07-10-2025, 03:03 PM
The pictures looked scary again. Why was Basti doing this? Again and again he sent me pictures of the cuts he had inflicted on himself. This was not normal. So far, it had stopped after two weeks because I was able to stop his depression phase.
We had been writing to each other for some time via Whatsapp messages.
We had met through a group of train spotters against bullying on Instagram. I had founded this group some time ago because I too had been the victim of the worst bullying. Nobody in my class could understand how you could stand for hours by the railroad tracks just to photograph trains. That's why I was always an outsider in my class.
But train spotting gave me a lot. I was fascinated by photographing new trains or newly formed trains and adding them to my collection. In Germany, there was a small group of like-minded people and I was able to exchange my pictures with them. However, at sixteen years old, I was by far the youngest there. But age hardly mattered to us. Only the quality of the pictures was important. I received the recognition within the group of friends that was otherwise denied to me.
Basti only joined us a few weeks ago. He had written to me because he had read an article about me in a magazine. He came from a region far in the south of Germany. So it was not easy to get to know each other personally. Nevertheless, I liked him from the start.
It therefore only took a few days for us to start exchanging messages on WhatsApp. In these messages, he sometimes told me how bad he felt. At the beginning, I didn't give his descriptions too much weight. He was about a year younger than me.
Unfortunately, he then started cutting himself. He inflicted deep cuts on himself with a sharp knife. He then sent me these pictures. I found it terrible and tried again and again to build him up. Until now, I have managed to do so with a lot of patience and kind words. Only at the moment were the pictures very bad and I had the feeling that he often numbed himself with alcohol as well.
I was sitting doing my homework when Basti sent me more pictures. They looked absolutely awful and ugly. Often I couldn't bear to look at them. So I put my cell phone aside to be able to concentrate better on my work.
It took another 45 minutes before I was finished. Only then did I pick up my cell phone again and read the messages that had come in the meantime. Some were from my train friends, but there were also four messages from Basti.
He was very depressed and frustrated again. His arms looked accordingly. Completely cut and bloody. That hurt me so much, because Basti was actually a really pretty boy. Why was he only destroying himself? I asked myself this question every time. To this day, I have not found an answer to it.
Today he wrote to me again about his desire to end his suffering. I was shocked when I read these lines. It had never been so blatant. With my answers, I tried to take the pressure off him and calm him down. Unfortunately, this had no effect. On the contrary, he became more and more obsessed with this delusion of wanting to end his life.
I felt totally helpless and really scared. What else could I do? He was over 400 kilometers away from me. So far, I hadn't told anyone about this situation. My parents knew that I was in contact with him, but I hadn't told them about his problems. I didn't want to burden my father with it. After all, he worked for the fire department as the city fire inspector. He was the head of the professional fire brigade in our city. This meant that he had a great deal of responsibility and was always very busy.
Today, however, I was lucky enough that he was already back from his early shift. I thought about it for a moment, because I had promised Basti not to talk to anyone about his problems, but then I decided to do it after all.
When I came downstairs, my father was already sitting at the computer in his office again. I knocked and entered his study.
“Hello Pascal, come in.”
“Hi Dad. Am I disturbing you?”
"No, no. That's fine. What's on your mind?”
Now I was standing right in front of his desk and my heart was pounding. Once again the doubts came. Should I really break Basti's trust? I had made up my mind because the situation had become unbearable for me.
“I told you about Basti. A friend from Koblenz.”
Dad looked up from his monitor and leaned back.
“Yes, I remember. You met in your model railroad group. What about Basti?“
”Uh, unfortunately I don't know, but I'm very worried that he might do something to himself. For days he has been writing to me that he is doing badly, that nobody likes him anymore and that he can't stand it at school.”
My father frowned and then got up from his chair.
“Come with me, this is not the right place to talk about it. Let's go into the living room.”
My father never really had time for something like this. So I looked at him in surprise as he walked past me. I followed him into the sitting area in the living room.
I had sat down opposite him when he asked me:
“Please tell me the whole story. I can see from your face that this is bothering you a lot."
This was a special situation for me, because my father never had time for such conversations in the last few months.
I began to tell him the whole story, and whenever I spoke of the pictures, I got goosebumps. In the middle of my description, he asked me:
“Do you still have these pictures? And would you please show me these pictures? I have a feeling that your friend might need help after all."
