Today is the 15th of April, my Birthday!!! I had such great time on yesterday for it was full of fun and excitement and presents and fellowship. But what is of most importance to me was the moment of personal reflection. In the Souls of Black Folk, by W.E.B. Dubois, there is a chapter entitled Of the Meaning of Progress. This is where he recounts his growth as a thinker and a teacher and as an individual. I woke up early yesterday for I am much like a child when it comes to my birthday and the festivities therein. However, all I could think about was where I currently was, and the progress that I had made in my own life. You see most of you know me as a somewhat smart, outgoing and intellectual comedian slash pimp slash demi-god who has an insatiable appetite for learning the history of the world. After reading this note or blog or whatever you call it, I hope all the pre-conceived notions you held about me will change.
The purpose of this little vignette then, is to tell you, dear reader, about my major struggle in life. As much as April 14th is a most sacred day for me, March 31st has an even greater significance in my life. It was on this date, four years ago that I almost took my life; I almost gave up fighting and struggling in the pursuit of happiness. Many of you who dont know my story are probably puzzled as to what could have been so bad that it could bring a most confident and historically connected person like me to this point. If you listen, I will tell you my story.
Many of us are imbued by our creators and ancestors with special gifts that we are supposed to share with humanity. Sad to say, that those of us who have some of the greatest of talents often time fall by the way side as we give in to the many temptations and vices of the world and forget the fact that to whom much is given, much is required. I too fell from heaven in this same manner. Growing up, my mother and my extended family did their very best to keep me on the straight and narrow. As long as they could, they kept me out the streets and away from the Folks!!! They kept me away from drugs and alcohol too. Nevertheless, as a freshmen and sophomore in college, I forgot the greatness and the obligations that I had to live up to. I became a big weed head; I used to get as high as Shaqs eyebrows! I first dabbled with it because I was a silly ass lil dude and that shit enhanced my silliness. I kept that concealed from my family back home for they would had disowned me and considered me ( as Basil Davidson calls it) upside down.
All of this began in the summer of 2002. For the most part, nothing seemed to have changed. I was still myself: I was funny, outgoing, and a happy motherfuka!!! By June of the following year, all of that changed. I began to notice major changes: I was always sad; I hated crowds of people, I would cry at the drop of a hat; I walked with my head down; I could not breathe nor swallow saliva correctly like I normally did; I could not think complex thoughts, and I was always in a sour mood. It had not been too long that I had started barbering, and all of a sudden, the progress that I had made, I lost it! My vision had even become poor, and my eyes couldnt focus on objects. I couldnt understand this! What was this and why was it happening to me? Why could no one explain this to me?
As mentioned above, this was hidden from my mother as long as possible because I dared not to make her aware of the fact that I was smoking dro and shit!!! The most troubling part of this all was the fact I had just been accepted to Fisk University for the coming fall of 2003. That summer, my sister was attempting to teach me this card game similar to Uno, and I couldnt grasp a single concept. How was I to function successfully at one the most prestigious universities of recent history in this capacity? I eventually told my mother what was going on with me and she took me to the family shrink. My mom just said, boy, you gonna be alright!!! And you never should have been smoking in the first place!!! What would daddy say? (A constant reference she made to my grandfather who I worshipped and adored). The Dr. suggested that I take medication and I wasnt going for that shit cause I wasnt nuts!!!
I came to Fisk medication free but still smoking. The first couple of days on campus I felt like I was in heaven. For the first time ever I was at a real university with a connection to greatness instead of being at a damn junior college that I felt too smart to be attending. The campus was beautiful and so too were the people; and I dont mean just physically, Im talking about their spirits and souls!!! On about day three, my depression set back in and it seemed as though it took residence in my body. I walked around like a dependent zombie for I couldnt even function well enough to properly log on to the internet to register for class.
The depression consumed my essence to the point that I could hardly articulate to my new friends what had happened to me. To be honest, many of them seemed to shrug it off as though it was nothing much to discuss; I was so alone. Can you imagine, dear reader, having a litany of abilities one day and the next day they disappear? This was my reality. The worst part of all was the mere fact that I was cognizant of this sudden change; I would have rather not known. It was all I could talk about; it was all that I was. I would sit in my room all alone unless my roommate Kenny was there. I would sit and cry and ask God why was this happening to me? What did I do to deserve such a miserable existence? I can remember one evening that first semester getting drunk as that thing! That was a severe blunder! Anyone suffering from depression should never overdose on a depressant like alcohol!!!
After the party was over, I sat in my room weeping like a baby trying to find answers and an outlet. I told God if he could get me through the night, then I would get up and go to church the next morning. I made it, and my plan was to get up and go to somebodys church. I saw my two suite mates in the bathroom, (one light-skinned and the other a smooth mocha) and they said that I could go with them. However, something made me change my mind and I told them that I didnt want to go any more. As I got back in the bed, something said to me: You promised me that you would go. I showered and put on my clothes without haste and hurriedly ran out the door. I ran across the yard hoping to find those two brothers to catch a ride with them. From a distance, I could see a light-skinned dude and the mocha one too. In my mind I felt content, for I felt saved. Nevertheless, when I finally caught up with them, it wasnt them!!! I t was Scooby from Nashville and some other dude!!!
