Better Friend

Is there only one way to learn this lesson?

My friend Bryan Colley deserves a post.

I met Bryan in 2009. I was in my second semester at the University of Texas at Dallas, and he was in his first. I was 27, and way too old for college. Bryan was 23, he was already a highly qualified BMW mechanic, and was too young to already be reinventing himself. We were both electrical engineering majors. The class we shared was called alternative energy sources. Our professor was an 87-year-old Russian Nuclear Physicist who had written some of the texts that we would be studying. The accent was so strong, as was the Nuclear agenda. Bryan was a jokester. We would sit next to each other twice per week in class, and the jokes would write themselves. Our professor had probably competed against Einstein in building the nuclear bombs that ended World War II. We learned so much about alternative energy sources. The wind could power the entire world if properly employed, but the carbon and animal costs of these windmills would be far greater than using nuclear power. Solar power is essentially free once your solar panels are up. The return on investment of a solar project is 10-20 years. This ROI would be 5 years with nuclear power. Coal is an abundant natural resource and is an inexpensive form of energy. The downfall is the immense human fallout. Everyone who lives within 500 miles of a coal power plant has an increased risk of lung cancer, COPD, asthma, and a variety of other ailments that most people think are “environmental”. Yes, it’s environmental because of the giant coal plants spewing smoke and toxic chemicals into the sky environment. Judging by casualty numbers alone, Nuclear power is much safer than coal, and it isn’t close.

It didn’t matter what the energy source was; it could never beat nuclear power. Nothing could. Nuclear was supreme. Our professor was still teaching this message when he died the following year. I’m assuming the cause was not nuclear-related, or he could be in opposition to his own statistics. We would walk out of that class in our best Russian accents, proclaiming that we will beat these weak Americans at the Cold War because of our advanced Soviet nuclear capabilities.

Bryan doesn’t deserve a post because we had so much fun joking together. Bryan deserves a post because he was the kind of guy who shows up.

When things weren’t going well in his home life, Bryan would show up by himself to our kids’ birthday parties. It meant more to him to show up than be at home with his own problems. Bryan would stay at the party and help clean up. I never thought maybe he didn’t want to go home. Bryan’s girlfriend was beautiful, hilarious, and incredibly kind. She seemed to have an old soul and told the best stories. We loved hanging out with them.

We live two lives.

One life is the life our friends know about.

One life is real.

We get to decide how much overlap there is. We get to pick which of our friends to let into the real, and which we keep in the superficial. The shallow end of the friendship pool. The water is warm here, and everything is fine. Really, it is. Look at the smiles in our photos. That has to be real, right?

Our real selves experience so much more. We are uncomfortable. We are anxious. We are insecure. We have pain. We are suffering. We feel like we can’t tell anyone, we don’t want to drag them out of the shallow end. The water is so warm there, and everything really is fine. We don’t want to drag anyone else into our suffering. We don’t want anyone else to see us in pain.

Our engagement party in Dallas ended in karaoke. My wife Izzy picked out an Oasis song with me and realized just as the song started that she was way too drunk to sing. Those songs are all vocals, and they only sound right with the nasal British accent. I failed horribly by myself as my wife blanked out and acted as if she had never heard of singing. My all-time favorite moment of the night was when Bryan took the microphone and sang Frank Sinatra’s My Way, making eye contact with me the entire song. He serenaded me. I haven’t been serenaded before or since then. Bryan was so funny, and that moment was the pure version of him. He just wanted other people to be happy. He wanted to host and feed people and enjoy the good parts of life.

There was one time Bryan let us in.

We were gathered together with some close friends at a bar in Plano, Texas. Bryan’s long-term girlfriend, and mother of his child, had just left him for a married man at her workplace. He found out that she had lied about having a college degree. She told all of us she was a Texas Longhorn. Most of her stories were lies, and their fun relationship had much smoke and mirrors.

Bryan had been addicted to methamphetamine in high school. The Bryan I met was incredibly smart and level-headed, but he loved to drink. We knew Bryan as a fun drunk with a past history of drug addiction. No big deal, lots of us have been hooked on drugs, glad it’s in the past. Bryan revealed that he had recently been doing meth with his girlfriend. There was an incident with the police and a gun. He said she was waving it around and threatening to kill herself. We saw a glimpse of the darkness that Bryan had been holding back from us.

Bryan was born with the blessing and curse of having a trust fund. A trust fund officially means that there is money in a fund somewhere that pays your bills, pays for your house, but you can’t take it out and spend it freely. There are rules about who can access it and when. What you don’t realize about having a trust fund is that you can’t really trust anyone. Are they hanging out with you because you have money? Is your girlfriend leveraging for a piece of the fund?

