Today my father died, my daughter attempted suicide, and my sister might be hiding some kind of terminal health issue. All of this I learned about in a 2 hour phone conversation and I couldn’t shed a tear...
What can I say? I must be evil. The Universe must revolve around me to the degree that I’m held responsible for everyone who was born before me (those responsible for my existence,) and everyone who I sired and brought into the world, (yes, my kids) no matter how insane, skitzo or disrespectful they’ve been. No matter their poor choices, their inability to cooperate and behave... no matter what the people do around me, no matter how hateful or vulgar or shameful, I’m supposed to agree with it and love them anyway. I’m the victim and the victimizer; some kind of punching bag where everyone gets exercise but also feels okay with swinging and being abusive, and I’m the bad guy. Their possum or the scapegoat of all their failures.
And yup; I’m the so-called celebrity in my entire clan; the man with all the fucking answers and global acknowledgements, and yet I’m the one they spit and shit on. I’m the one they make assumptions about, the one they keep a certain distance from and the one who is arguably the urban legend. Apparently I’m rich and famous, with contacts that stretch from Barbados to Canada; from the White House to Oprah’s house... and there’s that lil hookup; 1 degree from the rap gods, sports gods and movie gods. Apparently I’m rewarded and holding on to all of my wealth, keeping everyone from getting too close or too comfortable.
And imagine all of the awareness that I’ve earned over the years, the resources that I’ve managed, and none of the family can see that I am the glue; the plug, and the connect.
Everyone is too proud to help or lend a hand, or just too stupid to realize the truth. Nobody else in my entire clan has taken responsibility to keep the flame ablaze, to keep the soup bubbling and the garden of love beautiful growing. Instead, what we have is a whole see legion of disconnected people, all living their own lives, no matter how close in proximity or how connected online. No matter if they have the phone number or can find it by simply googling, instead we use the buffer known as the Internet. The family I once knew is now but an intangible “Facebook Friend,” comfortable with this Facebook bullshit, as opposed to the authentic, rich and engaging face to face, even if it’s FaceTime.
But the truth is, I’ve grown cold and heartless. There are very few people who care about me, my well-being and my mental and spiritual health. There are very few people who love me unconditionally, wanting nothing in return. there was a time that I cared and that I gave a fuck.
There was a time that I was in full support of my elders and then I’d give the clothes off of my back for my children. And today I can honestly say that I don’t give a fuck.
Sure, I love those who love me. I love them right back like a tight rubberband. But I’ve also resolved that my family has turned their back on me, and could care less. Whether intentional, or by default, this Gilmore shit is for the birds, with no legacy in sight. And me with the pen name... the stage name... the adjective... well, I’m something like that Rolls-Royce you see driving down Main Street, the one you ignore because it’s out of reach. You know nothing about the Rolls like you do about your Honda or Toyota. You know more ‘bout that Benz you think is yours than you do about me. But you already believe that Rolls could never be yours and so you get into a space of denial. And for close to 12 years now,
I have coped by embracing perfect strangers, fans, Business acquaintances and women... yeah, I’ve buried my misery, tucked away inside of carnal pleasures.
I’m more connected to people I never grew up with, never knew extremely personally, and some that I had nothing else in common with. Would you believe my love for my Facebook, LinkedIn, Twitter and Instagram fellowships is stronger than that of my fucking blood relatives!?
Yes indeed I am part of a twisted lifestyle that fell upon me because my family is so disconnected. There was a point when my family was dysfunctional, with my father taking turns at whipping my mother, or my sister and (of course) me with a leather belt...
yes it was abuse of the worst kind hidden under the umbrella of “businessman” and “entrepreneur.” While the hood saw dad limping around on his prosthesis, we were left to cope with our brokenness. His infidelity weighed in. His gambling impacted us. His prostitution ring in the back room of his stripclub wasn’t a come-up but his way of filling the void of his missing leg. I mean, I get it. I’m not mad at dude for “being resourceful” and doing what he could with what he had. I just know he brought that home to us everyday; whether it was our house on the North side of Mount Vernon, where it appeared as tho we had a “normal life” or when he consolidated and moved us into a 2 bedroom apartment over the delicatessen he owned, complete with roaches, rats and robberies. My sisters and I took turns at running away from home... all of us have seen the wrong side of the law in one way or another. And while we’ve all taken great strides to correct what we’ve been able to correct, I am still in that space of “bouncing back,” of fixing my life and being my own Iyanla Vanzant. Yes, I’m taking care of me first, because I know that money is important... right up there at the top of the list with air and water. I also know the harsh reality I face if it ever comes down to my emergencies and whether or not people will be looking out for me. Yeah boi... to the bill. Cash money.
And so it seems the dysfunction is now reliving it self with my own children.
But, my hope is that they will mature before it gets worse and that my resources will be able to make some sort of amends down the line.
Back to our two hour conversation this morning, the one between me and my sister... well it ended with her explaining that my daughter lived thru the suicide attempt. And then the conversation was interrupted by a phone call from our so-called “dead father.”
So it was a false alarm and the news she got earlier was from the random energy of the family/always been random too. Thank God for my sister tho; Julie is the last sane spirit standing... she thought to make some calls, perhaps weighing in on her doubt/good move... and everything is everything once again. But just what the fuck is “everything” in my world of nothing... of this randomness.
And big ups to you dads who did the damn thing; holding the family down and making the sacrifices no matter what. But that ain’t me.
Everybody’s issues are different. None of us are dealt the same cards outside of blood and bones. Coincidence and circumstance has altered my realities. Still, I have no idea what a normal life is really like, or is there such a thing?
In the meantime, the beat goes on. Keeping hope alive