I wish a nigga would tell me about myself without knowing who I am. What you see, is not what you get. Lately, everyday I wake up - somebody got a problem with Jay. That's what's up. Yah'meen, people have something to say about my spending habits and how I spend my money. People have something to say about what I chose to spend my time doing. I mean people even have something to say about my fucking voicemail message. Why is my life such a major concern with you? What's that line from the MTV show Diary? "You think you know me, but you have no idea." - That's real talk. People I figured knew exactly who I was, have no real idea of who I am. So here, through this blog - I'll tell you EVERYTHING and you decide.
I grew up to a single heartbroken mother trying to raise two boys into men on her own. My brother and I have different fathers and the favoritism my father showed to me over my brother was the reason one of the ending factors of him and my mother; not to mention the cheating. New York got hard to afford, so my mother packed me and my brother up and moved us to Detroit with her mother. She later followed due to a transfer from a hospital she was working at in New York. Things were hard, but my mother tried to make the best out of everything. She always made sure my brother and I had something to eat and a pair of shoes on our feet. They weren't always the name brand, but it was something to get us by. My brother became a troubled youth and got into the streets. At the age of fourteen, he robbed a rival gang member. In retaliation, the person he robbed and his gang strolled into my grandmothers front door, pushing her out of the way and beating my brother almost to death. My mother couldn't take it anymore - her life was becoming hell because of Trey. She had already put up with my cousin Anthony killing himself in our home, numerous police raids, and midnight parties. Finally she had enough. The police came and took my brother away. I couldn't stop crying that night, for it was the first night I had to sleep alone. I didn't know what was going on, but I missed my brother. Things once again got financially harder as we moved around often. My Nike's turned into pro-wings, and my first down coats turned into hand me downs. Still, I didn't complain - it was something I had to give up for our happiness, as my mother explained. For the next few years we moved around, state to state and city to city; mainly from New York to Michigan. Finally we settled at my Aunt Shonnie's house. There, things were a real shock. I had gotten accoustomed to it only being me and my mother, but there I had my Aunt Shonnie and her two daughters. It was only a two bedroom house, so her daughters gave up their room so that me and my mother could share a room. After about two years my mom finally found an apartment that we could call home. Things seemed to being to look up for us. We were finally in a place that we wouldn't have to move from soon and I actually had a chance to make a few friends. Little did I know I would find myself following the same path my brother paved for me. I met a friend by the name of Duane, we began to hustle weed through out school. Heh, who would have thought we would go from hustling pokemon cards to narcotics? He was a year older than me, so he had the middle school game on lock and I had the fifth graders tryna find out what weed was. Nah, I didn't sell to them, I sold to their older brothers and shit. A few niggas thought I was dumb and tried to short me, but if it was one thing I knew - it was money. My whole family did it, so it wasn't like I wasn't around it. I sold weed for a few years, until I saw my moms struggling again. I sat in my room one night and I heard her praying to God that he would just take her away. I sat there on the floor trying to figure out how to take away her pain. I got a little older, so I knew about crack and coke - I just had no connect. Damn, that was the end of that thought. I wasn't old enough to get a real job, so I just had to watch my mother struggle working two jobs. Finally, she decided she would go back to school. A few months later the 9/11 attacks and almost losing family members to those attacks - we decided that I'd move with my father while she went back to school. I wasn't too happy about it, because I really didn't know him. December 1st, 2001 - I took my first step into hell. I packed my shit up and moved into a one bedroom apartment on the Westside of Detroit with my father. He had his girlfriend staying there from time to time and her 4 kids would come by as well. Shit, we were tight as hell in that little ass apartment. While living there, I went to school about 10 days. Finally, on January 2nd after a few arguments with my pops and him and his girlfriend - I packed up my shit and I walked. I didn't know where I was going, I was just getting away from there. I ended up at my grandmothers house in southwest Detroit. Man, this is where my life takes a completely wrong turn. While at my Grandmother's house - shit was terrible. Drugs in and out of her hosue turned her home into the neighborhood trap spot. Niggas all over would come to buy crack from my brother and his friends who were living in the basement. Crackheads in and out of the house, stealing my shoes, clothes, money, glasses, and even card out of my DirectTV box. I had nothing to wear - so I would sneak downstairs while my brother was sleep and put on his clothes to wear to school and put them back without him noticing. Finally, he caught me wearing his shit and I vowed never to do it again - even though he said I