He's dead to me. I switch rapidly between hoping his zombifying body dies ASAP, and missing the person he was before Nazis brainwashed and stole him.
He was a shitty friend who gatekept random things, like listening to bands in his mid-twenties. Much due to toxic masculinity. I found him quite cringey. Now he's a Nazi.
Yet I mourn his cringe ass each day. A whole person was lost to Nazis. I'm cycling, and I need new outlooks on this situation to get out of this rut. My self care is suffering.
I can see that. Many abusers' worldview is basically "Don't tread on me", where you can only stomp on others or get stomped on. And they choose stomp.
After the gruesome way I lost my friend, I had a few fits of involuntary laughter too. Each time I find new tricks to leave them behind for good, I spend a little less time on average mourning. Still, I'm making agonizingly slow progress, and when I remember, the same depth of sadness fills me again.