She left him because she found out the trust fund was worded in a way that she would never be able to access the money. That was the only reason she shared her life with my wonderful friend Bryan and had a child with him. She faked interest in this whole life with him and vanished the moment she found out it wouldn’t pay.

Bryan was devastated, but we could sense some relief there, too. He dodged a bullet. This woman could have ruined his whole life. What if he didn’t find out for 20 more years? As painful as it must have felt, I thought Bryan was lucky to be getting out of that relationship.

Bryan had a great house to party at. This house was from his first marriage. I didn’t know him when he was married the first time. The pool was a big rectangle, and it was perfect for water volleyball. We played volleyball in Bryan’s backyard all summer. A few weeks after the split, there are some new people at Bryan’s party. They seem a little younger, but I think nothing of it. I find out one of the younger girls is Bryan’s new 18-year-old girlfriend. Facepalm. Come on Bryan, 2 weeks later. I’m not one to give relationship advice. Maybe this younger, beautiful girl is completely in love with my 30-something friend with a beer gut and scruffy beard. I’m sure it’s not about the trust fund.

She grew on us. Bryan’s girlfriend was beautiful, hilarious, and incredibly kind. She seemed to have an old soul and told the best stories. We loved hanging out with them. They were married, and the Texas hill country ceremony was beautiful. Bryan was an engineer. He always had a good job. We never got to work together, but there was a time when we worked in offices 5 minutes from each other. We would meet for lunch. I would have a beer. Bryan would have a few whiskeys. We would go back to our jobs. I couldn’t ever call Bryan an alcoholic because I was right there next to him.

The Colleys moved into a larger, more beautiful house. Bryan and his wife had a child, a beautiful boy. Then they moved again into a larger, more beautiful house at the lake.

Bryan and I grew apart. I moved from Texas to Colorado. We saw each other a few times per year, but it gets hard to keep up with your friends over long distances. I didn’t worry about Bryan. He always seemed in a good mood when we texted, and we had fun when we were able to get together. After I moved, Bryan would text me about coming out to Colorado to chop wood and hunt elk in the mountains with me. He would say he is coming without his family, that he’s going to take some time off. Nothing would ever come of it. The man-to-man macho plans never materialized. We would get together with our families, but Bryan and I never went on a fishing, hiking, or hunting trip, no matter how many times he suggested we should. It never seemed real to me, just macho ideas that he would throw out. Bryan told people that I was one of his closest friends, but I never felt that close to him. We were the kind of good friends who talked about projects together, but not good enough friends to actually work on projects together or tell each other about what hurts inside. He was busy, I was busy. It’s hard to find quality time with your friends when you’re both married, work as engineers, and your friends live in other states. We were best friends when we were together. I would never mention this here, but Bryan is gone, and I think he would love that I include this game we invented. Don’t play it, it will change your life for the worse. It’s the simulate your partner’s orgasm game. Full O-face, actions, noises, grunts, that thing they do with their nose, where are they even looking? Oh my gosh, I just have to say that it is the funniest thing in the world. Try it with another couple, and you will be ruined for the rest of the night. Every time you meet another couple, you will imagine them doing each other’s orgasm emotes until you finally ask them. Prepare to die laughing. I am a part-owner of the game so I can share the Partner’s O-Face game freely with the world.

One of my favorite times with Bryan was my friend’s bachelor party in Miami in 2018. Bryan and I arrived one day late and missed the stip club debauchery. Bryan and I both had beautiful wives and families. We didn’t go to strip clubs. We weren’t there for that. We wanted to go fishing, and we were excited to go on a man trip with no diapers to change. You don’t get many man trips when you’re married. The first day, we realized by the way the groom was talking about the bride that the wedding wasn’t even going to happen. The second day, we caught a huge barracuda and released it. We caught so many fish that day off the Florida coast. Bryan loved boat life. He had stories of growing up on his dad’s boat on long trips to the Bahamas, catching mahi, and cleaning them on the boat. Bryan and I grilled the fish while the drunkest and most sunburnt men took naps in the rental house. It felt like Bryan and I talked that whole trip. No expectations, no plans, no family to serve. We enjoyed the few days together eating fresh seafood and telling each other stories on the beach.

Something changed in the last few years. Bryan’s drinking was problematic. There was a police report that said he was drunk and got physical with his wife in front of his children. Bryan had been a drunk as long as I had known him, but a fun drunk. Not a sloppy drunk, not a driving drunk, not a violent drunk. I lost a lot of respect for him then. I don’t associate myself with people who talk down to women. I certainly don’t associate myself with men who were violent and out of control with their wives. We talked to them about the incident, and he said he doesn’t know what he did, that he was blacked out drunk. I kept Bryan at arm’s length. We talked occasionally, but I didn’t make plans with him. Bryan quit drinking. I did not. There were a few trips where we went out to eat, and it was just awkward that my buddy wanted to drink so badly but couldn’t. I wish I was sober then to share the experience with him. Ask any alcoholic, and they will tell you that quitting is a sure sign that someone has a problem. I felt like Bryan quitting drinking and struggling with it were just signs that he was weak.