could. I wanted my own now. Instead of stealing his clothes, I was taking a little bit of his work. You know, a rock here a rock there, a twenty dollar jar here and there. Shit that big money hustlers don't miss or notice is gone. I would sneak out of my window to Gleason and Electric to slang my shit. Man, I was makin' my money now. The first thing I bought with my new found wealth was lock to put on my door. Going through the whole shit made me feel so ugly. I hated what I saw in the mirror... I couldn't afford to take a shower, so I went to school fresh of the block. I knew I didn't smell to pleasant - I just wished everyone else didn't know. It's like, you know when someone is talking about you and it hurts when they won't say it to you. I could hear them laughing at me and I could see them looking. I was a bum and I could do nothing about it. My house was the trap house man, where else was I supposed to live? I didn't have enough money to re up on anything big. I just made enough money to buy lunch everyday. Even with that, I was stealing money from my grandma's purse whenever I got the chance. I had no idea how I was going to make it the next day - so I sat there in September 2002 with a .38 revolver that I bought from someone up the block. I looked at it over and over. Finally I figured that not living was the best way of being free. I took the barrel of the .38 and pressed it firmly against my head. Then I thought about how my family felt when Anthony did the same thing in my house years before. Tears ran down my face as I thought about every wrong thing that went on in my life. Every time my father lied to me. Everyday I had to fight niggas in school for laughing at me. Every night I had to sit up all night on the block trying not to get killed, just so I could have something to eat. I dropped the gun. Rolled over and cried myself to sleep. I told myself that would be the last tear I shed. I got up the next morning, skipped school and went to the only hustler I knew that had coke. He introduced me to a man named Ron B. Ron B was an older head, always known for his heavy coke flow in my neighborhood. He took me under his team and treated me just like one of them. He made sure I ate at night and gave me enough coke to keep my pockets fat. Shit, I was the only nigga on the ave who had it at my age. Now I'm living how I always saw life. All of my friend were older than me and I fitted in just fine. We made money together, broke bread together, robbed together, and a few even died together. I still went to school though; for that was the only requirement Ron B made me follow. "School first, block second." - that's what he told me. I did my damned thing though; although I was still failing in school. I don't know why, I was brilliant for my age. As long as I had money in my pockets I was cool though. I began to splurge on clothes so I would never had to steal my brothers shit again. I began to buy expensive colognes so no one would EVER talk about me having body oder again. Still, I looked in the mirror and I felt ugly. Fuck it, the money made me sexy. Finally, my mother graduated from college in may of 2003. I wish my Aunt Jackie could have seen her walk across the stage, but she died the previous year due to cancer. Damn, my uncle - her husband was diagnosed with cancer shortly after. I know that Aunt Jackie would have enjoyed it though. Seeing my moms walk across that stage was the proudest moment in my life. The following weekend, my Uncle Butch walked across the stage holding a picture of his deceased wife, Jackie. I knew happiness wouldn't last long, because about a week and a half later - the only father figure I had in my life suddenly died; my Uncle Raymond. His death shook my family up so bad that we still haven't recovered. Everyone just spread out and got involved with the wrong things. Shit, I was still slangin' my 'cain though, so I was alright. After graduation, my moms moved me back home with her. I had a new life and I was going to stop sellin' drugs for good. You know the saying though, "Take the man out the hood, but can't take the hood out the man." - I got in the suburbs and looked at these white kids as business profits. I knew their parents did coke, if not them. Shit I didn't have to take the time to dummy my coke down into crack because these white people could afford it. I was still going back to the hood to Rob B to get my product. Finally I got a new connect out this way, I never met him a day in my life. He would drop the coke off in a trashcan by my house and I'd pick it up EXACTLY 15 minutes after the drop. I felt like a real gangster then, ha! Still, I felt ugly when I looked in the mirror. I flipped my coke in school and out of school, picked up a few pills on the way and some acid; you know - the white drugs. I began paying a few bills of my own telling my moms I had a job. I know she knew I didn't have a job though, because I was playing basketball and going to school. Shit I was in the band years before, so she really knew that I didn't have a job because I was still in love with music. Any spare time i had I was writing music and playing an instrument. Where did I find time for a job? She didn't ask - well at least not yet. I started buying anythign I could find that would make me feel better about myself. Depressed as fuck, I thought about doing the drugs I was selling. But nah - I was depressed, not stupid. I began telling my life to a notebook. That black and white composite notebook became my bestfriend. Finally, I got caught up in some shit I had no business being in. I was at a trap house