Tag Archives: love

Dec 31 2025

start to finish.

I saw Kendrick and SZA at MetLife Stadium, the day after I saw my mom’s casket get lowered into the ground.

I was on the fence about attending; I thought the optics would be bad. “That boy momma just died, and he went to a rap concert?” Then I remembered I’m the one who doesn’t have a living mother anymore. I dictate what I do, not anyone else. I had a great time and I’m glad I went. But after the show, I remembered why I felt so drawn to show up.

On July 29, 2023, I went to MetLife to see Beyonce for the Rennaisance World Tour. At this point, I’ve never seen Beyonce live, and I was excited to go, but my mind was elsewhere. My mom’s colon cancer diagnosis was only weeks old. I felt really stupid at that show. My mom was very ill at the start of an uncertain journey, and here I was, in the middle of New Jersey, instead of at her side. She wanted me to go, and enjoy myself, but the truth is, every day she was sick was miserable for me. The show was great and it was an incredible experience, but every 15 minutes, I’d mentally check out and think about my mother.

I spent most of my time with my mom, from her diagnosis in July 2023 to her passing at the end of April of this year. I still feel like I failed her. I wish I had more time. I wish I ate with her more. I wish I became a better cook faster. I feel guilty when I cook now because I could never get her food exactly how she wanted it, and I’m really good now. I felt bad for not getting her flowers when she was sick; I bought a bouquet and put it in her mostly untouched room on her birthday. I sat in there for 45 minutes, just rambling and crying, hoping she could hear me and that she wasn’t disappointed in me. I feel like I’m letting my mom down all the time, because I’m not productive, because I don’t want to really do anything. The type of shame that shit makes me feel is unbelievable, even though I know it’s not real, and that my mother would never be mad at me for grieving.

I often mention that my mom wanted me to have fun and enjoy myself. I did that after she passed because I know that’s what she wanted, and it’s what I needed. I went to Virginia Beach twice, once to see my friends and the Clipse concert, then again for ODU Homecoming. In hindsight, the 757 is the only place where I didn’t feel like my brain was going to explode. Back in NYC, I always feel emotionally overtaxed. I’ve been exhausted with NYC for over a decade, but my mom’s passing might’ve sealed the deal for me. I don’t think I can be here anymore. There are some things I need to do before I go, but I think that part of my life will be over sooner than later.

My year was basically me trying to fit back into the world without my mom, then realizing I don’t have to adjust shit. I don’t have to cover up the bad days to make everyone feel better. I don’t have to attend social events I dont wanna go to. I don’t have to talk to women I don’t want. I don’t have to do any of this shit. It does not matter; I only have to stay true to myself. My desire to be understood doesn’t really exist anymore, I don’t care who gets it. When my mom died, I lost my sense of self, I had no idea who I was without my mother, because I have 0 experience on that job.

This time last year, I was in the gym lifting the heaviest shit I could find, because I was worried I wouldn’t be strong enough to carry my mom’s casket. I didn’t share this feeling with anyone, because it would require me admitting I secretly felt she was going to die. My mom’s illness infiltrated everything I once enjoyed. Writing, gaming, hanging out with my friends, it didn’t matter, my mom’s health loomed in the shadows. Things got much easier after her passing, but I began to feel like the “HIS MOMMA DEAD YALL” guy, and I hated that. I was never ashamed to talk about my mom’s passing, but it became a thing of “well, when do I mention it” to new people, friends and women I dated alike. You don’t forget that confused and mildly disinterested look in a woman’s eyes the first time you share that you are traumatized by seeing your mother die. It does something to you that I don’t wish on anyone. And I deeply hate some of y’all; I still don’t want you to feel like I felt.

The time after my mother’s passing wasn’t as difficult as I thought it would be. But it hit me hard as the year came to a close. My mother was missed dearly on Christmas, as she really loved it; I was thankful for every single Christmas because she cared so much. Now that she’s gone, it felt like another day, which broke my heart yet again. My mom was really serious about NYE too, and not being able to call her while I’m at a party, or toast her and hear her yell “HAPPY NEW YEAR” will never feel right. My mom’s death made me feel cheated, in every way. I dedicated the rest of 2025 to trying to let go, of relationships that don’t make sense, of being unkind to myself, of decentering myself. As the hours tick down to 2026, I’m realizing I just beat the buzzer.

Sep 5 2025

Love: What It Is and What It Ain’t.

My mother got admitted around midnight in July 2023, after a full day at the hospital. I called my girlfriend at the time, who is an oncology nurse, as soon as they took my mom in. She didn’t answer; it was late, she lives in Houston, I thought nothing of it and had bigger things to think about. She called me later that morning and apologized, sharing that my call didn’t go through her Do Not Disturb settings.

I left XXL Magazine in April 2023 because I was tired of being treated like a clown, knowing how much I contributed and how much of myself I poured into my work. We didn’t end on bad terms, but I couldn’t stay, it was untenable. I worked for OkayPlayer from late February until about the end of July. When that was done, I flew out to Houston to spend time with my then-girlfriend because I obviously missed her and needed a break from NYC. My day to day life was splitting my time (very unevenly) between handling a majority of my mother’s day to day caretaking needs, and working for OKP; I absolutely earned some time for myself, with my dad fully taking over my duties in my absence, with my sister coming when her work responsibilities allowed.

I was in Houston from about 6 weeks, a little under half of July and almost all of August, making sure to come back home before my mother’s birthday on August 27th. Somewhere around the middle of August, my mom texted me to tell me that when she went to her immunotherapy appointment, they discovered that she lost 15 pounds, and were scheduling an emergency CAT scan for her. I was over 1,000 miles away; I felt helpless. Every day I was in Houston, I worried about her, even with my mom asking me not to. I wanted her to be ok and I didn’t want things to go left while I was away, which was one of my worst nightmares.

After the CAT scan, they realized my mom was fine, her weight loss was solely due to her not eating enough, not any issues with her cancer, which wasn’t worsening. She was staying up late and and waking up later because she was watching the Olympics, even though she was fully aware she can watch the replays on my Peacock account. She did not care; my mom LOVED track and field and had no qualms with keeping her nearly 70 year old body awake at 2 am to watch it. All that waking up late cost her time to eat, and she wasn’t thinking about food anyway; she was thinking about the breakdancing competition on her TV. Of course, this aggravated me, but I laughed, happy that she was ok. I flew home about a week and a half later, making it home for her birthday. I don’t even remember how we celebrated or what she wanted; when your mother is as ill as mine was, you tend to just hope she makes it to certain milestones. She made it past Thanksgiving and Christmas, her favorite holidays, and this would be her second (and final) birthday with us.

