#facts: Being Honest w/ Myself

One of the hardest things for me to do is except harsh criticism from people close to me. It's not that I ever think that these people are wrong; they're often very right. Self reflection can often be one of our toughest tasks. It's hard to admit when others see areas that you need to improve in, that they are right. You know why?

It's because you have to look in the "mirror" and admit you were wrong!

I'm not talking about opinions or what other people feel. I'm talking about cold, hard, facts! For instance, when an ex girlfriend told my fairly new roommate at the time that I was "a nice enough guy" but that I "just drank too much". When my roommate mentioned to me what was said, I got indignant.

"Who was she to tell another person that about me?" I asked myself. "I don't drink that much. How dare she!"

Almost four years later, you know what conclusion I came to? She was right. 

About four or five months ago, my most recent ex girlfriend told me that I needed time to myself to "get my shit together". Guess what that was over, in part?

Yup! My drinking habit.

I used that as an example for two reasons. A) My drinking is probably one of the most criticized things in my life and B) it's one of the harshest realities that I have had to face about myself. I had to be honest and admit that not only was it true that I have a drinking problem, but that I had also began losing relationships over it. Even if that was only part of the issues in those relationships, it was still a fact.

I do have a drinking problem!

Being honest with oneself is hard for many of us, even over things that may not be as serious as alcoholism. I've looked at the trajectory of my personal life many times and had to admit that most of the struggles I have had has been due to me stubbornly holding onto my way of doing things. We all have to find ways to cope with things going on in our personal lives. Sometimes, though, how we choose to cope can lead to bigger issues.

I started drinking when I was 15 years old. Nothing crazy (not to say underage drinking isn't crazy, but just follow me), just a beer for the first time. I remember beer not being the best tasting thing I've ever had but it wasn't bad. I don't think I even tried liquor before I graduated high school. But once I turned 20 and then 21, I remember drinking quite a bit more. 

Access was the thing with me. At the time, my parents didn't really drink. My dad was a recovering alcoholic so there was never any liquor, beer or wine in the house.  But between the age of 20, 21, I got a job working at LaGuardia Airport in Queens, New York. The cargo office that I worked in was right next to one of the airport catering companies and a couple of the guys I worked with had some connections with a few people there. Every now and then we'd get "gifted" a couple of 30 gallon trash bags full of mini bottles of liquor. The liquor (and food at times) became available when an aircraft came "down the line" or at the end of its flight schedule for the day. Anything left on the aircraft couldn't go onto another aircraft so those items are technically "thrown out". The catering company workers would get first crack at whatever they wanted and some of that stuff made its way over to us. From that point on, I didn't have to buy any liquor for a little over two years (aside from buying stuff that I didn't have). And I only worked that job for about a year. I didn't know that was going to be the beginning of a 20 year battle with alcohol.

I lived in denial of a few things aside from the denial of being an alcoholic. There were things about myself that I didn't know. There were feelings I had about family issues that I was suppressing. I was in denial of my so-called spirituality. I didn't know I struggled with anxiety 'cus I was self medicating (I didn't even know that was a thing). I was searching for love 'cus I didn't acknowledge where it was missing in my life growing up. I drank when I was writing. I drank when I was hanging out. I drank before I got on stage to perform my poetry. I drank before, during and after sex 'cus I wasn't supposed to be having sex without being married. I rarely ever consciously drank for those reasons, but it eventually became an automatic thing. I didn't know I was creating a problem that had already consumed my father, one of my late grandmothers and others in my family.

In hindsight, I realize drinking was my way to deal with the things I couldn't process mentally. I've had some embarrassing moments where alcohol was involved. There are countless times where I don't remember much of anything after my first drink. There are times were I don't remember how I got home and times I can't believe I made it home. There may have been a wrecked car in the mix somewhere. I've brushed aside the concerned conversations from loved ones and close friends. I would drink before important events just to get through them or so that I could bring myself to go. I've lied about drinking when it was obvious that I was. I've argued with family trying to get me to not drive under the influence. I've promised people that I would stop drinking and I've promised myself that I would stop drinking. There was a time where my body seemingly told me that I was going to die and I vowed to give it up. 30 days later when I was no longer scared to drink I started back up, making excuses along the way.

