I woke up in the same clothes I’ve had on for days. The jeans I’m wearing haven’t been changed in weeks. My finger nails are black, my beard is thick. My eyes sunken in. My teeth feel like they’re wearing a sweater. My arms hurt, and are bruised badly. My heart is empty. I slowly pull myself from the back seat/trunk. I learned that if I put the back seat forward, I can lay on it, and halfway extend my legs into the trunk. It’s colder, sure, but no one walking by can see me. If I lay in the front seat, anyone could see me. Enemies, civilians, dope boys, police…anyone. So I avoid that. I bury myself in jackets, dirty sweatshirts, whatever is in my car. My home.
When I finally make it to the front, I mix up a shot. It’s rare that I save any, so the shot is usually a cotton shot. Then I go hack for a bit to get my gate shot (first shot of the day). Then I post up in the crack house for hours. I try and run to get the county kids dope from people they are too scared to be around, areas of Baltimore where you can get shot, stabbed or at least beaten for no reason at all. The only problem is, everyone in the crack house is doing that. So I have to be patient. Most of the time I get frustrated and go out and get some real money. I would boost from Walmart, packing up a duffel bag full of DVD’s that I would sell to the store in Fells Point. This would make me enough money to stay high for at least 2-3 days because I would cop dope by the gram or gram and a half, repackage it, and sell it.
When I was living this way, nothing else mattered. My dreams would revolve around the big score, finding a bag of money or the dope boy’s stash in the alley or some shit. I would fantasize about getting my life together as well, but that was way more far fetched than finding money or a g pack of dope. I knew that part of my life was over. I knew I would never be a father again. Never have “her” back. Never have a house I needed to pay rent for. Never have a real job. Never pay bills at all. Never have cable tv. Never be around my family. Never not have active warrants or not be on probation. Never have arms that didn’t look like I just had on a sweatshirt made of barbed wire. None of that.
This weekend I start my journey with a new house. I need to do a lot of work to it, but it will be mine. I’m just renting it, but if I continue on the path I’m on, I should be able to buy it within the next 2 years. It has a fenced in yard. I will have both of my children living under the same roof. My ex wife will also be there. There is more than enough room for everybody. When you have been through what I have been through, you become very grateful for what you have and become willing to share it. I am no exception.
I had no part in obtaining this either. Actually, I played a very small part in anything I have today. I merely showed up. I asked G-d for help, and He helped. Simple as that. My results are not just my results either. Countless others have come from far worse places than me, became reliant of G-d, and have had their lives, and their family’s lives turned around.
I have been watching HGTV for design ideas for painting the walls. Me, watching HGTV. Are you fucking kidding? But I’m doing it. And I’m going to go to work, bust my fuckin ass, save what little money I can, come home, cut the lawn, paint some walls, read to my kids, eat dinner, do dishes, make beds, all that. I’m going to do that. Someone who lived in his car, lived on the streets of the grimiest city on the east coast. Me. And my family, however unconventional it is.