When I was in Houston with my then-girlfriend, everything was fine between us. About 2 weeks after I got home, we were having a normal text convo, and she revealed she felt “weird” about a dream she had. The dream? She left me because I took too long to get engaged to her. I didn’t take this seriously because, I had no job and a very ill mother, there was nothing I could do about that. But I was also offended, because we had been together five years; I told her in year 2 she was the love of my life and that we were going to get married. I didn’t see anyone else for me, and the way I treated her reflected that. So for this “dream” (sure) to come up, then for her to act like I had no reason to be annoyed by how she was evasive about what the dream meant to her, blew this up. I asked repeatedly, in plain language, what does this mean, and she said “If you’re asking am I going to follow the dream, I’m not.” I wasn’t asking that at all. She then revealed that if she were to get to the point of being tired of waiting to be engaged in real life, she would “have to see how she felt in the moment,” which is a crazy ass answer. Nonetheless, the convo ended peacefully but I knew she was still mad, which didn’t make sense to me then and doesn’t now.

About two weeks after that (two week intervals were very big for me in 2024), we had a text convo about my mental health struggles, the despair of my mom’s now up and down health, my changing family dynamics, my career issues; basically, everything bothering me. I was the lowest I had ever been in my life. I was honest with her about how terrible and depressed I felt, like things would never get better for me internally and externally.

The next day, she texted me and said “I’m having trouble staying positive about your situation.” It is one thing to feel like someone you love is in dire circumstances; it’s something else entirely to tell them you are running out of hope for them, when they already have little hope for themselves. It was such a strange and hurtful thing to say, but I was so upset about my life, I just moved on. She didn’t try and clean it up or anything; she felt how she felt.

Over the next month, she would begin to distance herself from me, one time outright disappearing for a day and not speaking to me when I started texting her about my struggles again, then telling me she was busy with such things as watching the Netflix turd known as The Circle and working out. She was gone from the early afternoon until the next morning, something she does not do. When I asked her about it that morning, she acted like her behavior was normal and that I was acting weird for asking about it. Just a bunch of dumb ass excuses to cloud the truth; the terrible circumstances I had to face due to my mother’s illness, which I didn’t choose, made her just stop caring about me and what I had going on. My mom falling ill and music journalism collapsing in on itself changed my timeline for everything; there wasn’t shit I could do about that, and she knew. She was too much of a coward to say it was too much and she wanted to leave; she just became more and more callous.

This all culminated in her sharing that she feels a lot of “angst” in our relationship, mostly connected to us not having a plan for our relocation (she didn’t want to stay in Texas). The issue at the core of this is, she told me she wanted to move to another state; since we were long distance, the goal was to live together once that move happened. I told her since I have the flexible career (journalism) and she didn’t (oncology), she should look up the cities she can work in, then bring them to me and we use that as a starting point. She agreed. She then spent three years and only found 3 states, which I had to keep asking her over and over to give me. She spent years dragging her feet, and now, with an ailing mother and my life falling apart by the day, she felt it was urgent.

This led to her saying I “blamed” her for us not moving, 4 days of angry texting that led to her telling me she was not going to talk to me until the weekend (she shared this on a Wednesday in mid-October). I have expressed since the first year of our relationship that I don’t like the silent treatment/disappearing act, especially in a long distance relationship, because it’s unfair to me and also dangerous. If something happened to her or something happened to me, how would either party know if one half is intentionally ignoring the other? She knew how I felt about that behavior, and decided to do it for 4 days because she felt disrespected, something she would then not be able to explain when asked about it once she resurfaced. I wasn’t rude, I didn’t curse at her (because I don’t do that), I didnt yell, I was just tired of everything deteriorating, followed by vague answers as to why any of this escalating. She simply didn’t want to deal with her very real desire to walk because my life was fucked up, and chose to bullshit around that point.

We got on the phone that Sunday night. Longest phone call of my life. We spoke for 3.5 hours, but I knew my relationship was over in the first five minutes. As I mentioned earlier, she didn’t answer when I called to tell her my mom got admitted to the hospital. She didn’t answer again about 13 months later when my mom had to go back to the hospital late at night. I wasn’t tripping, but remember that she said she would handle it the first time. She called me later that morning and tested it like a day later; still wouldn’t work. She told me she would address it, and I moved on. I didn’t bring it up repeatedly, I really didn’t care since she said she’d take care of it.

Five minutes into that three hour call, I asked why didnt she take her phone into her service provider’s store and let them fix whatever the issue was with her DND. She interrupted me to say “…because I don’t have time for that shit and its not a high priority right now.” I was so taken aback by this answer that all I could muster was a “Wow.” You had a year plus to figure out why your phone literally doesn’t ring when your long distance boyfriend, with a sick mother, calls you after 12. I wasn’t calling to make kissy sounds in the phone, it was for an emergency every single time. This did not matter to her and I had to accept what I had thought for the last 2 months; the woman I planned to spend the rest of my life with, no longer gave a fuck about me. I kept talking because I wanted to give her the floor to share whatever her grievances truly were and well…..that was a ride.

Before we got to what she was upset about, she tried to defend disappearing for four days, before giving up and admitting it was excessive. Then she brings up us relocating, and starts arguing with and disputing that she wasn’t telling me where she wanted to move, along with not telling me when she wanted me to move in with her in Houston, temporarily, before a bigger move. This back and forth lasts too long, and out of nowhere she says “You’re right.” After my confusion, she reveals that she was “intentionally” not giving me any info on either move because she knew I was going through a lot with my mother, my family and my career. As if she was doing me a favor.

She made it seem like her leaving me in the dark was some sort of noble deed, after arguing that she wasn’t doing so. There is a way to discuss us moving, with tact. The answer is not to have developments, not tell me, then tell me you didn’t tell me because I was having a difficult time, which is indirectly blaming me for something I didn’t tell you to do. To be honest, I don’t believe this at all; I think it was just a convenient excuse. She wasn’t telling me and concocted a non-existent argument because she just wanted to go.

The convo continues on and she says something to me that I thought people only said in movies. “So you’re perfect?,” she exclaimed, after 10-15 mins of me airing grievances that she both couldn’t defend or explain. She tried to get me to “guess” what I did wrong in my relationship; when I refused and told her to say what she had a problem with, she shared the most callous shit I’ve ever heard from a woman.