I know I lost at least one relationship, in part, due to my alcohol use. Maybe all the other relationships fell apart for the same reason. You know what they say: "When everyone around you is telling you the same thing, they can't all be wrong". Everyone around me was right. I was beginning to believe them, even though I hated to hear it from some of them. But by that point, it was too late. Alcohol had a hold on me to the point where I was drinking even when I didn't want to, even when I knew I shouldn't have been. It was no longer a thing I was doing to have fun or calm down or just because.

It had become something I had to do...to survive.

In October of last year, I got my first ever DUI. I got booked but I was released just a few hours later without having to post bond. The Universe was definitely looking out for me there. In February of this year, with the COVID-19 pandemic raging, I hit that rock bottom that I had heard about so many times from other alcoholics and those who were going through some form of addiction. It was the second time within a year. The first time was unlike anything I had ever experienced. I convinced myself that all I had to do was just get through it and I would be ok. I got through it, barely. But the second one was much, much worse and it almost took me out, literally. So much was happening. Feelings that I never knew I would experience jumped on me and didn't let go. The alcohol stopped working. Another failed relationship left me feeling abandoned and alone for really the first time in my life. I had lost my job of 7 years at the beginning of the pandemic. I prayed for the first time in years...to not wake up. The next morning I was afraid to leave the house because I was afraid that I would do something that would keep me from making it back home. I had to go out for an appointment though, so I talked with a friend during that time. When I made it back to my apartment, I talked to my roommate. I was scared again. I cried. I asked for help.

I attended a few AA meetings and they were helpful but not enough. I made an appointment at an outpatient recovery center but on the day of the appointment, I allowed a friend who needed my help to be the excuse that made me blow it off. I was still drinking and still sinking deeper and deeper into this new depression. Eventually, I realized I needed to do more so I made the step and went back to the recovery center. Almost 3 months in, it's beginning to take hold and sobriety is beginning to look real. My anxiety even leveled off a bit. I've had some ups and downs and getting to this point hasn't been pretty, but it seems that I've turned a corner recently. Things are starting to look and feel different. I also know now, this is just the beginning of the rest of my life.

I decided to share this as a part of my recovery. I also shared this because even though I have some strong feelings about how a few things have transpired in my past relationships, especially the most recent one, I would not be in the place that I am now if those things hadn't happened. I've dealt with resentment towards that person but I've also felt an immense amount of gratitude towards them as well. I appreciate my roommate agreeing to be sort of an accountability partner for me and others who have witnessed my struggles and are continuing to give me grace.

I've decided to share this for another reason as well. Going through this recovery period introduced me to counseling. I'd been considering it for the past few years but I never associated my alcoholism with a need for therapy. It took one individual session to realize the correlation between the two. It's the single best thing I have done for myself and I wish I had done it earlier in life. So many things that I didn't realize was impacting me led me to using alcohol as a coping mechanism. I had convinced myself that I just liked to drink, and that was true. I also got used to lying to myself by telling myself I was ok even when I knew I was far from ok. Very far from it! Trauma from my childhood and my adult intimate relationships that I hadn't recognized was there was festering unresolved because I had normalized it. I didn't even know what that all meant.

Now, I do.

Now, I feel like I'm going to be ok.

Now, I don't feel like I am crazy.

Now, I know it is ok to ask for help and that asking for it is not a sign of weakness but actually a sign of strength and courage.

And even though those people that pointed out my faults were right about my alcoholism, that is not the sum of who I am. 

It's just something I am dealing with.

And I am grateful for finally deciding to take control of my life.

(side note: If you are reading this and are experiencing any sort of addiction or going through some tough times, talk to someone you trust. Consider some sort of therapy. If you don't feel like you are ok, don't overlook it. Don't normalize it. If you have experienced suicidal thoughts, please call the National Suicide Prevention Hotline at 800-273-8255 or visit suicidepreventionlifeline.org.)

Accountability But Still No Justice

 Let me start off by stating a few "facts".

Derek Chauvin murdered George Floyd. 

Myles Cosgrove murdered Breonna Taylor.

Kim Potter murdered Daunte Wright.

Darren Wilson murdered Mike Brown.

Amber Guyger murdered Botham Jean.

