I recently attended a Ledisi concert where I was comforted to know that someone who has become so successful would share a part of her life with which I could most identify. She said, “Be careful who you let into your circle; everybody doesn’t need to be that close to you.” She also talked about how she had almost lost hope when she found herself sleeping on a floor. This story of the Red Shoes is my “sleeping on the floor” moment. Ledisi’s advice is sound; be careful who you let into your circle.
From the time I had met Goldie until now, our friendship quickly turned into a relationship and then a partnership, however unequal it may have been. He was living with me, and he was the influence that broke me down enough to lose myself. I don’t blame him, because I am responsible for my own ignorance and my own actions—I take full ownership of my weakness. However, people like him make no apologies for being who they are, and they blame their circumstances for not doing better in or wanting more from life. These are the bottom feeders, the people you don’t want in your circle.
These bottom feeders prey on opportunity of any kind. If you look like you have money, then they are going to try to find a way to get some of it. The best way to keep someone distracted while you suck them dry is to keep them high. That high doesn’t have to come from a drug. It comes from anything that you allow to have influence over you. Do you have an affinity for sex? Then they will keep having sex with you so they can stay in your space. Maybe your drug is love. Then they will do what it takes to make you think they love you, so they can keep you around. It could be your love for Adonis-type young men, your need to have someone you feel like you can control; whatever need you have that is not being fulfilled. It’s called a hustle, and bottom feeders perfect the art.
From the time I had met Goldie until now, our friendship quickly turned into a relationship and then a partnership, however unequal it may have been. He was living with me, and he was the influence that broke me down enough to lose myself. I don’t blame him, because I am responsible for my own ignorance and my own actions—I take full ownership of my weakness. However, people like him make no apologies for being who they are, and they blame their circumstances for not doing better in or wanting more from life. These are the bottom feeders, the people you don’t want in your circle.
These bottom feeders prey on opportunity of any kind. If you look like you have money, then they are going to try to find a way to get some of it. The best way to keep someone distracted while you suck them dry is to keep them high. That high doesn’t have to come from a drug. It comes from anything that you allow to have influence over you. Do you have an affinity for sex? Then they will keep having sex with you so they can stay in your space. Maybe your drug is love. Then they will do what it takes to make you think they love you, so they can keep you around. It could be your love for Adonis-type young men, your need to have someone you feel like you can control; whatever need you have that is not being fulfilled. It’s called a hustle, and bottom feeders perfect the art.
Goldie had certainly perfected his hustle. I saw him in action on many occasions. There were men that he could call, and they would drive over to the house just to hand him $20. These were people he had been “working” for years. According to him, he never had sex with any of them. He most certainly would not have been while we were together, so I did actually believe him. He would befriend these older men, and just spend time with them. He would let them take him out to dinner, buy him clothes, and keep them company. He did all this so that when he had a need, he could just call them and make them feel like they were helping out a friend. Twenty dollars here and there to them was probably nothing. Although, I’m sure they had no clue how many men were bringing him money. I don’t know how many times I heard him on the phone telling some man, “Yeah, I’m still looking for a job, but I need to get my haircut…” An hour later, they would pull up; he would walk out, and walk right back in with cash in hand.
Early in our relationship, I found out about how he made his money. I knew about his hustling, but I told him that he needed to stop that and get a job. That kind of activity was so beneath me and what I stood for. He complied for a while, but I really think that he had not worked a real job in so long that he couldn’t keep one if he wanted to. He was used to the fast nightlife of money, sex, drugs, and alcohol. By this time, he had become a part-time waiter, part-time stripper, part-time-hustler, part-time boyfriend, and full-time coke head.
Weed and cocaine were always somewhere in the house (usually in his caché in the guest room). I was unemployed to the extent that the business that I was doing was not bringing in a paycheck. Goldie was semi-employed, working part-time as a waiter at IHOP. 2006 had rolled around and Goldie had returned to stripping, but the little money he did make from that went straight up his nose. I was in such a bind financially, because what was left of my unemployment was keeping on the electricity, gas, water, and cable. The small money Goldie brought in was enough to buy groceries and keep gas in the car. I had missed a couple mortgage payments and a few car payments also.