Her first issue with me? She felt I took too long to get medicated, for my mental health struggles. I have generalized anxiety disorder and depression. I wasn’t angry, or abusive, or horrible to people…I was just sad and heartbroken all the time. I was afraid my cancer-stricken mother was going to die every day, I had no money, I was struggling as me and my family went through this uncharted territory; I was in pain. She expressed long ago that she was pretty much tired of me talking about how upset I was all the time, and that’s what she wanted the medicine to do; shut me the fuck up.

I didn’t get medicated for over a year because to put it plainly? I was afraid. I grew up being taught not-so-great things about taking mental health meds and I was afraid of side effects, personally. I had to push myself through that and decided to go get help when I couldn’t breathe as we waited for the results of one of my mom’s many CAT scans. Funnily enough, I was only given a low dosage of Trazodone. So, I’m being made to feel like shit over a medication that isn’t that serious at all. After I explained everything I said here, she said “That doesn’t make sense.”

Her next grievance was also ice cold. She told me she would have handled my depressive episode better than me. Yes, me being miserable over my mother being sick and the other stressors in my life, she would have done a better job than me. I was calm for the entire call; this was the comment that truly pissed me off. She has never experienced what I was dealing with, there is no comparison to make. She was angry that I didn’t ask how she was doing over a course of four text conversations; she bought it up when it happened, which was weeks before. I apologized and we were fine. For some reason, she bought it back up, and I was lost as to what she wanted me to do. It was never intentional. I told her “If I forgot to ask how you were doing, why wouldn’t you assume I was really struggling at the time?” She responded with, “Oh, I knew you were [struggling].” Very well then.

We finally end the call, she texts me the next morning saying she can’t talk because she’s behind in work because of our convo/issues last week. She then starts talking to me about when she wants me to mail her gift to her crib (her birthday was the next day) since she was going to be out of town at a festival in Atlanta. I knew about the festival, but the audacity to talk to me about your bday gift (which was never sent), along with you now having no time to discuss all that crazy shit you said last night, was insulting. She also suddenly realized she should take her phone to get fixed after saying it wasn’t important the night before; she knew what she said the night before about her not having time or prioritizing was both mean and bullshit. And no, she didn’t apologize for saying that.

I told her in that very same text convo that I no longer want to be with her based on her behavior as of recently and the things she said on that call. I gave her the option of getting on the phone to talk, but if she didn’t that’s fine too. Not only did she not call, she didnt text, she didn’t say another word.

Things were bad. Then my mom called me into her room to tell me she had to go back on chemo, but did not want to tell me because she knew I was upset about my breakup. The illness that would eventually take my mother away from me was worsening, and she still thought to protect me first, by waiting a couple days to tell me. I now finally knew the difference between someone who truly loves you, and someone who just says it.

I have not heard a word from someone I dated for 5 years, since October 21st of last year. She treated me like shit, then disappeared in silence. She didn’t send condolences after my mother died this April either, and she knew, because a bunch of her friends took it upon themselves to reach out to me. You really never know how someone will abandon you, but I found out, in the most difficult time I’ve ever faced.

Jun 16 2025

Cancer, My Momma and Me.

In July 2023, my mom’s longtime doctor called and told her that she needed to be rushed to the hospital. Her red blood cell count was so out of whack that he thought she was bleeding internally. At this point, my mother was very depressed over her younger sister’s death, leading to her eating less, sleeping a lot, and being in a general state of malaise I’d never seen from her. I knew she was sad and really needed help, but I never thought she was sick. I used to tell her to go to the doctor for a check-up all the time; she ominously told me right before she went that she was concerned that she might be really ill and decided to cancel my long-distance, now ex-girlfriend coming over for dinner. In something my family has said a lot since my mother’s passing, she knew.

My mom got admitted to the hospital around midnight. Back at home, I was eating once a day, and not sleeping. I was terrified, and seeing my mom in a hospital bed was really difficult. One day during this stay, I walked in as a doctor said she had liver cancer, which didn’t make sense to any of us, based on her habits. They came back in the next day and said they believed she had colon cancer which had metastasized to her liver.

Easier to treat than liver cancer and much more sensible to me, I was kind of ok with the doctor’s (unconfirmed) diagnosis. But I was still in serious denial. My mom? Handled it incredibly. She admitted she cried with my father the first time they believed she had cancer, but by day 3, she was just willing to do what she had to, to get better. Meanwhile? I’m losing my fucking mind, but hiding that from my mother. She got discharged on the 6th day after a biopsy earlier in the week; we had to go home and wait to see what the results were.

I believe we had to wait about a week and a half. In that time, my dad came home and revealed that he had a mass in his colon, discovered during his routine colonoscopy. He would need surgery to remove it, and they took a sample from the mass to check it for colon cancer. So, in short, me and my family had to wait to find out if both of my parents had colon cancer at the same time. I can only describe the experience as feeling like the top of my head was exploding, every day, with no relief; I don’t know how I survived. My dad’s sample came back clean, but after his successful surgery that cured him, they found out he actually did have a very mild form of colon cancer; my mom’s biopsy revealed that she had Stage IV colon cancer, that had spread to her lungs and liver, and she would have to start chemotherapy.

My mother made it a point to tell me, my sister and my dad that she wasn’t going to die immediately, because God was going to give us time to prepare for her to go. Yet again, she knew.

My mother’s first course of chemo was from August 2023 until mid-February 2024, just after my birthday (Valentine’s Day). My mom was a medical miracle; at 68 years old with advanced cancer, the chemo had shrunk half of her lesions and totally removed the cancer from her colon. We all went to the cancer center to see her ring the bell; we took photos and videos that never saw the light of day because my mother was very private about her illness. She was so happy that she cried; I felt tears welling up in my eyes that day, and I do right now. That was when my mom was the most like herself, and once she got put on immunotherapy, which was just an injection she got every 3 weeks, she only got better and better.

Now that her illness was taking less out of her, my mom returned to traveling with my father, one of her favorite things to do. My mother is very funny and incredibly smart; I’m wiping tears of grief and pride thinking about how unique her personality was. I knew my mother was doing better, because not only did she have a lot more energy, but she was back to talking shit about people.

My mom had to be taken to the hospital again in December 2024, one of a flurry of hospital stays throughout the year. When she got there, the oncologist on-site saw her and said her chemo wasn’t working. He ended up being correct; my mom was continuing to lose weight and struggling to eat. My mother was in the hospital for 5 days, even through NYE. Her personal oncologist took her off of that chemo in January, and switched her to chemo pills. The advantage of the pills is they would be easier on my mother’s system and she wouldn’t need to go down the stairs and leave the house, a task that was becoming more difficult for her with each passing week.