Daniel Pantaleo murdered Eric Garner.

Aaron Dean murdered Atatiana Jefferson.

These are just a few of the Black men and women who have been fatally shot and killed by police officers over the past few years or so. There are countless others stretching over the amount of time that I have been alive. There are still many others that we may not even know about. Each case has its own particular details, but one thing is true with each case:

They were all murdered!

Here is an actual fact that is shared by many of these cases:

Most of the officers involved in these shootings were never prosecuted.

The case against Derek Chauvin ended with him being found guilty of second and third degree murder and second degree manslaughter. He faces up 75 years in prison but is likely to serve no more than 40, since those sentences will likely run concurrently. As skeptical as many of us were that he would be found guilty, a lot of us are just as skeptical that he will receive a sentence that fits the crime.

The definition of murder is "the unlawful premeditated killing of one human being by another", according to the Oxford dictionary. The law breaks down murder and manslaughter in varying degrees, hence my placement of quotation marks around the word "facts" at the beginning of this blog post. History shows the law also broke down murder to avoid convicting white people who lynched and hung Black people just because they were Black.

Today is, and these aforementioned cases are, no different.

A lot of people reacted to the conviction of Derek Chauvin with words like "relief "and "accountability". Some people said they were glad to see justice had been served. Others made a clear distinction that accountability and justice were not the same. I whole heartedly agree that those two terms are completely different. Justice is defined one way as "the quality of being fair and reasonable". The term is also looked at to mean someone being arrested for a crime and ensure that they are tried in court. So justice absolutely means different things, by definition and by opinion.

But Derek Chauvin's conviction is not justice. It is merely accountability.

Accountability, simply put, means being held responsible for ones actions. Derek Chauvin being found guilty of killing George Floyd is what was supposed to happen! Derek Chauvin serving time in prison for killing George Floyd is what is supposed to happen! When you kneel on someone's neck for over 8 minutes while hearing them say that they cannot breathe, you murdered them. Maybe you didn't set out to murder that person when your day began, but that does not negate the fact that you had absolutely no regard for that person's life. As a police officer, Derek Chauvin was supposed to protect and serve and exhibit value for human life. He didn't, along with the other officers who did nothing to prevent George Floyd's death. Each of those officers should serve time right along with Chauvin. Police are supposed to be held to a higher standard. They are supposed to be held to a higher level of accountability. They, too often, are not.

In an ironic twist of fate, Daunte Wright was shot and killed by Kim Potter shortly before Chauvin was found guilty. She is said to have mistaken her gun for her Taser and was heard yelling "Taser, Taser, Taser!" before she fired a shot into Wright's chest. Like Floyd's case, Wright's killing was captured on video. But many of the aforementioned cases were caught on body cam, dashboard or cell phone video and no conviction occurred. The biggest consequence for some of these officers was that they lost their jobs or had to end their law enforcement careers immediately. So even in the face of explicit evidence, neither justice or accountability was served.

In the light of these recent police shootings, the cause for police reform in some counties, cities and states has been explored. To date, no substantial reform has occurred in many of these areas. I don't believe it ever will. The number of police shootings of Black men and women since the Chauvin verdict and the circumstances around them supports my feeling on that. Many will say that all police officers aren't rouge cops, that they take their jobs seriously and that they truly are out there trying to protect and serve. I believe that to be true. But the system in which these officers serve is corrupt and it has been since its inception. The system is not designed to hold police officers accountable to the fullest extent of the law. In many cases, the police as a whole are above the law they are commissioned to uphold. History shows an unwillingness for courts to indict officers in the cases, which allows these rogue officers to operate with no sense of impunity.

Again, NO ACCOUNTABILITY!

When it comes to Black unarmed men and women at their various points of engagement with the police, the so called "crime"rarely fits the "punishment". A number of these encounters have been during traffic stops, home wellness checks and other non-violent engagements. To get shot and killed during a routine traffic stop while not posing any kind of threat to an officer is absurd. To be shot and killed when the reason police officers showed up at your home was because they were called to do a wellness check is unconscionable. To have an officer kneel on your neck until you die, after you are in custody, all because you were accused of trying to pass off a counterfeit bill is disgusting. To be shot and killed in your own home and the excuse of the officer responsible was that she "thought she was in her apartment and that the occupant was an intruder" is ridiculous.