With an uneasy feeling, I took my cell phone out of my pocket and put it on the table in front of him. He asked me to come over to the sofa so that we could look at the pictures together.
I was surprised that my father, who had seen many terrible things in his job, seemed impressed by these pictures. Suddenly he asked me:
“How well do you know Basti? How serious is this?”
"I don't know, Dad. If I knew, I would feel better. But he's definitely not okay.”
“That's for sure. Have you tried calling him and talking to him?“
”Yes, but he won't take the call. Isn't there anything I can do for him? What if he really does kill himself?“
My father thought for a moment, then he had decided.
”You have his cell phone number and his name, but not his address. Right?“
”Exactly.”
“Okay, here's what you do. Call the police and describe the situation. Let them decide what to do.“
”They'll think I'm crazy. I'm sixteen and I don't even know Basti personally. They'll just laugh at me.”
“I'm afraid that normally they wouldn't bother with this, but I'll call the head of the department. We know each other well. Then they also know that you have certainly not made this up.“
”And then? I mean, Basti is many hundreds of kilometers away. How is that going to work?”
“You just let your colleagues do that. Your job is to explain to them that this situation seems to be getting really dangerous. Young people who cut themselves for so long are seriously ill and need help. Even if he doesn't want to kill himself, he needs help quickly.”
I was grateful to my father for taking me seriously. Nevertheless, I did not feel particularly well.
"Pascal, I'm glad you've taken responsibility here. I understand your situation well. You probably promised Basti not to talk to anyone about it. But now is the time to act.”
He took his cell phone and after a few moments he had his friend Stefan on the line. I didn't have much time to think about whether it was the right thing to do, because suddenly my father handed me his cell phone.
“Would you please give the colleagues from Koblenz a brief briefing on the situation. Stefan has connected you directly to the office in Koblenz."
With shaky hands, I picked up the phone and briefly explained the situation. I gave them Basti's cell phone number and his full name. How they could use it to find out where he lived or was was not clear to me at that moment.
A few minutes later the call was over and Dad took the phone from me.
"Calm down, Pascal. I'm proud of you. I'm quite sure that you made the right decision for Basti. Now we have to hope that the police in Koblenz find him.”
I looked at my cell phone. Basti hadn't written me any further messages. He hadn't been online since I last tried to call him either. This worried me a lot. Hopefully it wasn't too late after all.
The next morning, I was only physically present at school. Basti hadn't gotten in touch again, and my thoughts kept revolving around him and whether he was okay. I didn't even know him personally, but I felt very close to him. His story has been something special to me from the beginning, too.
When school finally ended at noon and I was able to go home, it was a relief for me. I was finally able to try to contact him, but unfortunately his cell phone was turned off. Why had he turned off his cell phone? What did that mean?
When I arrived home, I found that I was alone in the house. My father was on duty and my mother had driven to a handball game with my brother. I found a note from my mother in the kitchen. But it was only about lunch. I had hoped that the police might have contacted me.
As I later learned from my father, the police were not allowed to pass on any information to me. It would have been illegal.
But that didn't help me at all in this situation. So I called Dad at work. I just couldn't stand the uncertainty any longer.
“Pascal, what's so urgent that you're calling me at work?”
"Dad, I can't get hold of Basti anymore. Do you have any idea or information for me? I'm very worried.”
“Son, I can't see into the future. Maybe you can ask in your tram group if someone has had contact with him. Or you can call the police in Koblenz. Maybe the officers will tell you something, but I can't imagine what. Because they are not allowed to give you any information. This information can only be given to the closest relatives.”
“Wow, that's lousy. I'm trying to help and basically I'm being punished for it.“
”Pascal, calm down. I understand you, but unfortunately the laws are like that. Let's talk about it tonight in peace."
So I couldn't expect any further support from my father either. That didn't make my unease any smaller. However, I did write a message to our spotter group. Maybe someone could tell me something about it after all.
There was nothing for it but to get on with my schoolwork. So I sat down at my desk and started with my homework. It wasn't easy for me to concentrate.
Suddenly I got a call from an unknown number. I didn't usually accept such calls, but today was different. I was hoping to find out something about Basti.
“Yes?“ I answered.
A male voice answered.
”Hello, am I speaking with Pascal Winter?“
”Yes, who is this?“
”Klaus Brömmel, I'm Basti's father. Are you the boy who sent the police to our house?”
