Casualties

Last week I was on a funeral of my buddy from the ballroom classes. He jumped out of a window on a top floor of a 17-story apartment building.

It was monday morning. He lived healthy, so his first thing in the morning was to go jogging for 30 minutes, something I was never able to pull off consistently. He asked his mother to cook some porridge, then left the apartment, but went up the stairs instead of going down. His parents knew something was wrong when they’ve seen cops under their windows. Poor lad was born lucky. He jumped, didn’t lose consciousness on impact, and then crawled all the way to his car, with bones broken and in pain. That’s where they found him. He was 23.

When I heard about it, I couldn’t believe my ears. Why? Why would he do that? But after talking to some of his friends that were somewhat closer to him than I was, and seeing his parents on the funeral, it all clicked in place.

For his whole life he was unlucky with women. I’m not even sure if he’s ever been with one. And taking into account who he was, this would really make most of the population go “WTF???”. See for yourself:

• 6 feet tall.
• Well built, muscular, with a nice 6 pack.
• Master degree in economics, going for PhD.
• A well-paid job in one of the banks in Moscow.
• Always well-groomed and generally taking care of himself.
• Very well-mannered.
• Non-smoker, non-drinker.
• Hopeless romantic.

Everything a woman could desire, in one man. Right? Wrong. Not in this time. Not in this set of books.

I checked out his parents, and they looked like a typical Soviet working class family. A beta-looking father, a stout mother. She reminded me of my grandmother, and I bet she was teaching him the same bullshit I was taught. Just be yourself, you will find your one, and then everything will happen by itself. Looking at this from a red-pill perspective I can now see what was actually happening. Blinded by their solipsism, these women were teaching us the way that worked for them, not taking into account the very important fact that we are men, and thus are playing a totally different game in life.

Talking to his friends I have discovered he was in pain. Women were turning him down, some of them quite brutally (“Are you an idiot?”). He figured out growing some muscles might help, so he started working out. Of course it didn’t help. After yet another rejection he couldn’t take it anymore.

Two things bug me most here. The first one is that I could have saved him. I did see that he was blue pill to the bone, and that he needed some proper guidance. But we never talked about his personal life, and I never cared to press him into such a talk. The second one is that his parents have actually played a major role in his death. Raising him by the wrong set of books, as a really nice lad, without taking some time to think of how this would affect his life in this world. Now he’s dead and there is no going back and fixing these mistakes.

Help your blue pill friends. This might prove futile for some of them. But then again you could save some lives in the process. I didn’t, and I regret it.

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