But just as disgusting is how white offenders have been treated in comparison after much heinous crimes. We all know the story of how Dylan Roof murdered nine Black men and women (including a state senator) in a church in Charleston, SC. We all know how the officers who found him in a parked car treated him with care, asking if he was hungry and making sure he was fed. Those officers knew who he was and what he had done and that he was a potential threat. Dylan Roof survived to see his court date. Many of us know about Kyle Rittenhouse, the 17 year old white male who shot into a crowd of peaceful protesters after the police shooting of Jacob Blake with an assault rifle he should not have had. Accounts from witnesses and video footage tell how Rittenhouse was allowed to walk past police officers with the rifle he used to kill two people and wound another and leave the scene. This all transpired while people in the crowd were yelling for police officers to arrest him because he had shot people. He was eventually arrested the next day.

Eventually arrested the next day...

I'm not in any way suggesting that Dylan Ruth, Kyle Rittenhouse or any other white offender should have been shot and killed after committing their violent and deadly crimes. What I am suggesting is that none of the aforementioned Black unarmed  men and women should have been killed while committing no crime at all. I am also saying that as violent offenders, what saved Roof and Rittenhouse was the color of their skin. What has killed the numbers of unarmed Black men and women was the color their skin was not. If police handled each encounter as they are supposedly trained to do, then maybe we wouldn't have this problem in our country.

Or maybe they are doing what they have been trained to do. Maybe they are dispositioned to value white lives and view Black men and women as a threat from the jump. Kim Potter was supposed to be some sort of training officer, so her excuse of mistaking her gun for her taser holds no water at all with me. None of the excuses we hear hold any water with me. And when people like Derek Chauvin are found guilty for their crimes and sentenced accordingly, I don't feel any sense of relief or justice. 

It's what is supposed to happen. 

It just hardly ever does. It probably won't happen more frequently now. And even if it does, it won't bring any of those Back men and women who died for nothing back.

Be safe out there, my people. 

Darkman X: The Loss of a Messenger

 I never formally meet DMX, but I feel like I knew him a little bit. A few years ago he moved to the same  area I moved to 19 years ago, from New York as well, in Greenville, SC. Some said he lived in Simpsonville, SC and others said he had a house in Travelers Rest, SC. Wherever it was that he actually lived, I saw him on two occasions. 

The first time was at Fall for Greenville, an annual fall street festival in town. The other was at the Greenville-Spartanburg International Airport where I used to work. 

At Fall for Greenville, I walked right past him and a crowd of people. I believe this was right around the time when he first moved to the area, or at least when most people found out. He had a huge yellow snake and the crowd of people around him seemed to be more interested in the snake than in him. Maybe that's why I didn't realize it was him. He seemed to be enjoying the crowd regardless.

My encounter with him at the airport became a funny story that I have told probably over 100 times or more. I worked at the information counter and, at that time, the morning shift started at 5am. I was having a pretty rough morning (as usual) but it had been pretty quiet in the terminal so far. Then I heard this:

"Wassup OG, Triple OG?!"

My first reaction in my mind was "Who the hell is yelling in the terminal like a damn maniac this early in the morning?" When I looked up I saw that it was DMX, walking through the lobby headed up to the gate area for a flight. He threw up the deuce and I threw one back. He kept it moving. Later on in the early afternoon, I saw him coming back down the escalator. He didn't look happy. A little while later, one of the airport police officers came to the desk and told me that "Earl" had missed his flight and that he'd be back in the evening. I would later find out that he was headed to New York to shoot a scene for a movie, which ended up being Chris Rock's Top Five.

"Earl", as the airport police would often refer to him as, had an interesting relationship with the GSP airport and those of us who worked there. Something always happened when he flew out and it often ended up with some sort of police interaction, but nothing crazy. Most of the time it was due to him not having a drivers license. But everyone who'd had some sort of dealings with him at the airport loved him. One guy I knew, T, ended up being the person that DMX always called to get him checked in for almost every Delta flight to LaGuardia Airport he flew out on. T said X was always late and he would call on him because he knew everyone in the airport. My former boss ran into him a number of times but didn't really know who he was was.  All she knew was that he was a rapper and that there was always something going on with him when he flew out. There are a lot of other stories like this from my days at GSP.