I regularly cooked for my mom, handled any day to day issues that came up, and helped her walk around the house. The neuropathy from all the chemo took away the sensitivity in her hands, making it hard for her to pick her pills up. I used to drop them in her mouth, and hold her water bottle, that was now too heavy for her. Seeing her that weak really killed me. This was all so sad, but my mind was set on helping her no matter what. How poorly she was doing was barely registering, but I felt it in my spirit. I felt in my (ongoing) inability to sleep, because I fashioned myself into a light sleeper so I could jump out of the bed and help her in crisis situations, which started to happen with more and more frequency. I felt it in my constant anxiety and fear, worried I was going to find my mother dead in her bed every morning.

My mom had to be taken to the hospital again in April because she had jaundice. I mentioned her eyes to my sister, and she said she had already noticed it. My sister called it in, and her oncologist said she had to go to the hospital to get her liver checked. I was honestly too afraid to call myself, because my mom had been in the hospital barely 2 weeks before, now so weak that she had to be taken home via ambulette, with the EMTs strapping her down flat to a stretcher and carrying her up the steps. I praise my sister for taking the initiative, and her courage got my mother examined.

Ultimately, they couldn’t help her. Her eyes and tears were yellow because the cancer in her liver was worsening, and there was no area where they could stent it and free the bile. On her second to last day, two doctors came in and told us that my mom’s options for cancer treatment are limited, that they didn’t believe she could keep doing chemo because of the state of her bones. You need healthy bones to produce red blood cells; my mom’s skeleton was so worn down from both the chemo and the cancer spreading to bones in her back, that her count was struggling to recover. It was up to my mom’s main oncologist to decide on the next step, on May 20th, a date I dreaded. I fully expected her to tell me my mom was going to die, that day.

My mom was discharged on April 17. They sent her home with the kind of aid she rejected in the past; she now had an in-home physical therapist, a home health aide 3 times a week, and a nurse dropping by to check on her. All 3 of these women were excellent to my mother, but that week is when I realized she would need even more help. She needed an aide that was around more often, and part of the reason my mom finally accepted that kind of help, was to ease the weight on me of taking care of her. I went out more, but my mom was on my mind at all times. I was enjoying myself (I guess) but it was very difficult.

The morning of April 26 at 9:01 am, I was woken up by my sister calling my phone, urging me to go in my mother’s room, because she believed she was home alone. I went in, reassured her, rearranged her in bed and fixed her pillows with my dad, and left the room, as she told us to go. At this point in my mom’s life, she couldn’t really move her legs or body in bed (due to muscle atrophy), so we would have to move them into comfortable positions. I fell asleep, and my eyes jolted open at noon, my own voice in my head saying “CHECK ON MOMMY NOW.” I went back in that room and what I saw broke my heart.

My mother was trying to talk to me but was nonverbal, just grunting through her clenched teeth, and not blinking. Then she started breathing heavily, almost panting. I yelled for my father, who ran upstairs and held her. We alternated in and out of the room, as I called 911 and we had to get dressed; we’ve called the ambulance for her so many times that we had a system. When I went into my room to find a hoodie to put on, I was panicking and couldn’t find anything. I heard, again, my own voice say to me, “Your mother is going to die. Stop rushing.” I immediately calmed down, slowly looked and found my hoodie immediately. I felt calm rinse over me, but I also hoped I was wrong. But I knew I wasn’t. I knew.

I went in that room and she was breathing so lightly that I thought she stopped. I yelled for my dad again, he runs to the bed and is cradling her in his arms. She took two more breaths and left us, and that was the last time I saw my mother alive. She passed before the EMTs got up the steps, and I will never forget how their demeanor changed when I led them to my mother. They relaxed, and had a gentle ease about them that I didn’t see in the many EMT duos I’ve seen in her room. They knew. One of the EMTs put the oximeter on her finger and it was flatlined, and never activated. I pretty much saw that and broke down with my father. Then I called my sister and relayed the bad news.

My friends, my sister with her boyfriend in tow, and my cousin rushed to the house, the officers and EMTs were wonderful to us in such a difficult situation, everyone went above and beyond. My mother passed peacefully, in the bed she loved, in the house she loved, in the arms of the love of her life. She would not have wanted it any other way. Her head rested on her pillows, turned towards the big window in her room. The sun illuminated her so beautifully, and she looked so pleased, that I had to remind myself she was gone. Even typing it right now, I can’t believe it.

Of course, my mom is always with us through her lessons, wisdom and eternal love, but not hearing that laugh ever again hurts me so, so deeply. My mother was in an unbelievable amount of pain, so I don’t want her here on Earth with us, suffering so I can see her face. I am at peace with her having to go, because honestly, things were dire. But I miss her, and not in the overt ways. The silliest shit will happen to me, and I’ll think “I gotta tell mom.” And I still can, but it’s not the same. Those few days after my mother’s death, I felt like I got so many random breaks, and got nudged out of so many poor decisions, that it had to be my mom’s doing. Whether it’s because she pulled strings in a metaphysical sense, or because her guidance still rang true in my spirit, my momma got me. She is still maneuvering things for me, I feel it every day.

When my mother died, I felt freed, which made me feel weird. I felt my desire to die, or totally give up on my life, lifted off of me when my mom left the earthly plane. These last 2 years were extremely difficult for me, between my mom’s health. my break up and my carer woes. When the sun hit me when I stepped outside, all of that was gone. I was good now. I had hope. My mom gave me a lot of things, but her death bought me back to myself. She outright told me that it wasn’t fair that I had to take care of her, that I should be enjoying my life and not spending my time worrying and making sure she was ok. I understood her passing as a chance to live for myself, because that’s what she wanted me to do. My mom handed me something that I could not give myself, as she always has. Selfless still, even in the afterlife.

As difficult as the last few months of my mom’s life were, we had a lot of good times. The smile on her face when we ate together, especially her favorite at the time, Japanese food. The way she used to laugh at my ridiculous observations, the way her laughter filled the floor anytime my sister came over. Me and my mom used to discuss politics, social issues, nutrition, you name it. I loved watching her random YouTube finds with her, whether it be women camping in far off lands or cruise ship reviews, or laughing at the insanity of Disney adults. I was happy to spend time with her, I took taking care of her as an honor, as a deeply held responsibility. My mom sometimes felt like she was a burden, but she was not. I’ve never missed a burden in my life.