I was now really hot. How should I understand that? Was he angry or did he want to thank me? How should I answer?
"Um, yes. I called the police because I was very worried. I didn't want to cause any trouble, but what...”
“Thank you, you did everything right. The police got to us in time and were able to take Basti to a clinic. He's doing well, considering the circumstances. You're probably wondering why I didn't take care of him. Unfortunately, I'm often away on business and can't always help him. I also know that he's sick. But he doesn't want to be helped.”
“Oh dear, has he actually tried to harm himself? What exactly happened?“
”Take it easy. No, the police got to us in time and the fire brigade opened the door. So the emergency doctor was able to take him to a psychiatric clinic. He's there now and can finally get treatment.”
“Thank you for letting me know. I was really worried whether something had happened. I can't reach him anymore.”
“Yes, I can well imagine that. That's why the doctor advised me to call you. Basti had to hand in his cell phone to be able to calm down. When he has stabilized, he will definitely get in touch with you. But I can't tell you how long that will take.“
”Okay, is there anything else I can do for him? I would love to help him.”
“Yes, wait for him and be there for him when he needs you. He promised me he would get in touch with you. I'll keep you updated and then we'll see. Maybe you can visit us when Basti is doing better. I'd like to meet you. You've done something really great for me. Thank you so much.”
I was speechless but endlessly happy. A huge weight fell from my shoulders when I put the cell phone on the table.
Four weeks later, I was extremely excited as I entered Koblenz train station. Today was the day I would meet Basti in person for the first time.
It had been preceded by a few emails and phone calls with his father. Basti had been treated in a clinic the whole time and was only allowed to have regular contact with his father.
Basti had only been back home for three days. However, his father had been allowed to tell me that Basti really wanted to meet me. So we had found this appointment and I had now got off the train and looked around the platform.
Suddenly I saw someone waving. I looked more closely and could hardly believe it. It couldn't actually be Basti. A super-beautifully coiffed boy in elegant clothes came up to me. No comparison at all to the Basti I knew before.
His father was with him, but stayed a few meters behind him. I walked up to them and when we were standing in front of each other, I hugged Basti. We held each other tight. Neither of us said a word. Any words would have been superfluous. It felt great
We had been writing to each other for some time via Whatsapp messages.
We had met through a group of train spotters against bullying on Instagram. I had founded this group some time ago because I too had been the victim of the worst bullying. Nobody in my class could understand how you could stand for hours by the railroad tracks just to photograph trains. That's why I was always an outsider in my class.
But train spotting gave me a lot. I was fascinated by photographing new trains or newly formed trains and adding them to my collection. In Germany, there was a small group of like-minded people and I was able to exchange my pictures with them. However, at sixteen years old, I was by far the youngest there. But age hardly mattered to us. Only the quality of the pictures was important. I received the recognition within the group of friends that was otherwise denied to me.
Basti only joined us a few weeks ago. He had written to me because he had read an article about me in a magazine. He came from a region far in the south of Germany. So it was not easy to get to know each other personally. Nevertheless, I liked him from the start.
It therefore only took a few days for us to start exchanging messages on WhatsApp. In these messages, he sometimes told me how bad he felt. At the beginning, I didn't give his descriptions too much weight. He was about a year younger than me.
Unfortunately, he then started cutting himself. He inflicted deep cuts on himself with a sharp knife. He then sent me these pictures. I found it terrible and tried again and again to build him up. Until now, I have managed to do so with a lot of patience and kind words. Only at the moment were the pictures very bad and I had the feeling that he often numbed himself with alcohol as well.
I was sitting doing my homework when Basti sent me more pictures. They looked absolutely awful and ugly. Often I couldn't bear to look at them. So I put my cell phone aside to be able to concentrate better on my work.
It took another 45 minutes before I was finished. Only then did I pick up my cell phone again and read the messages that had come in the meantime. Some were from my train friends, but there were also four messages from Basti.
He was very depressed and frustrated again. His arms looked accordingly. Completely cut and bloody. That hurt me so much, because Basti was actually a really pretty boy. Why was he only destroying himself? I asked myself this question every time. To this day, I have not found an answer to it.