Maybe this is why his death affected me in a similar way the The Notorious B.I.G.'s death did. I had some sort of connection with him, too, even though it wasn't really a personal one. My connection to B.I.G. was that my brother worked for (((stereotype))), a small design firm that had worked on the cover art for his second and last album, Life After Death. I still remember the day when my brother came home telling me and the rest of my family that B.I.G. had been shot and killed in Los Angeles. I felt like someone I knew had died, even though I really didn't know him at all.

We've all heard the stories of DMX's trials and tribulations. Whenever I would hear of his struggles with addiction and his run-ins with the law, I always felt for the man, not the rapper/ actor. I wanted him to win. I wanted him to survive. When I saw his Verzuz battle with Snoop Dogg and noticed his weight gain I was shocked at first but he, somehow, looked healthy to me. He looked like he was different. I really thought he was finally making some headway through his struggles, trying to be better and getting the help he needed. When I heard the news of him being hospitalized, I wasn't surprised, but I was scared. I was scared he wasn't going to make it. 

He didn't.

My oldest sister has always tried to drive home to me the importance of having some type of spiritual relationship with God. I grew up a Jehovah's Witness but left the organization in my late 20's. Once, she sent me a video of DMX doing one of his patented prayers at a show. I remember being truly amazed and I still get goosebumps thinking about it. Whenever I hear him pray, I can feel the pain and agony in his words and the conviction in his pleas. This man knew in his heart that God was the only being in the universe that could save him from his demons. I felt his faith and, at times wished I had a semblance of that kind of faith. I truly believe Earl Simmons was a messenger. That is what we lost when he transitioned from here. A one of one.

Preach Jacobs wrote an article on the late Earl Simmons and talked about his cries for help in his music. I felt that. In 2021 the idea of therapy, especially for Black men, is way more accepted than it was in the late 90's. I often wonder what therapy could have done for a young DMX back then and how it may have helped him as he grew older. Often when someone passes on, especially heralded celebrities, stories of their childhood tend to come out. I read a lot of those stories this week about X. Some of them I already knew, some I didn't. You hear about the people he trusted who failed to protect him. You hear about the story of him being first introduced to crack, unbeknownst to him, by a trusted friend who didn't tell him he'd laced a blunt with it. You hear about his abusive mother and how he roamed the streets at night, befriending stray dogs just to get away from the abuse. You wonder how he made it as long as he did. You wonder what a clean and sober Earl Simmons would have looked like and sounded like.

I wonder if the trajectory of his life was doomed from the start.

50 years of the life that DMX lived would have been hard on anyone. I look at the 41 years that I have lived and I am thankful the things I have struggled with have been somewhat manageable. I can't begin to imagine having battled the things DMX did from almost infancy. I'm not sure if I wouldn't have taken my life or if I wouldn't have ended up like him, maybe much earlier. Whatever caused his untimely death is irrelevant. The truth of the matter is he survived probably for as long as he could have under the circumstances. As tragic as his death is, it's somewhat remarkable that it didn't come earlier. I don't think his death impacts me the same way if he dies at, say, 35. DMX was 28 or 29 years old when he dropped his first album. That's already old in rap years. And yet, he left an indelible imprint over a short period of time that will stay with me forever. The life he led up to that, the hard life he was subjected to, has a lot to do with that.

I hope the world never forgets Earl "DMX" Simmons. I hope the generations growing up now comes to know him as more than the tragic figure he was portrayed as in the media and in the news. Was he a prophet? I don't know, but I know he was a vessel and a messenger from a higher source. How do you explain how he touched the hearts of so many with his words outside of his rap lyrics? Those prayers on stages and within his art speak of a divine connection. He knew who his savior was and he was begging to be rescued. I'd like to think his prayers have finally been answered. 

It's just a shame that the world didn't give him his flowers before the gray hairs in his beard began to show. It's a shame we all didn't realize we were in the presence of a spiritual warrior. But some of us did. 

I did.

I just wish he was still here. Better. Happy. Alive.

But I am glad he is now at peace.