I have handled her death pretty well emotionally, but seeing her casket get lowered in the ground was when I felt forced to accept everything. Since her death, I couldn’t remember her voice; it was like my brain was blocking how she sounded to shield me from the pain. But as she was lowered into her resting place, I could hear her saying “Best Son Ever!” which she called me all the time, and I only started to accept in her later days. As soon as I heard her voice in my mind, my eyes filled with tears. I will never be the same, but I’m not supposed to be. I died with my momma too, but I get to take steps to becoming whole with each passing day, and she made sure that I’d be able to do so.

Aug 13 2024

within the trench.

My mother has been asking me for years, when will I write on here again. That time is now.

My feelings on what’s considered a “normal” online presence have evolved; I don’t owe anyone anything regarding my life. I barely post on Instagram because I need some parts of my life, for myself. My distaste for Twitter worsens by the month. The way social media has wound itself into everything leads to a feeling of always having to be “present” and posting, and I just don’t find that interesting anymore.

As time went on, I felt less-inclined to talk about my life, because really fucked up things were happening to me. I had to go through the (still-active) pandemic in 2020 like everyone else, but I also had a house fire to contend with, where I narrowly got my parents out of the house. I found out King Von had been killed, who I had a growing relationship and who successfully launched my XXL IG Live show less than a week before. I was alone in my girlfriend’s apartment, tears streaming down my face. Things would become more difficult for me, going forward.

In the summer of 2022, both of my parents got COVID at the same time; I took care of the both of them for a little over 2 weeks without getting it myself, afraid they were going to die for pretty much that first week. When my mom recovered, she felt good enough to return my Auntie Leslie’s call, as she didn’t really have the energy for phone calls. My family’s relationship with my aunt has been up and down, due to her mental health struggles and what comes with that, but her and my mother had recently fices their relationship. My aunt didn’t answer my mom’s multiple calls. My sister went to go check on my aunt and all she found was her apartment window open, lights on, the horrifying smell of death wafting out. I was with my mom, who was now hysterical but hoping for the best. I was too, but it was too late. My aunt was dead, and she wasn’t even in the apartment; her body had been taken out of it days before, courtesy of the police and her landlord never notified anyone. My aunt passed in her sleep from COVID complications, right as my parents recovered from the same virus. We never saw it coming.

I loved my aunt and I wish I spoke to her more, and I should have pushed harder to make things right when things were rough between her and my family. But she knows how I felt. And she really helped me build my self-esteem, as I was a very shy, often-teased kid growing up. She told me she was proud of me all the time, and that shit really kept me going more times than she will ever know.

I didn’t know what to do when she died, honestly. I sent her a long series of texts soon after, and I realized we didn’t have a lot left unsaid. I wish we got to hang out as two adults, because I’ve really come into my own, and because I knew I could always be honest with her about what was going on with me. She is KEY in my love for Janet Jackson and dance music, and more importantly, for wanting to extract joy out of life.

I spoke at her funeral and all I remember is bringing up when she turned on Janet Jackson’s “Go Deep” video on every TV in my childhood apartment and singing and dancing as loud as she could, when I wanted to go to sleep. I was sobbing, because that ridiculous memory that scared the hell out of me back then was now something I really cherished. I need to be more like my auntie, I always wished I was; I’ve always been very guarded until my mid-to-late 20s. I feel I’ve fallen short of her example, and it eats at me from time to time, just like when I passed on hanging out with her at NBA All Star Weekend, because I was running around with my then-girlfriend. Those chances don’t come back and I have to live with that. I will miss my aunt forever, but I live in honor of her, because I know I couldn’t become the person I am, without her in my corner.

Jan 10 2017

Jealousy, also a male trait.

 

How would you feel  if someone you were dating and really liked, had a crush on someone famous, and that person was….accessible? I don’t mean “he retweeted her once”, I mean, they’ve met, or he frequents the same clubs she does, or even lives in your city. Would you care, or would you just brush it off?

Let me just save you some time: I cared. I cared for a very long time.

From about the time I was 19, I wanted to be in the music industry. I was always into music, but I couldn’t rap, sing, make beats, or play any instruments. Thus, I always wondered where and how I would fit in. I eventually found my way.

Working towards this dream, and talking all over the internet about being in the industry, thrusts you into different circles. Now I’m amongst like minded individuals, who want to do things in entertainment, in journalism, who like being in those scenes. And some of them are hot girls. A LOT OF THEM, ARE HOT GIRLS.

One would think that if you’re dating women who are constantly amongst famous and handsome dudes as part of their careers, maybe you’d have your jealousy under control beforehand.

LOL.

 

About 4 years ago, my girlfriend and I were talking about when she interviewed A$AP Rocky. She started giggling and talking about how he dresses and my jealousy switch flipped to ON. She saw me tensing up and she said “Oh Robby, come on. He was just really nice to me. Ferg is the one who made me blush!” She laughed at me, at how ridiculous I was being over all of this. She kept teasing me then gave me a kiss, so I would stop being so jealous. I immediately thought “WOWWWWWW I gotta give up A$AP now?? This love shit is COSTLY!” This was just the beginning.

In the summer of 2014, me and my relatively new date were walking around LES, trying to get a drink or 3. We end up bumping into her friends and they all decide to go to Beauty and Essex. If you’ve never been, it’s pretty nice in there, and I had only heard of it up to that point, so why not? We get in, we talk and drink a little, everything is cool. We go in the back to the couches and sit down, and there is where things went left.

In walks Mack Wilds. You know who Mack Wilds is (or you should). He’s an actor, singer, and most relevant of all to this story, he’s from NYC. Now I knew beforehand that my date had a tremendous crush on him, but I didn’t know how deep it went.

When she saw him, I kid you not, she started reapplying her lip gloss and checking her make up and hair. She was also hyperventilating. This situation is now in the red, and I don’t know what to do. I legit remember the sweat forming on my brow, and me thinking “AM I ABOUT TO GET MY DATE STOLEN BY SON FROM THE WIRE???”. I strongly thought about just leaving her ass in there, but I didn’t feel like that was a real way to go about it. I let it play out; he didn’t come over or say anything. We eventually left, I told her bye, and I got up outta there. She apologized soon after, and we even kept dating after that, surprise! Still, that shit was harrowing. I really don’t feel threatened by other dudes, but I felt threatened as HELL that night. I also liked his album! And The Wire! And The Breaks!