At this time I felt that suicide was my destiny! But just to show you how the ancestors work: Do you remember the T.V. show Touched by an Angel? I was almost hit by one. You see one of the worst parts of my depression was that it disrupted my equilibrium and I often stumbled when I walked. My head was down and I almost walked into traffic. The angel that I was speaking of almost hit me in her little Hyundai Elantra. I asked her where she was going, and she replied that she was headed to church. I asked if I could tag along and she said yes. To make this long story short, we went to church and the pastor made mention about the sermon he preached the Sunday before which was about stress and depression. Something in my head told me, well, he preached about what you needed to hear last week so you may as well just go ahead and die because you cant be rescued from this. For some reason, he preached that same sermon and as I held the hand of my angel, I cried like a new born. I joined church after that, but my depression never left. It would stay with me for two years. I contemplated suicide almost daily. It was the beautiful souls at Fisk that gave me calm in the mist of my many storms. During thanksgiving break, I began talking anti-depressants. I would have panic attacks during my history exams and whenever I had to write papers. You see I could barely speak, let alone write! My mother had invested so much in me in terms of my education, and her last words before leaving me at Fisk were, Anthony, this is it!!!
I was always smart, but I never put forth any effort. It was this stress of proving to my mother and relatives that I could really do the school thing...well that, and keeping up with people whom I deemed smarter than I! That drove me deeper into the abyss of sadness and hopelessness. This experience was the worst of my life, and I hated living. I was ready to die for the medication was not the answer. On the 31st of March, I called my mother for the last time, I told her that I loved her and this was our last conversation. I stood on the side of the library and cried to the heavens. I was planning my escape that night. My mother promised to fly me home within a few hours. My plane ticket was 500 bucks; that may not be a lot to you middle class Negroes, but Im from East St. Louis and we is POE!!! When I arrived at home that evening, my mother smiled and said that I would be ok. She took me home and there was my old grandmother and her 90 year old sister. They knew that I was sick but they didnt know to what extent. If my old feisty grandmother knew that I had been smoking weed and somebody slipped me something, she would have called me all types of low-down, low-class bastards; she didnt play that!!!
The doctor told me that I was going to be hospitalized for several weeks. That is when the comedian in me came back to life. I said fuck that; send me back to school!!! I knew that as much as my mother loved me and as much as it pained her to see me in the condition I was in, she too was a comedian, and she would have constantly brought my brief stint in the hospital up, over and over!!! She would have embarrassed the hell out me after I got well.
The point is that I told my self at that moment, that I wasnt like other folk: I was blessed with a host of gifts that I was supposed to use to lift up others of my kind and those unlike me. I knew that my misery came about at the moment in time that I forgot that to whom much is given much is required. From that day on I promised never to smoke or use any drugs again. I begin taking my meds again, but remember... I was mixing weed and Zoloft!!! Nonetheless, I finally stopped smoking, and I tried an experiment: I said that I would stop smoking for a month and take my meds for a month. After that period, I would try to see my progress without either. Could I be who I once was? Could I stand in front a thousand people with a microphone and not get nervous and make them suckers laugh? Could I speak with good diction and remember random facts again? Could I smile when there was absolutely no reason at all to do so? Would I be able to take a history exam or write a paper without sweating or crying or having an anxiety attack?
The answer was yes!!! My senior year was one for the ages. I pledged (again) and finished by myself; I got back on stage for the first time in 4 years; I graduated from Fisk with honors, which was omething that my depression told me never would materialize. I have read countless books and articles, but at the beginning of my depression, I had not read a single one ( Im on about book 212!!!). The worst part about my liberation is the fact that I lost two friends. The first was this cool brother from Brooklyn who we called J.J. He was an Alpha who transferred to Fisk the same time as I. He is one of the first people that I told my story. I used to cut his hair, and during my depression I was a horrible barber. Even though I would butcher his hair, he would still let me cut it, and he would listen to my stories which were full of melancholy and loneliness. In August of my senior year, he was killed in a car wreck coming back to Nashville to surprise his friend with his first car.
The angle who I mentioned earlier was the most beautiful creation that Africa gave to human kind. Her name was Meloni Obrien. I have much to say about her that I will purposely leave out for now and save for my book. But she graduated with me. She too was a history major; I always maintained that she majored in fun for she cared little about school and more about fun and joy. She meant so much to me; we would often laugh and joke about many a subject. I remember once when I was working at the Spaghetti Factory and she called and asked the most random question about slavery in North Carolina!!! Oh how I loved her. This may sound selfish, but I think the ancestors created her just to save my life for if she hadnt taken me to church that day, I would have certainly ended my life. I lost Ms. Obrien on April 7, 2007 when this fuck ass drunk driver killed her body.
I know this was a long note, but I dont give a fuck what you all think. I cant stop crying right now because I miss my dear friends. As I reflect on my progress, I can without a doubt assert that I have been given much, and I am going to act like I know so. In terms of my health, most of the physical maladies are gone except the hole in my lungs and the equilibrium thing. These last few years have been good for me, for I have fell in love with Africa. She is who I live for. Her freedom is what I dream of; her renaissance is my only concern. Triggering historical memory and restoring the cultural confidence of her children gives me and my life definition. Many of you have been given many gifts and you dont realize that. I hope that from this boring ass story of mine, you, dear reader, will reevaluate the vices you have that impede your ability to tap and marshal the greatness that is imbedded in your DNA from your mother Africa and father time and start anew. Life is a beautiful thing, just ask Ms. Obrien.