I didn’t talk to Bryan about drinking. He leaned on my wife as sort of a sponsor for some time, but he wanted to talk to her all the time, and it was too much for her. I still kept Bryan at arm’s length because of the police report of violence towards his wife. When she cheated on him, and they split up, I rooted for them to break up. You can’t tell your friend not to get back together with his girl. I couldn’t tell my brother Travis, I couldn’t tell Bryan, man, that woman is dragging you deep into something you may never get out of.

Bryan had a beautiful soul, but he was so sad. He drank alcohol like he was thirsty for it. He never made a face when drinking straight whiskey or vodka; he just gulped it down.

I am great at to-do lists. I can think of thousands of things that need to be done. I love listing tasks and putting check boxes next to them. I have emotional goals that have been on my to-do list for years. These emotional goals usually come from something that comes up during therapy. One year before Bryan passed, after talking to my therapist about my lack of close friendships, I added a check box and wrote: “be a better friend to Bryan”. Bryan and I were casual texters at that point. I don’t talk to any of my friends on the phone, so I thought I’d start calling him and get plugged into his life again. The box stayed empty for a while, then I had a really rough day and needed to talk to someone. I thought I could give Bryan the opportunity to be there for me when I needed someone. Maybe this would connect us in a closer way. I called, but he didn’t pick up. He texted back that he was working late on a meeting with people in other time zones. We agreed to catch up soon. I found another friend when I needed one. I continued to text with Bryan and called him a few more times, but no answer. Married people with kids and jobs don’t have a ton of free time. We never talked on the phone; we casually texted a little more, but nothing changed. We talked about lofty, manly plans, but nothing concrete. I never checked the box. Eventually, I erased “be a better friend to Bryan” because it seemed like we were stuck as casual long-distance friends that wouldn’t ever make real plans for 1-on-1 time together. We could only see each other by coincidence, if one of us was passing through the other’s state with family and pets in tow.

I was 60 days sober when I heard the news that Bryan had allegedly gone on some type of a bender and shot himself. He is not the only reason I’m still sober, but you can never have too many reasons.

When Bryan passed away in 2025, we found out there were police reports filed once per month over the last three years. On paper, it’s a clear unraveling of a violent addict. If you dive into the reports, most don’t detail much of an incident at all. No bruises, no signs of physical altercation. There are two people who know what happened, one of them is dead.

Bryan’s wife gave us three different accounts of Bryan’s passing.

1. Bryan was sober from alcohol for the last 6 months. Bryan was taking prescribed Klonopin for depression; the Klonopin was prescribed to him by a psychologist. Bryan had quit the pills cold turkey due to sexual side effects. He did not properly wean himself off the prescribed medication and began drinking heavily. He became so inebriated from alcohol that he could barely stand up to stumble into the bathroom to take his own life. She was outside talking to the police at the time it happened.

2. Bryan had multiple online doctor accounts that he would use to get pills prescribed. He was mixing Klonopin with benzos and drinking heavily for days. His wife and family left to get a new family dog, and he was too drunk to go with them. When they returned, she called 911 because she feared for his safety. She was on the phone with the 911 operator when she heard the gunshot.

3. In the end, he knew he needed rehab for drinking and pills. His only chance to go to rehab is to tap into his trust fund. He has not been at his current job for long enough for the insurance to cover it. He decided not to go to rehab, then went on a 3-day pill and alcohol bender that culminated in his suicide. Bryan had been drunk for days. He was inebriated and violent. His wife called the police because she was afraid for her own life. She was on the phone with the 911 operator when the police pulled up outside. Bryan peeked outside, saw the police, went to the gun safe, pulled out one of his guns, went into the bathroom and ended his life.

Bryan worked from home the day that he died. The surveillance footage inside the house showed Bryan casually eating lunch 25 minutes before the alleged suicide incident. He did not look like a man on a multiple-day bender of drugs and alcohol. Bryan communicated with his coworker, who is also a mutual friend of ours, that day about normal work things. From his work that last day, he did not appear to be inebriated. To my knowledge, Bryan’s family has still not seen a toxicology report from the alleged suicide incident.

The pull of a battered wife with years of records showing abuse ensured that this case was labeled a suicide. There was no investigation, there was no phone record analysis, and there were no interviews with Bryan’s work colleagues that he had communicated with during his alleged life-ending bender. Bryan’s phone was never secured by the police; they never accessed his company laptop. The case was closed very quickly. Bryan’s family received no support or information from the police. To my knowledge, nobody is fighting Bryan’s fight today. Bryan is dead. I’m writing to keep him alive.