There was the girl who just LOVED Jesse Boykins III. Not to trivialize her as just some girl who was obsessed with a singer; I liked her a lot, and that feeling was mutual. I’m also a fan, but her tendency to constantly bring him up started to rub me the wrong way. On one date, she just went off on this tangent about how he just moved to Brooklyn, and how she hoped they’d cross paths. I mentally checked out and let her go on…until I just decided I had enough. She tried to make it seem like she wasn’t doing too much, and I was kind of uncomfortable for the next half hour or so. Now that I think of it, I’m starting to wonder if she was trying to make me feel….jealous? If so, she succeeded. After we stopped dating (it ended poorly), I kind of avoided his music for a while, because I actually couldn’t deal with it.

But why am I like this? What was I afraid of? Is my ego set so that I couldn’t deal with losing a girl to someone famous? Maybe I didn’t really believe in myself. I think once your self esteem gets to the right place, you tend to not move so fearfully. Crushes are crushes; this doesn’t mean they’ll be acted on. I feel like a part of it can even be an inferiority complex, where you feel you can’t match up. In my experience, those girls liked me enough to not just choose someone else over me, and maybe I shouldn’t have sweated it so much.

I shouldn’t have let jealousy get to me. I never acted out, but I spent a lot of time behind the scenes, quietly upset and fearful that I’d lose out to someone who was just more….everything, than me. I think what I had trouble grasping, was that women can sometimes see you as much more than you appear; you can be more than your outward appearance, your job, your social status. If a woman really feels strongly about you, it’s not as likely that she’ll just discard you for a famous dude. I feel like that’s a lot of guys’ worst nightmare, but I’ve looked it in the eyes a few times, and I’ve come out better for it. Don’t be afraid of her celeb crush sending a tweet and sweeping her off her feet while you’re at your regular ass job; she probably really likes you and values you more than him. Just treat her right, listen, and don’t answer her questions with a question; you’ll be ok.

Nov 11 2015

loved.

I was afraid.

I inherently knew that I had to go back to my alma mater.

Not the school so much, but really, the city.

I had been through so much, this year. I knew I had to go where the love was at. Where I didn’t have to worry about arbitrary shit like “is my ex gonna be here?” and “what passive aggressive bullshit will I have to deal with today?”.

Just love. Love. That’s all I remember about Norfolk. Love. Any bullshit I had to deal with in undergrad melted away. Or I forgot about it. Or I grew past it. Past beefs no longer exist. It’s like entering another planet.

Nothing like home.

NYC is toxic. I needed a break from all that poison in the air, literally and figuratively. I can’t leave just yet, my life has really trended upward itself in the last few months. There’s a ton of opportunity; opportunities I can really take advantage of. With that said, NYC still kills you. Slowly. People will try to sell you on otherwise; they also tie their identity to living in NYC. I am not one of those people.

But I still love my city. And my borough. But when you spend a good year, year and a half, dealing with terrible experiences in it, you may need to go elsewhere for a few.

So I left.

What I was so afraid of was…….had my experiences permanently changed me? Do my friends in VA love someone who no longer exists? I am a dramatically different person from this time, last year. I physically don’t look the same (hours of gym solitude, with bouts of terrible, depression fueled eating in between), I am on another plane emotionally, and I am nowhere near as spiritually in sync as I once was. All of these things together affect your personality, what you do, what makes you smile, what pisses you off, etc. I was afraid that my friends would not recognize me, that we couldn’t hang out and laugh like we used to. The free-wheeling, carefree Robert was dormant for so long, could I bring him back? Was he even real anymore? I didn’t know. I never knew.

I was so concerned because…that’s my biggest fear. I have always been afraid of “losing myself”. I’ve watched people work their asses off to become successful, get there, and completely lose touch. I’ve witnessed people go through incredibly painful situations and never be the same after. The fact that these could become my reality, terrifies me. I have been afraid of recognition and being great at what I do (whatever that may be), forever. I never really think my bad experiences have affected me long term, but they certainly have. I’ve seen the pitfalls up close; I didn’t want to be a victim.

I knew that I was coming off of a bad stretch, and depression (and anxiety!) that existed before that only worsened over time. I was….sullen. I was not myself. Certain things going right for me, namely me getting into Cosmo and getting published on Noisey (the start of two things that have been dreams of mine, for a really long time). I felt…better.  Right before Homecoming, I started to feel regular again. But this would be a test; just how “regular” was I?

I was really regular.

Norfolk felt like 2009 again. Back when I was much happier. Back when I had weak ass struggle waves in my head. Back when everything was ok. Love at every turn. No pain. No suffering. No sadness at all. Old friends. New friends. It was great.

Everyone treated me like they always have. Some of them knew what was going on with me. They showed me a lot of concern, a lot of care, never made me feel awkward. It was therapeutic.

They didn’t have to look out for me. I haven’t stayed in touch as well as I need to. I don’t feel I’ve done enough as a friend.

But regardless of what I do (or don’t do), the love never left.

The love never left.

Sep 1 2015

Lessons from the Sun.

Worst summer of my life.

Easily.

I would love to tell you that it was just 3 months of struggle and INCREDIBLE emotional anguish, but that would be false.

It was UNENDING struggle and emotional anguish. I still, somehow, got a lot out of it.

Love them while they are with you.

I knew, in my heart of hearts, that my relationship was doomed.

I knew it. I tried my hardest still, don’t think I’ve tried that hard at anything.

Didn’t work. But when I felt us very quietly and subtly hitting those dire straits, and that building dissatisfaction (it feels like nausea that does not cease), I decided to do something.

I decided to value every single good moment we had, and to feel honored to share her presence.

Good times do not last forever, so please…please…..squeeze every ounce of happiness out of them that you can.

I cherished every high and faced every low.

Until the low was too much for me. My appreciation and honesty and dedication to a journey that had no light at the end of the tunnel was not enough to keep my relationship from ending so jarringly.

But I don’t regret my relationship, or how poorly it ended, nor do I feel bad for putting effort forth and still failing.

I’m glad I did it. I learned who I am; I learned who my significant other was. I learned who my friends were.

I don’t speak to my friend of …13 years, over this shit. I loved him too. I loved my girlfriend. They simply could no longer be in my life, they were killing me.

However, I won’t die internally at your hands. No, I will not.

I loved the two of them as much as I could, until my very being gave away. Until I couldn’t.

One person simply threw my trust and good will out of the window; the other just…doesn’t support me when I needed him to.

Loving someone so much that you would happily tear your own heart to shreds, to save them from themselves. A worthwhile sacrifice.

And I’ll do it again, with someone else.

The inherent darkness of my split(s) this summer have made me appreciate the good times with everyone…because they do not last forever, and I must be at peace with that.

