Memoir

The feeling of warm anger and steaming frustration was unbearable. Holding these feelings inside was sure to be ticking time bomb, waiting for its time to run out so that it could explode. I love my mom, but this dictatorship from more than 500 miles away wasn't healthy for me. I felt as helpless as a 5-year-old child being told what to do. With frustration in my veins as a familiar feeling, I walked around Morehouse College with a permanent frown on my face. My eyebrows were raised as high as the moon, my nostrils were flared, and my eyes collected tears of anger almost every second of the day. I was alone, no matter how many people I was around. Imagine being alone in a dark corridor and at the end of the corridor was the place you felt was the key to your happiness but it was always out of your reach. That place at the end of the corridor for me was Columbia College Chicago. I dreamed of being there everyday and it helped me to stay sane. The only friends I had at the time were my thoughts and my iPod. They were the only things that made me feel like I was being listened to.

My friends were also my worst enemies. During my classes, my ears were as closed as a safe at a bank and no one could crack the code but me. I paid no attention in any of my classes. My earbud headphones were attached to my ears at all hours of the day. Listening to music made me feel like I was floating on a cloud, away from society, away from pain, away from reality. I envied this feeling of being free and it angered me every time I thought about it. After being done with classes, I always went straight to my dorm. That place always smelled like urine. I really hated living there with all guys. The bathrooms stayed filthy and disgusting and I had a roommate from hell. My room reeked of marijuana at all times. My roommate sold marijuana and from time to time, he would bring girls into our room to have sex with them. Keep in mind that this was while I was still in the room.

My mom didn't understand what I was going through. What I was going through was equivalent to torture. Morehouse College was a jail, my dorm room was my cell, and as the days passed, I was serving my time. There had been weeks where I didn't talk to my mom. I missed her dearly and I hated that it had to be this way. I really didn't feel like getting into an argument with her because if we did, I would shut down as abruptly as a power outage. I wanted us to come to some sort of agreement so this could be a thing of the past. I knew that wasn't an option, at least for now. So for the time being, I'll stay to myself. Alone in this dark corridor continually reaching for that distance place of happiness.