October 27th, 2018
(written by lawrence krubner, however indented passages are often quotes). You can contact lawrence at: email@example.com
After my dad died, in 2007, I was a zombie for a year. Taking Paxil helped. I identify with stories such as this. A beautiful story that everyone should read:
I lost my grandaddy to throat cancer. Lost my grandma to heart disease. Lost my best friend Geracy to the streets. He got stabbed to death in 2004, when we came back home for the summer.
I’m not saying that for sympathy. Everybody goes through darkness. I’m just saying that I kept my head up through all of that.
But my mom was a different story.
I don’t care how hard you are … your momma is your momma.
…The last two weeks, she couldn’t talk.
We didn’t have to say anything, though. She was with me the whole way. The whole damn ride. She knew.
When she died, I ain’t gonna lie, it broke me.
After the funeral, I was supposed to clean out her house, and I just couldn’t do it. I didn’t leave her house for an entire year. I never made it past the front yard, for real. I just didn’t have the will to do anything. I went Zero Dark Thirty on everybody. I wasn’t answering anybody’s texts. I wasn’t even answering Qs texts. And it wasn’t like people weren’t trying to help me, but I didn’t want the help. I was just … gone.
I would sleep in the daytime then stay up all night drinking wine and smoking weed, just to try to get out of my head. I was paranoid. I had my concealed carry permit, so I had a gun on me at all times. The worst part was that I had people who owed me a lot of money, and I just got to a point where I was seeing red, for real. I felt like I was gonna hurt somebody, or I was gonna wind up in jail.
I know dudes like me aren’t supposed to talk about depression, but I’ll talk about it. If a real motherfucker like me can struggle with it, then anybody can struggle with it.
I was stuck in my momma’s house in East St. Louis for like three years. I worked my whole life to get out of there, and I was back. Just … trapped. Carrying my gun with me everywhere. Couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t escape my own head. Couldn’t find any peace.
I worked my whole life to get out of there, and I was back. Just … trapped
Then one night, I just had enough.
I called up Q.
Q had been living down in Florida for years.
I said, “Q, it’s nice down there?”
Q said, “Hell yeah.”
I said, “I think I’m gonna come down there.”
Q said, “Hell yeah.”
I packed up a U-Haul, and I drove 14 hours straight through the night. I had to do something. I had to make a change.
I hear people talking, like, “What the hell happened to Darius Miles?”
They ask about the money, but they don’t ask about my momma.
They don’t ask me where I came from, and all the things I’ve seen.
I done it all. I made it and spent it. Went from The Pink Slip to the L’Ermitage. I rode in all them limos. I lived a life, boy.
Now, I live down the street from Q in Florida. I like it down there. For the first time in years, I can sleep at night. I don’t have to carry a gun. I can finally get a little bit of peace. I’m just trying to get better, day by day. Trying to be a better person, day by day.