Today he wrote to me again about his desire to end his suffering. I was shocked when I read these lines. It had never been so blatant. With my answers, I tried to take the pressure off him and calm him down. Unfortunately, this had no effect. On the contrary, he became more and more obsessed with this delusion of wanting to end his life.
I felt totally helpless and really scared. What else could I do? He was over 400 kilometers away from me. So far, I hadn't told anyone about this situation. My parents knew that I was in contact with him, but I hadn't told them about his problems. I didn't want to burden my father with it. After all, he worked for the fire department as the city fire inspector. He was the head of the professional fire brigade in our city. This meant that he had a great deal of responsibility and was always very busy.
Today, however, I was lucky enough that he was already back from his early shift. I thought about it for a moment, because I had promised Basti not to talk to anyone about his problems, but then I decided to do it after all.
When I came downstairs, my father was already sitting at the computer in his office again. I knocked and entered his study.
“Hello Pascal, come in.”
“Hi Dad. Am I disturbing you?”
"No, no. That's fine. What's on your mind?”
Now I was standing right in front of his desk and my heart was pounding. Once again the doubts came. Should I really break Basti's trust? I had made up my mind because the situation had become unbearable for me.
“I told you about Basti. A friend from Koblenz.”
Dad looked up from his monitor and leaned back.
“Yes, I remember. You met in your model railroad group. What about Basti?“
”Uh, unfortunately I don't know, but I'm very worried that he might do something to himself. For days he has been writing to me that he is doing badly, that nobody likes him anymore and that he can't stand it at school.”
My father frowned and then got up from his chair.
“Come with me, this is not the right place to talk about it. Let's go into the living room.”
My father never really had time for something like this. So I looked at him in surprise as he walked past me. I followed him into the sitting area in the living room.
I had sat down opposite him when he asked me:
“Please tell me the whole story. I can see from your face that this is bothering you a lot."
This was a special situation for me, because my father never had time for such conversations in the last few months.
I began to tell him the whole story, and whenever I spoke of the pictures, I got goosebumps. In the middle of my description, he asked me:
“Do you still have these pictures? And would you please show me these pictures? I have a feeling that your friend might need help after all."
With an uneasy feeling, I took my cell phone out of my pocket and put it on the table in front of him. He asked me to come over to the sofa so that we could look at the pictures together.
I was surprised that my father, who had seen many terrible things in his job, seemed impressed by these pictures. Suddenly he asked me:
“How well do you know Basti? How serious is this?”
"I don't know, Dad. If I knew, I would feel better. But he's definitely not okay.”
“That's for sure. Have you tried calling him and talking to him?“
”Yes, but he won't take the call. Isn't there anything I can do for him? What if he really does kill himself?“
My father thought for a moment, then he had decided.
”You have his cell phone number and his name, but not his address. Right?“
”Exactly.”
“Okay, here's what you do. Call the police and describe the situation. Let them decide what to do.“
”They'll think I'm crazy. I'm sixteen and I don't even know Basti personally. They'll just laugh at me.”
“I'm afraid that normally they wouldn't bother with this, but I'll call the head of the department. We know each other well. Then they also know that you have certainly not made this up.“
”And then? I mean, Basti is many hundreds of kilometers away. How is that going to work?”
“You just let your colleagues do that. Your job is to explain to them that this situation seems to be getting really dangerous. Young people who cut themselves for so long are seriously ill and need help. Even if he doesn't want to kill himself, he needs help quickly.”
I was grateful to my father for taking me seriously. Nevertheless, I did not feel particularly well.
"Pascal, I'm glad you've taken responsibility here. I understand your situation well. You probably promised Basti not to talk to anyone about it. But now is the time to act.”
He took his cell phone and after a few moments he had his friend Stefan on the line. I didn't have much time to think about whether it was the right thing to do, because suddenly my father handed me his cell phone.
“Would you please give the colleagues from Koblenz a brief briefing on the situation. Stefan has connected you directly to the office in Koblenz."
With shaky hands, I picked up the phone and briefly explained the situation. I gave them Basti's cell phone number and his full name. How they could use it to find out where he lived or was was not clear to me at that moment.
A few minutes later the call was over and Dad took the phone from me.
"Calm down, Pascal. I'm proud of you. I'm quite sure that you made the right decision for Basti. Now we have to hope that the police in Koblenz find him.”