There is no shame in being a broke boy (or girl).

I mean really, I’ve been broke for about a year.

My brokeness SPIKED in the last 6 months or so, along with my break up, loneliness, my worsening depression, my inability to find a job, and no longer being friends with a close friend.

All at once.

So I was pretty much in an endless cycle of misery and loneliness that kinda never…stopped? The carousel is turning as we speak.

I had nothing, I felt worthless, I could not do what I want.

I still don’t have anything, really, but I don’t feel so worthless. Not so often.

Me not having money is somewhat out of my hands. I’m certainly doing what I need to do to get jobs, it’s just not coming together at the moment. So, I am slowly not beating myself up over it anymore and just trying to live.

I’ve had A LOT of money. I’ve had NOTHING. Money is cyclical, it will come back to me in due time.

I can only try to become my best self and keep applying, and keep thinking of places that I can contribute to, and roles I’d like to fill one day.

I only don’t feel so worthless, because people have shared words and time with me.

And because money isn’t everything, and it doesn’t define me, and it never has.

People will light your darkness with their honesty.

Knowing how badly I was doing this summer, I’ve had a lot of heart to hearts with a lot of people. Some who have been very close to me for quite some time now. Some who I was cool with, but not much more. Some I barely knew.

I was just seeking clarity. In that search, people have admitted to really painful things that made me feel like “I am not alone, here”. They showed me what love was, in a different light. They told me I would be ok, when I didn’t think I would. I’m still not ok, actually. Without their words, I wouldn’t even be on the road to “ok”.

I would be in the depths.

And I spent most of the last 3-4 months, in the depths.

Still, people reached out to me, texted me, hung out with me, emailed me, even though I was a total fucking burden, and surely no fun to be around. I appreciate you fine folks, for real for real. if you knew of my situation and shared a word with me, you’re good with me. I have no idea how I can repay that, but I’ll find a way, somehow.

I am just gracious for what was once part of my life, that which is no longer, that which I have now, and that which I will have later.

That is all that matters.

Jun 27 2015

bullshit.

Man.

Everything is crazy.

I broke up with my girlfriend about 4 weeks ago, I’ll probably never publicly explain why, just know it was fucked up. No one cheated.

While breakups are terrible, the fallout that comes with them may actually be worse.

I’ve kinda had to weather the storm, so to speak. I am definitely lonely, and I sometimes feel a vague listlessness that is just “there”. I’m doing MUCH…MUCH better now than I was at first, but I did what I had to do.

In the first two weeks, I had to clench my jaw so I wouldn’t throw up, on a daily basis. I was consistently nauseous. That is how much the shit was bothering me.

So, I dealt with that, I didn’t do any dumb shit, I didn’t diss my ex then, and I will not now. My healing regimen is solely based on seeking inner peace and making sure I’m around people who love me. I didn’t know being amongst people who put your well-being first felt like this; its been quite some time.

I’ve learned that people don’t actually know me, at all. People who have known me forever.

When some foul shit happens, they accuse me of being motivated by things that have never meant anything to me.

I was told I broke up with my girlfriend because I wanted to be single for the summer.  Not a chance.

If you think I broke up with my girlfriend because I wanted to get my meat moistened by other women and have more time to listen to Young Thug, you are a moron.

“You don’t work through things” “You don’t care about your girlfriend”. “You’re selfish”, “You’re unfair”.

There’s an underlying problem with all of this shit throwing. When you date someone for a year, there will be things you have to overcome between the two of you. I did it. I did it multiple times. I didn’t say a word publicly, because I respect her up to this very moment. To say I don’t care, or I don’t work through things, or I’m not loyal….when I’ve TRULY given all of myself, is amazing. Even worse, I’m all about justice and always have been. So “fairness” is paramount to me, even though very few things about reality are “fair”.

I’ve had to listen to these things, while I mourned my own relationship. I was even spoken to as if I enjoy breakups. Ive been dumped twice, I’ve initiated break ups twice(only two were “actual” relationships). All 4 were extremely trash, albeit this one isn’t as bad as the last one. If I could AVOID breakups, I would. And good lord, did I try to avoid this one.

I’ll never tell you what to tolerate and not tolerate in your relationships. Do know, however, that if you tolerate something you actually can’t deal with, it’s going to kill you from the inside. Then your choice becomes “do something about it” or “die”. I hope you won’t choose the latter.

I will never be that person who bends their moral and personal standards so far that they are no longer themselves, Just to keep the peace. Just to be happy. Just for “things to be ok”. My ex is a good enough person, but I can’t get down with certain shit she does, that she is not willing to change. So, I went on my way.

I knew in my heart and soul I could not deal with said transgression long term. So I made my choice. That should be fine with everyone. It’s not. Oh well.

When I say “transgression” do know I don’t mean “STOP MAKING ME SLEEP IN THE WET SPOT!!” or “HOW MANY TIMES ARE WE GONNA WATCH LOVE AND HIP HOP, OMFG!”. It was SERIOUS. You can ask anyone who dated me (no you can’t, you don’t know them), I’m really not a nitpicker, I’m going to let you live. I just want you to be safe, I want you to be happy, I want you to be alive. I don’t care about anything else, honestly. I want you to operate as your best self, even if our visions don’t align on what that means.

People are treating me “differently”….because I broke up with a woman. It’s unbelievable. It’s irritating. It’s a SUPER minority (I’m talking less than 5 people here), but it exists. I haven’t really paid attention to it recently, but the fact that they even EXIST makes my blood boil.

One of my very close friends told me “you always run, you should talk it out, you don’t love your girlfriend???”, the MINUTE I told him we split. No “are you ok?” or “whats been going on with you two”, just that, scolding. Chastizing. Then acted like I was ridiculous for requesting empathy first and disagreement later. He went on to say that “I always take the moral high ground and expect it from other people”, as if what I ask is too much or the wrong thing to do.

Took him two weeks and two separate arguments to admit he was wrong. I just stopped speaking.  We probably won’t be speaking too much going forward, because he’s done this repeatedly, and questioned my character in such bullshit ways. He told me to not break up with a previous girl and said I was being hasty, and “omg she’s so cool and so smart how could you” etc., etc and basically went to war with me over MY breakup. Never mind the fact that said girl came back in a few months and said “you were right for dumping me, I understand why.” So if she understands, why can’t you? And if I’m of such poor character, wouldn’t this be coming from someone else? It NEVER has. It’s all so crazy.