with a friend and it got raided. Damn, there goes my black ass to jail. That's when my moms finally knew what was really going on. Sixteen years old facing charges on weapons and drug possession. Money talks though, I got off. You see, the drugs never made it to court - neither did the bullets in the gun. I got time served and probation. That probation would END my basketball career. No school wanted to give a scholarship to a teenager with a record. I did my community service and everything still writing music. Still - I fucking felt ugly. I went to school, failing classes and just cutting up to be cool - I guess. The ladies thought I was cute, but I didn't believe it. A few years of the same routine went around, then I hit one of the biggest brick walls ever. January 7th 2007. I took a straight edge razor to my wrists 73 times. Years of thoughts finally came into a reality - I didn't want to live anymore. Haunted by the person I saw in the mirror, it was too much for me to hold. A woman I thought I loved proved to be nothing but lies, friends became nothing but a mere memory, and Ron B wanted nothing of me but me to bring money to him. To top it all off, my cousin Jorodd figured he didn't want to live anymore and overdosed on pain medication and alcohol. Good things the doctors saved him. Jorodd was my reason for living. He pumped me up and told me how everything would be good for us, but after he did what he did - I stopped believing him. One cut, two cut, seventy thee cuts. My wrists bled but the cuts weren't deep enough to be fatal; although they left horrible disfigurations on my inner left forearm. Oddly enough, today you can't even tell what happened that day. It's been almost a year later and I've been alone since. A lot has happened with my life since then. Two friends murdered, 6 friends serving sentences over 10 years long and one facing life. Everyone seems to have left me this year. You know what though? I graduated on time. Something that none of my brothers or sister could accomplish. I graduated.
Now, I've let you into my life. You will never fully understand unless I talk to you first hand and let you know it like I can't tell you in a blog. Until you know completely know who I am or what I've been through, don't judge me. Don't tell me anything about myself. If you consider me as cocky, erase that thought. I'm far from cocky - it's all in good fun. I'm proud of what I've become and where I am after what I thought would never end. I'm happy with my life now, but I'm feeling a lot more better than I did before. When you categorize me and judge me without knowing, you've proven to be ignorant. You can't be blamed for not knowing, but you can be blamed for not wanting to know. You can draw your own conclusions of who I am, and where I'm going - but you'll never know until you know me. I've realized I have no one else in this world but me. People I consider friends and those I would call best are just the same. What's my favorite color or food? Where do I go when I'm upset? - You know nothing about me - so don't judge me.
He who is without sin, cast the first stone.
ONLYGODCANJUDGEME.
Outro.
I grew up to a single heartbroken mother trying to raise two boys into men on her own. My brother and I have different fathers and the favoritism my father showed to me over my brother was the reason one of the ending factors of him and my mother; not to mention the cheating. New York got hard to afford, so my mother packed me and my brother up and moved us to Detroit with her mother. She later followed due to a transfer from a hospital she was working at in New York. Things were hard, but my mother tried to make the best out of everything. She always made sure my brother and I had something to eat and a pair of shoes on our feet. They weren't always the name brand, but it was something to get us by. My brother became a troubled youth and got into the streets. At the age of fourteen, he robbed a rival gang member. In retaliation, the person he robbed and his gang strolled into my grandmothers front door, pushing her out of the way and beating my brother almost to death. My mother couldn't take it anymore - her life was becoming hell because of Trey. She had already put up with my cousin Anthony killing himself in our home, numerous police raids, and midnight parties. Finally she had enough. The police came and took my brother away. I couldn't stop crying that night, for it was the first night I had to sleep alone. I didn't know what was going on, but I missed my brother. Things once again got financially harder as we moved around often. My Nike's turned into pro-wings, and my first down coats turned into hand me downs. Still, I didn't complain - it was something I had to give up for our happiness, as my mother explained. For the next few years we moved around, state to state and city to city; mainly from New York to Michigan. Finally we settled at my Aunt Shonnie's house. There, things were a real shock. I had gotten accoustomed to it only being me and my mother, but there I had my Aunt Shonnie and her two daughters. It was only a two bedroom house, so her daughters gave up their room so that me and my mother could share a room. After about two years my mom finally found an apartment that we could call home. Things seemed to being to look up for us. We were finally in a place that we wouldn't have to move from soon and I actually had a chance to make a few friends. Little did I know I would find myself following the same path my brother paved for me. I met a friend by the name of Duane, we began to hustle weed through out