I looked at my cell phone. Basti hadn't written me any further messages. He hadn't been online since I last tried to call him either. This worried me a lot. Hopefully it wasn't too late after all.
The next morning, I was only physically present at school. Basti hadn't gotten in touch again, and my thoughts kept revolving around him and whether he was okay. I didn't even know him personally, but I felt very close to him. His story has been something special to me from the beginning, too.
When school finally ended at noon and I was able to go home, it was a relief for me. I was finally able to try to contact him, but unfortunately his cell phone was turned off. Why had he turned off his cell phone? What did that mean?
When I arrived home, I found that I was alone in the house. My father was on duty and my mother had driven to a handball game with my brother. I found a note from my mother in the kitchen. But it was only about lunch. I had hoped that the police might have contacted me.
As I later learned from my father, the police were not allowed to pass on any information to me. It would have been illegal.
But that didn't help me at all in this situation. So I called Dad at work. I just couldn't stand the uncertainty any longer.
“Pascal, what's so urgent that you're calling me at work?”
"Dad, I can't get hold of Basti anymore. Do you have any idea or information for me? I'm very worried.”
“Son, I can't see into the future. Maybe you can ask in your tram group if someone has had contact with him. Or you can call the police in Koblenz. Maybe the officers will tell you something, but I can't imagine what. Because they are not allowed to give you any information. This information can only be given to the closest relatives.”
“Wow, that's lousy. I'm trying to help and basically I'm being punished for it.“
”Pascal, calm down. I understand you, but unfortunately the laws are like that. Let's talk about it tonight in peace."
So I couldn't expect any further support from my father either. That didn't make my unease any smaller. However, I did write a message to our spotter group. Maybe someone could tell me something about it after all.
There was nothing for it but to get on with my schoolwork. So I sat down at my desk and started with my homework. It wasn't easy for me to concentrate.
Suddenly I got a call from an unknown number. I didn't usually accept such calls, but today was different. I was hoping to find out something about Basti.
“Yes?“ I answered.
A male voice answered.
”Hello, am I speaking with Pascal Winter?“
”Yes, who is this?“
”Klaus Brömmel, I'm Basti's father. Are you the boy who sent the police to our house?”
I was now really hot. How should I understand that? Was he angry or did he want to thank me? How should I answer?
"Um, yes. I called the police because I was very worried. I didn't want to cause any trouble, but what...”
“Thank you, you did everything right. The police got to us in time and were able to take Basti to a clinic. He's doing well, considering the circumstances. You're probably wondering why I didn't take care of him. Unfortunately, I'm often away on business and can't always help him. I also know that he's sick. But he doesn't want to be helped.”
“Oh dear, has he actually tried to harm himself? What exactly happened?“
”Take it easy. No, the police got to us in time and the fire brigade opened the door. So the emergency doctor was able to take him to a psychiatric clinic. He's there now and can finally get treatment.”
“Thank you for letting me know. I was really worried whether something had happened. I can't reach him anymore.”
“Yes, I can well imagine that. That's why the doctor advised me to call you. Basti had to hand in his cell phone to be able to calm down. When he has stabilized, he will definitely get in touch with you. But I can't tell you how long that will take.“
”Okay, is there anything else I can do for him? I would love to help him.”
“Yes, wait for him and be there for him when he needs you. He promised me he would get in touch with you. I'll keep you updated and then we'll see. Maybe you can visit us when Basti is doing better. I'd like to meet you. You've done something really great for me. Thank you so much.”
I was speechless but endlessly happy. A huge weight fell from my shoulders when I put the cell phone on the table.
Four weeks later, I was extremely excited as I entered Koblenz train station. Today was the day I would meet Basti in person for the first time.
It had been preceded by a few emails and phone calls with his father. Basti had been treated in a clinic the whole time and was only allowed to have regular contact with his father.
Basti had only been back home for three days. However, his father had been allowed to tell me that Basti really wanted to meet me. So we had found this appointment and I had now got off the train and looked around the platform.
Suddenly I saw someone waving. I looked more closely and could hardly believe it. It couldn't actually be Basti. A super-beautifully coiffed boy in elegant clothes came up to me. No comparison at all to the Basti I knew before.
His father was with him, but stayed a few meters behind him. I walked up to them and when we were standing in front of each other, I hugged Basti. We held each other tight. Neither of us said a word. Any words would have been superfluous. It felt great