Her “mistake” that did us in, opened my eyes to other weak points in our relationship that I didn’t make enough of a stir about, that I let spin out of control. I am an enabler, in that sense. That means I wasn’t without blame for what my relationship became. But it simply was past the point of fixing. So I stepped up and handled it. Predictably, she said some totally out of line things in the aftermath, that just solidified my decision. I don’t lose sleep over those words; I don’t lose sleep over being vilified by people that don’t matter. I can only be true to myself, and I live that every day I wake up.

Apr 9 2015

mortality. (love your people.)

I saw my grandmother get cremated.

I was still a child. My dear grandma Lorna. I saw it. I was about 16, maybe. It was right after her funeral ended. I don’t know how I even ended up witnessing this in the mausoleum…but I did. The shit hurt me so much that I didn’t even cry. Until this moment right now, I wasn’t even sure that what I saw was even a “thing”. Denial. Everything I just read about cremation after funerals… matched exactly what I saw. Just a casket rolling into flames. As my family talked to the mausoleum staff. Beautiful service. Beautiful woman. Terrifying imagery. She died so suddenly that I didn’t get to process she was gone; that cremation skipped my emotions to the end of the book. I feel like she’s still with me all the time, and I’m 27 years old now. I tend to find it corny when people say the deceased are “still with them”. But I get it now. I get it today.

That situation made me avoid funerals as much as I could, going forward.

One of my good friends in HS lost his mother a few years ago. I love that guy. I didn’t go to the funeral. I couldn’t. Mentally, it was not an option. I felt bad for years. Felt like I left him hanging (because I did). Cowardly shit. I should have been there at that tough time.

I saw him 2 months ago, after not seeing him since then, pretty much. It was all love, smiles, daps and hugs. I’m thankful that he didn’t take that personally. If he did, he didn’t express it to me. If he saw me and flipped on me, I’d deserve every part of it. But…he is a better man than me, clearly.

My best friend from college, my dog, my brother…he lost his mom too. Maybe 2 years ago. I knew she was sick, but the news blindsided me. He dealt with it quietly. Much love to him. Amazed at how strong he has remained since. I handled this better than the previous death I mentioned. I had to. Couldn’t fail my friend.

Most recently, my best friend from HS let me know about two weeks ahead of his mother passing. I knew the funeral would be soon. I knew I would have to go, to support, because of love, because I aim to do what’s right.

I was fucking terrified of that funeral.

I tried to convince myself that I didn’t have to go….selfishly. I just didn’t feel like I could take the trauma of a funeral. I let that go in a matter of days. I committed to going because I love him and his family. They have both been there for me at my absolute WORST. When I didn’t know what to do, he helped. When I went through an absolutely disastrous break up, he was right there with me. Broke, drunk, unappreciative; he accepted me and held me down.

So I was going. No matter what. I haven’t even been to a funeral since I was 19(my grandfather). I don’t go to church. I had no idea how funerals even play out.

But I went.

The funeral went perfectly. There was a lot of love in that room. I got to sit with my friends…so it wasn’t so bad. I went up to my man, as he stood inches from his mother’s open casket. He thanked me for something I put on this blog and said he appreciates it because I spoke from the heart. That familiar hot and teary feeling covered my eyes. I put my head down and just said “thank you, we’ll talk”. My eyes were as big as half dollars, trying to keep those tears in. I sped away to my seat. I spent the night blown away at how warm and inviting everyone was. I spoke to my boy, his girlfriend, showed his family love, then made my way back to the train and went home.

I texted my girlfriend and told her the funeral went well. She asked was my friend ok. I told her he was good…then I disappeared into the night, whisked away by the 2 train.

Feb 16 2015

one take rav.

I’m sitting here.

I’ve wanted to write for months.

Anyway, this lady on the news is angry that they are planning to tar down a historical mansion in Teatown. The board for the estate don’t have enough money to maintain the upkeep of the house.

I feel her pain.

But my first thought was…. “fuck all that.”

Very insensitive but ….it comes from a good place.

That mansion is an earthly thing. It is preserving the past, sure. However, the past never goes away. The past is not trapped in the earthly objects you hold so near and dear. They exists as thoughts, emotions…..memories.

I’ve been throwing shit away that years ago meant EVERYTHING to me. Memories work that way: they convince you that you haven’t changed, that you still are tied to the thing that you possess.

You are not. You are a soul. A soul in body. Doing stuff. Good stuff. Bad stuff. Shitty stuff. The soul has no need for things you can touch, fold, and look at longingly when you are by yourself.

Every time I throw something out (or give something away), I feel liberated. Which makes me think did I ever need all of this stuff? I love clothes. I give them away and never regret it. I give of myself and don’t see it so selfishly. I don’t have anything to prove anymore; I never really did. It actually kind of pisses me off that I ever felt the urge to prove my worth to others.

You can see someone’s self-worth not in what they possess, but in how they treat themselves.

I’ve treated myself like shit, many a time. But I always thought I was great. No matter what.

I don’t have shit, really. But I have EVERYTHING. My life is full of love and happiness, even when I feel miserable, even when I wish things would go my way a little more. But don’t they already go my way? Don’t I get to wake up everyday? Don’t I have family and friends who love me, even when I’m a dickhead? Don’t I have a girlfriend who looks me in the eye, sees me struggle & suffer, and still treats me like I’m a king?

I didn’t always have those things. But I always had clothes. I had more money than I knew what to do with. I had women in my life who probably weren’t out for my best interests but would definitely draw the applause of peers and adversaries alike. That’s the dream. That the 20-something black male dream. But fuck that dream. It never made me feel good. It never made me feel fulfilled. It made me feel stupid.

Those earthly, empty things made me feel whole. I was empty as fuck though. I still dedicated my life to my family and my friends and just making people smile and laugh. But I didn’t have that level of dedication to myself. So I always felt stretched thin. Having the outside world think so highly of me is moving; brings me to tears. But that gripping “man, this shit ain’t right, you gotta figure out a direction” feeling didn’t go away. I always had to “prove” something. Prove I could drink. Prove I was cool. Prove girls liked me, because they didn’t for most of my life. Prove.

Nothing felt right until I had literally nothing. I was never really into material shit, but when they no longer became a regular option, everything was different. Getting your job taken away from you and not knowing what you want to do, but knowing you have talent. Knowing that if you really didn’t give a fuck about how people viewed you, it would be put to the test. I’m surviving it, I think.

I feel full, now. I still worry too much. I still have minor issues. The difference is, my problems don’t feel so large and looming. I’ve learned how to stay in the sunlight. All i need is my loved ones and belief that I will be ok. I will be ok. Every breath I take is proof of such.