I don’t have a lot of friends. Even 1400 miles away, it hurts so bad to lose one.

I’m writing a book and starting a podcast to normalize talking about trauma. I want to help people let out those stories that can burn a hole inside of you. The truth is that if you’re telling the story, you survived. The fact that you’re still here gives other people hope that there is something on the other side of their pain. I want to tell the stories that remind us why we’re human. I want to bring experts on to share life survival tools, not coping mechanisms, but ways to live a full life that you can believe in and feel good about.

Bryan is still alive in the multiverse that already has the podcast. He listens during his daily commute and sometimes at the gym. He read the book. He knows it’s not about being fixed but just being. This multiverse Bryan is single; he’s trying it on his own and finding himself in the process. He is curious about his future. He knows he deserves to be loved. He is free from shame. He is Nate Bargatze. He is the funniest low-key dude. The same guy as Bryan, but without the weight of the sadness holding his shoulders down and draining the energy from his voice.

I heard Bryan’s voice a few weeks after he passed. He said, “It’s ok, let me go, I did it.”

Then later on, the same voice said “Man, that fucking bitch killed me, go after her.”

It was Bryan both times.

Why do you kill someone so beautiful like my brother, Travis, or my friend Bryan? How could you push them to their deaths? How can you break them down and watch them self-destruct? You fill someone full of gas by promising you’ll love them forever, then you stand out of the way, lighting matches and tossing them haphazardly, like you don’t even care if they explode or not, but secretly you can’t wait to see them go up in flames.

Because they are selfless and will keep loving you long after you’ve stopped loving them? Because they are soft? You’ve made them spineless somehow. You don’t manipulate someone dramatically in a sly business move or sleight of hand. You study their habits, turn them slowly. Every day can be a slightly more fucked up normal. You learn their patterns. You find out how changes affect them, then one bit at a time, you tighten the screws. You make them your puppet, and you convince them it was their idea, and that now they could never live without you.

13 years before Bryan died, my brother Travis, took his own life. I spoke at the funeral, but I didn’t speak about him. Everyone knew he was the kind of person who would put everyone’s problems on his shoulders, but had his own problems he never solved. I spoke about life, how special it is, how we are all surrounded by these amazing people in our lives. I spoke about appreciating life and living every day as the celebration that it is. I spoke about looking around you and seeing the people who love you. Bryan’s death brought out the need to share something that is heavy on my mind.

At some point we’ve stopped taking care of men. They’ve got this. Look how strong they are, look how much they can do. They are our fathers, our brothers, our sons, and they all matter, each and every one. Being the strongest means it’s the hardest to show a weakness, a crack in the shield, to ask for help, and in the end, it wasn’t ever the shield that was beautiful; it was the cracks. It was how we weathered the storms and who we sheltered. We are the wrench turners, the builders. The things we build with these splintered hands hold the world together. We are the fixers, but we can’t fix ourselves, not alone. No one ever has, though many have tried.

When Bryan was alive, I thought of him as weak because of his alcoholism and lack of control over it. After he was gone for one month, I stopped thinking of him as a drunk. I think of him as a sad friend with the kindest eyes.

Yes, this is too soon to write this post. There were parts I didn’t want to remember, but also parts that I didn’t want to forget.

How can I leave this story here with all of these unknowns?

A few weeks after Bryan’s funeral, my wife and I were on vacation, my catastrophist brain got a deep hold of Bryan’s whole situation and the infinite amount of possible paths that led to his untimely demise. My brain was a swirl, I felt hot, my deepest breaths felt whisper deep, my heart raced toward oblivion. What if.. and then...but if..how could..that’s why...things started to connect, new realities began to form. I said no. I got off the train. I bypassed the infinite stream of Dateline scenarios flooding my brain.

I breathed in to the count of 4, I held it to the count of 7, I exhaled to the count of 8.

I breathed in to the count of 4, I held it to the count of 7, I exhaled to the count of 8.

The thoughts slowed down enough for me to realize that, sure, there were some alarming facts mixed in, but most of what I was looking at inside my head were thoughts. Thoughts weighted with the emotion of losing someone I loved, but still thoughts. Thoughts manufactured by my brain to try to make sense of it, to try to blame someone, to feel anything but sad. I loved Bryan since the day we met at alternative energy class that day in Dallas. I never stopped loving him, but at the time when he was at his lowest, I made the decision to care less about him, to let him figure himself out.

I’m going to honor Bryan’s legacy by being a better friend.

Beware the Succubus.