school. Heh, who would have thought we would go from hustling pokemon cards to narcotics? He was a year older than me, so he had the middle school game on lock and I had the fifth graders tryna find out what weed was. Nah, I didn't sell to them, I sold to their older brothers and shit. A few niggas thought I was dumb and tried to short me, but if it was one thing I knew - it was money. My whole family did it, so it wasn't like I wasn't around it. I sold weed for a few years, until I saw my moms struggling again. I sat in my room one night and I heard her praying to God that he would just take her away. I sat there on the floor trying to figure out how to take away her pain. I got a little older, so I knew about crack and coke - I just had no connect. Damn, that was the end of that thought. I wasn't old enough to get a real job, so I just had to watch my mother struggle working two jobs. Finally, she decided she would go back to school. A few months later the 9/11 attacks and almost losing family members to those attacks - we decided that I'd move with my father while she went back to school. I wasn't too happy about it, because I really didn't know him. December 1st, 2001 - I took my first step into hell. I packed my shit up and moved into a one bedroom apartment on the Westside of Detroit with my father. He had his girlfriend staying there from time to time and her 4 kids would come by as well. Shit, we were tight as hell in that little ass apartment. While living there, I went to school about 10 days. Finally, on January 2nd after a few arguments with my pops and him and his girlfriend - I packed up my shit and I walked. I didn't know where I was going, I was just getting away from there. I ended up at my grandmothers house in southwest Detroit. Man, this is where my life takes a completely wrong turn. While at my Grandmother's house - shit was terrible. Drugs in and out of her hosue turned her home into the neighborhood trap spot. Niggas all over would come to buy crack from my brother and his friends who were living in the basement. Crackheads in and out of the house, stealing my shoes, clothes, money, glasses, and even card out of my DirectTV box. I had nothing to wear - so I would sneak downstairs while my brother was sleep and put on his clothes to wear to school and put them back without him noticing. Finally, he caught me wearing his shit and I vowed never to do it again - even though he said I could. I wanted my own now. Instead of stealing his clothes, I was taking a little bit of his work. You know, a rock here a rock there, a twenty dollar jar here and there. Shit that big money hustlers don't miss or notice is gone. I would sneak out of my window to Gleason and Electric to slang my shit. Man, I was makin' my money now. The first thing I bought with my new found wealth was lock to put on my door. Going through the whole shit made me feel so ugly. I hated what I saw in the mirror... I couldn't afford to take a shower, so I went to school fresh of the block. I knew I didn't smell to pleasant - I just wished everyone else didn't know. It's like, you know when someone is talking about you and it hurts when they won't say it to you. I could hear them laughing at me and I could see them looking. I was a bum and I could do nothing about it. My house was the trap house man, where else was I supposed to live? I didn't have enough money to re up on anything big. I just made enough money to buy lunch everyday. Even with that, I was stealing money from my grandma's purse whenever I got the chance. I had no idea how I was going to make it the next day - so I sat there in September 2002 with a .38 revolver that I bought from someone up the block. I looked at it over and over. Finally I figured that not living was the best way of being free. I took the barrel of the .38 and pressed it firmly against my head. Then I thought about how my family felt when Anthony did the same thing in my house years before. Tears ran down my face as I thought about every wrong thing that went on in my life. Every time my father lied to me. Everyday I had to fight niggas in school for laughing at me. Every night I had to sit up all night on the block trying not to get killed, just so I could have something to eat. I dropped the gun. Rolled over and cried myself to sleep. I told myself that would be the last tear I shed. I got up the next morning, skipped school and went to the only hustler I knew that had coke. He introduced me to a man named Ron B. Ron B was an older head, always known for his heavy coke flow in my neighborhood. He took me under his team and treated me just like one of them. He made sure I ate at night and gave me enough coke to keep my pockets fat. Shit, I was the only nigga on the ave who had it at my age. Now I'm living how I always saw life. All of my friend were older than me and I fitted in just fine. We made money together, broke bread together, robbed together, and a few even died together. I still went to school though; for that was the only requirement Ron B made me follow. "School first, block second." - that's what he told me. I did my damned thing though; although I was still failing in school. I don't know why, I was brilliant for my age. As long as I had money in my pockets I was cool though. I began to splurge on clothes so I would never had to steal my brothers shit again. I began to buy expensive colognes so no one would EVER talk about me having body oder again. Still, I looked in the mirror and I felt ugly. Fuck it, the money made me sexy. Finally, my mother graduated from college in may of 2003. I wish my Aunt Jackie