I was still trying to build upon my business, which had come so far, given all the setbacks that I had throughout the past six months. It seemed like every time I got close to getting a huge payout, deadlines would get pushed back or project dates would be rescheduled. A larger company would probably be able to deal with these things much easier, but for an independent team of one, weeks, no, days matter. I was broke, stressed, and depressed. During this time, I had become very reclusive. I didn’t have money to spare, and I couldn’t live the flamboyant lifestyle I had become accustomed to before this story began. I was struggling to keep my basic necessities like food and water.
I really felt like my life was an embarrassment. I didn’t want to feel like a failure or a quitter, but I was struggling to hold on to everything: my business, my house, my car, my sanity. I didn’t want to turn to my family or what friends I had left, because I didn’t want the criticism. At the same time, the little help that I did have came from people who were used to living off scraps that fell to the bottom. Who were these people? How did I end up living with and surrounding myself with people I had known less than a year?
June had cunningly moved herself into my home. For Goldie, this was great, because he supplied the cocaine, and she supplied the weed. It wasn’t until I met June that I understood what a weed head really is. When she woke up in the morning, she brushed her teeth and then smoked a blunt before she got dressed for work. She smoked a blunt on her way to work, and then she smoked again on her lunch break. June smoked a blunt on her way home from work, and then when she got home, she would say, “Hey, you wanna smoke?” and I would smoke with her in the evening. On top of her (well our) habit, Goldie was still having his friends over to do lines in the living room.
Good Morning, this is your wake up call…
By now, I’m sure anyone who is following along with any sense would say I could not have been too focused on running a business with all this foolishness and these distractions around. The truth is that although I was working very hard during the day, I was not as focused as I should have been, and this is probably the underlying reason as to why things were not going as smoothly as they could have. Many of the setbacks probably would still have happened, because they were beyond my control. However, the way in which one rebounds from a setback is totally under your control, and I was doing a terrible job with the rebounds.
One day, the mailman rang the doorbell with a certified letter for which I had to sign. I was curious about the letter, because I thought perhaps a breakthrough had finally come for one of my projects. To my surprise, it was an absolute breakthrough. It was a moment for some sense to breakthrough and hit me in the head. The mailman delivered a letter from my mortgage company notifying me that in 15 days, they would be initiating foreclosure proceedings for my residence.
When I read the letter, I was home alone, and I never felt more alone than at that time. It was the middle of the afternoon, and most people were at work. The neighborhood was quiet, all the children were at school, and life seemed to be normal for everyone except me. I looked around and could see Goldie’s shoes in the middle of the living room floor, marijuana sticks on the coffee table, a mirror that had not been put away, dishes in the sink, and the house reeked of weed and cigarette smoke. My eyes welled with tears, and I just screamed “FUUUUUUUUCK!!!!!!” This was my initial wake-up call that I was so far off track and needed to pull it together. I had been able to go so far shuffling bills around, but now, it was a matter of survival.
With all the strength in me, I had to make a plan. If you ever want to make a major change in your life, start with your home. Your home is a direct reflection of yourself and what is going on in your life. The first thing I did was get my broom and started sweeping. I had to sweep away all the bad energy, bad feelings, and bad people out of my life. I swept the carpets, baseboards, and every lower surface of the house. Then I started scrubbing. I scrubbed everything, washed all the clothes, folded them, cleaned the kitchen, and made up all the beds. By the time Goldie and June came home, the house was spotless.
I’m sure one could imagine the look of surprise on their faces at this change, but this was not the biggest surprise for them. When they got there, I sat them both down and told them about the letter, and that I needed to start putting some money together to catch up on the mortgage. I told them that I would no longer allow cocaine in my house, no more late night parties, and I had relegated smoking of any kind to the garage. I told them that I had spent the entire day cleaning the house and clearing my mind, and I wanted it to stay that way. From that moment forward, if you were going to live in my house, you had to contribute or get out.
