nevertheless, we remained friends; there was much about her that was thoroughly likable. She would go on to graduate before me (I was too involved in student politics for a normal degree life), after which we lost contact.

Even at that stage, however, I feared for her future. I already knew that she was prone to heavy drinking and I suspected more. She had mentioned that her brother had been the editor of a radical newspaper and ten years later we found each other online and I mentioned that I had known Justine at university. He told me that she had a "difficult life", and I did not need to ask for more information. A couple of times I made some minor efforts to find Justine when she came to mind, but she had no real online footprint that I could find. I didn't want to trouble her brother with such inquiries either and he unfortunately died several years ago so that was the end of that line of potential inquiry.

A few days ago she came to mind again, and I did a quick search. This time there was information; a coroner's report. For the previous twenty years, she had been under the care of the mental health system, having moved on from being "a bit different and a bit difficult" to being seriously ill. She would experience psychosis arising from a schizoaffective disorder coupled with heavy alcohol and methamphetamine abuse, which resulted in advanced shrinkage of the brain. She was also prone to commanding auditory hallucinations. Kept in a secure facility she had managed to abscond on occasions by working out lock combinations and, during a hospital visit, she managed to get away, whereupon she took her own life.

Thirty years is a long time for someone to be absent from one's life, but in all that time I did keep a sense of care and concern with what had happened to Justine, even though we were not in contact. I feared for the worst and unfortunately, the prescience was all confirmed. It is unlikely that she considered that I carried these concerns for this time and indeed it is quite possible, given her deterioration, that she had forgotten who I was. But I neither abandon the care I have for people nor do I forget those who have been close to me. Dearest Justine, despite your aesthetics, your heart, and your intellect, yours was, unfortunately, a tragic and tumultuous life. I will continue to carry old and fond memories of you. At least now you can rest in peace.
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Diary of a B+ Grade Polymath

May 2025

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