could have seen her walk across the stage, but she died the previous year due to cancer. Damn, my uncle - her husband was diagnosed with cancer shortly after. I know that Aunt Jackie would have enjoyed it though. Seeing my moms walk across that stage was the proudest moment in my life. The following weekend, my Uncle Butch walked across the stage holding a picture of his deceased wife, Jackie. I knew happiness wouldn't last long, because about a week and a half later - the only father figure I had in my life suddenly died; my Uncle Raymond. His death shook my family up so bad that we still haven't recovered. Everyone just spread out and got involved with the wrong things. Shit, I was still slangin' my 'cain though, so I was alright. After graduation, my moms moved me back home with her. I had a new life and I was going to stop sellin' drugs for good. You know the saying though, "Take the man out the hood, but can't take the hood out the man." - I got in the suburbs and looked at these white kids as business profits. I knew their parents did coke, if not them. Shit I didn't have to take the time to dummy my coke down into crack because these white people could afford it. I was still going back to the hood to Rob B to get my product. Finally I got a new connect out this way, I never met him a day in my life. He would drop the coke off in a trashcan by my house and I'd pick it up EXACTLY 15 minutes after the drop. I felt like a real gangster then, ha! Still, I felt ugly when I looked in the mirror. I flipped my coke in school and out of school, picked up a few pills on the way and some acid; you know - the white drugs. I began paying a few bills of my own telling my moms I had a job. I know she knew I didn't have a job though, because I was playing basketball and going to school. Shit I was in the band years before, so she really knew that I didn't have a job because I was still in love with music. Any spare time i had I was writing music and playing an instrument. Where did I find time for a job? She didn't ask - well at least not yet. I started buying anythign I could find that would make me feel better about myself. Depressed as fuck, I thought about doing the drugs I was selling. But nah - I was depressed, not stupid. I began telling my life to a notebook. That black and white composite notebook became my bestfriend. Finally, I got caught up in some shit I had no business being in. I was at a trap house with a friend and it got raided. Damn, there goes my black ass to jail. That's when my moms finally knew what was really going on. Sixteen years old facing charges on weapons and drug possession. Money talks though, I got off. You see, the drugs never made it to court - neither did the bullets in the gun. I got time served and probation. That probation would END my basketball career. No school wanted to give a scholarship to a teenager with a record. I did my community service and everything still writing music. Still - I fucking felt ugly. I went to school, failing classes and just cutting up to be cool - I guess. The ladies thought I was cute, but I didn't believe it. A few years of the same routine went around, then I hit one of the biggest brick walls ever. January 7th 2007. I took a straight edge razor to my wrists 73 times. Years of thoughts finally came into a reality - I didn't want to live anymore. Haunted by the person I saw in the mirror, it was too much for me to hold. A woman I thought I loved proved to be nothing but lies, friends became nothing but a mere memory, and Ron B wanted nothing of me but me to bring money to him. To top it all off, my cousin Jorodd figured he didn't want to live anymore and overdosed on pain medication and alcohol. Good things the doctors saved him. Jorodd was my reason for living. He pumped me up and told me how everything would be good for us, but after he did what he did - I stopped believing him. One cut, two cut, seventy thee cuts. My wrists bled but the cuts weren't deep enough to be fatal; although they left horrible disfigurations on my inner left forearm. Oddly enough, today you can't even tell what happened that day. It's been almost a year later and I've been alone since. A lot has happened with my life since then. Two friends murdered, 6 friends serving sentences over 10 years long and one facing life. Everyone seems to have left me this year. You know what though? I graduated on time. Something that none of my brothers or sister could accomplish. I graduated.
Now, I've let you into my life. You will never fully understand unless I talk to you first hand and let you know it like I can't tell you in a blog. Until you know completely know who I am or what I've been through, don't judge me. Don't tell me anything about myself. If you consider me as cocky, erase that thought. I'm far from cocky - it's all in good fun. I'm proud of what I've become and where I am after what I thought would never end. I'm happy with my life now, but I'm feeling a lot more better than I did before. When you categorize me and judge me without knowing, you've proven to be ignorant. You can't be blamed for not knowing, but you can be blamed for not wanting to know. You can draw your own conclusions of who I am, and where I'm going - but you'll never know until you know me. I've realized I have no one else in this world but me. People I consider friends and those I would call best are just the same. What's my favorite color or food? Where do I go when I'm upset? - You know nothing about me - so don't judge me.
He who is without sin, cast the first stone.
ONLYGODCANJUDGEME.
Outro.
No comments:
Post a Comment