June was willing to comply immediately. She told me that she understood, and she would be willing to help out however she could. Later that evening, she gave me $200 to help me get started on the mortgage. Goldie, on the other hand, went ballistic.
He started in on me, “So are you telling me I can’t have any of my friends over? I live here too, you know. What the fuck? I don’t even see how you can say we have to contribute when you don’t contribute shit. So you mean, you're going to tell all your friends to stop coming over here too, since you ain't paying any bills? Why don’t you go get a job, since you’re supposed to be so fucking smart? I don’t understand how someone with all your skills can just sit around all day and not get paid.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I just told him that I needed to scramble to make some ends meet, and he’s complaining about having to contribute to keep a roof not only over my head but over his head too. Instantly, he went into his selfish mode of not taking any responsibility and assigning blame. It wasn’t even about who was responsible more than it was about just needing to get it done. He felt like I was playing dictator because it was my house, and I was taking away his liberties. He was acting like a child.
I was tired of these childish tantrums of his, and I finally could see that he never had my best interests in mind. I did so much for him and tried so hard to show him a different path. Yet, he was stuck on this one, and I refused to support it anymore. I was not about to be put out of my house, because I continued to be swayed by this little boy.
“Look,” I said, “if you don’t want to contribute, then you don’t have to, but you’re going to have to find somewhere else to be regardless. Either I’m going to lose this house and you’re going to be homeless, or I’m going to put you out, and you’re going to be homeless.”
I meant what I said to him, and I told him in an unmistakable tone, so he knew I was serious. All the same, after his reaction, I still asked myself why I said that. Goldie immediately flipped out into insane mode.
I meant what I said to him, and I told him in an unmistakable tone, so he knew I was serious. All the same, after his reaction, I still asked myself why I said that. Goldie immediately flipped out into insane mode.
“I’m not going anywhere! I live here too!” He started yelling and screaming about me turning my back on him. “How can you say you love me and then try to put me out into the street? You know I don’t have any other place to go, and you would just do me like that? Fuck you! You never loved me.”
I was in shock. First, I couldn’t believe that he would go off like this, but then I couldn’t believe what he was saying. Is this how he really felt about me? Did he doubt my affections all this time? Now I started to get mad, no, furious.
“Nigga, how the fuck are you going to lay up in my house, dive my car, and then not want to contribute to keeping any of this? This shit costs money. And after all the shit we’ve been through and that I’ve done for you, how can you sit here and say I don’t love you? I’m starting not to love your dumb ass. You don’t appreciate shit. You know what? I don’t have to deal with this. You can take your shit right now and get the fuck out. Why don’t you call one of your ‘boys’ and ask them to let you stay with them. Who are you going to call? Marcus? Jeremy? You always got shit to say about what other people should be doing, but when it comes down to it, nobody is REALLY willing to do shit for you except give you a little money for you to shake your ass in their face.”
"OH Shit!" June screamed. The next thing I knew, I could feel the wind from an empty wine bottle as it flew past my face, hit the wall, and shattered into a million pieces all over the floor. One of the large shards ricocheted off the tile floor and sliced into the top of my foot. Blood was streaming and I couldn’t really move, because glass was everywhere. June rushed to help clear up the glass, so I could make my way to the bathroom. Up until that point, she had been standing there the entire time watching the discourse with her mouth wide open.
“What the fuck, Goldie!” I yelled. “This crazy-ass nigga almost hit me with a wine bottle!” I was frantic, nervous, and mad as hell! “You need to get the fuck out right now!”
"Oh, so you want me to leave then? Well fuck you and fuck all this shit!" Next, I heard more glass breaking as Goldie started ripping things off the wall. Picture frames fell while trinkets from shelves hit the floor. I jumped across the room in a trail of blood and grabbed the phone to dial 9-1-1
