Saturday, April 12, 2014

2012: The Year of Change – The Day My Dad Broke Down




Around two weeks ago, I finally released my debut album called Loving All My Demons and the last time I talked to you guys about it, I gave you a synopsis of the story behind the making of the album.  In this blog post, I wanted to get personal.  And I mean REALLY personal.  Before I got the idea of making a rap album, I wrote a real story recounting the beginning of the darkest time of my life. This story will give you a better idea of what went on during my mind and how much this album really meant to me.  So here it is, part TWO (And probably the final part) of the story behind Loving All My Demons:

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            I don’t quite remember the exact time and exact date, but I do remember that day as being a moment that I will never forget.  My dad had picked me up after I finished my classes at VCU.  On the drive home, my dad talked to me about what was happening with my mom. 

My mom had been fired from her job, around January, and she was staying home.  Ever since she had been fired, for some reason, she had changed.  Her attitude had changed, her personality had changed, her demi near had changed, nearly everything that made my mom, my mom, had changed for the worst. 

Before she got fired, she was helping me pay for my first year of college, since my dad had “no money” and I had no job.  She didn’t even want me to work anyways.  She told me to stay focused on school.  She told me that I didn’t need to worry about money and let her worry about it.  She told me that she had my back…What happened?

The mom that I knew was no longer the mom I knew back in 2011, in 2010, or any year before that.  She went from a hard-working, caring mother who would do anything for her children to make their lives better, to a woman who didn’t seem to care anymore.  Maybe it was because of the stress of college expenses, maybe the job treated her like shit…I don’t know.  All I know is something made her snap.

Shortly after my mom got fired, things with her started to get weird.  She was acting delusional and paranoid.  She was talking about people from her workplace coming after her.  She was always talking about people taking her to court.  She was always accusing us of giving out personal information, putting our business out there, and people trying to control her mind.  It was ridiculous.

On top of that, she was praying constantly.  There’s nothing wrong with praying, but she was praying for long periods of time in her room.  She wasn’t eating.  She wasn’t keeping up with her hygiene.  She was bruised up from constantly coining herself.  It was like she was trying to cleanse herself of something.

I remember the first time I realized these feelings that this women would no longer be the mom I knew for years.  I was preparing to go to school when my grandmother had called for me.  She told me that my mom was outside on the side of our house where we put our trashcan at and she was just standing there with her eyes closed.  My grandmother told me that I had to get her back inside because she and my dad tried to get her back in the house, but she wasn’t listening.  I remember thinking at the time that my mom was just acting hard-headed and that a good kick-in-the-ass from me will do the trick.  Little did I know the situation was more serious than I had imagined.




I went through the front door of our house and walked around to the side of the house to check out what was happening.  I saw my mom standing there with her eyes closed, touching the trash can in a trance-like stance.  She was wearing a long one piece dress that she would usually wear to bed and her long hair was frizzled and wild, like she had not washed it or brushed it in a while.  Her skin was really yellow and her face was scarred from what seemed to me like coining on her cheeks.  Her face was pale and she looked very thin.  Before I even opened my mouth, I knew something was wrong.

I told my mom to get inside the house.  She didn’t listen.  I told my mom again and she gave me the shush signal.  I’m not sure how many times I had told her to come inside but it seemed like ages.  The way she was presented was quite embarrassing, for us and for her.  I told my mom again, again, and again, but she wasn’t listening.  She would only make noise when I told her to get inside and when I tried to move her physically, she would only push me away, determined to stay in her trance.  Soon my dad, grandmother, and I all tried convincing her when my efforts alone weren’t enough.  I was getting irritated and thought to myself why this had to happen before I went to school.  I felt like crying.

Eventually, she allowed us to make her move and I had to take her by the hand and guide her into the house.  She walked very slowly, like her energy had disappeared from her physical being, and she kept her eyes closed the whole time.  I didn’t let go of her hand until she was completely inside the house.  I sat her down at our breakfast table and my grandmother took it from there.  I sat down on the couch near the table looking at my mom.  She sat still, slowly blinking and off into her own world.  She looked so lifeless.  My grandmother served her rice soup and my mom adamantly sipped tiny portions of it.  I’m glad that she was eating and we got her inside the house but it felt like an empty accomplishment.  That day started in the worst way possible.  I soon learned that my twin brother had tried to convince her to get back in the house before me, but my mom wasn’t listening.  My grandmother told me that he cried while trying to do so.  How could I be so oblivious?  I didn’t know that this was going on until this situation that I was put in brought it to light.  I was only worried about my new chapter in my life at the time.

Unfortunately, this situation with my mom got worse before it got better.  My mother went to the emergency room three times over the course of around a couple of weeks because of what she was going through.  The first time occurred when she still had a job.  The second was after she got fired and she was in states of hysteria.  My grandma and dad got worried so we called for an ambulance.  24 hours after she was released, my mom went back to the hospital for a third time.  My grandma and dad called for Buddhist monks to try and “heal” her with blessings and such but that worked as much as constantly going to the ER to check for her physical symptoms. (Which were all normal, by the way)   Soon all of our family friends knew about the situation.  They were all very nice about it and they gave us free food.  Too bad it didn’t change much except an empty stomach. 

The one thing that bothered me about this whole situation is what my dad DIDN’T do.  I was at the hospital for the third time my mom went to the ER and the doctor had suggested that this may have something to do with her psychological well-being because her physical vitals were all fine.  He suggested to us that we get a psychologist to help us out in this situation.  I completely agreed with his suggestion.  My dad, on the other hand, nodded, but never followed through with the doctor’s suggestions.  My mom eventually got “better” due to some help from our family friends who have had experience in dealing with a similar situation before.  Yes, she did get better in the sense that she was no longer hysterical, but she was never the same person before all of this craziness happened.  I never understood why my dad never took her to a psychologist.  The solution to this problem was right there the whole time but he simply ignored it, like it wasn’t an option.  Why didn’t he take her to a psychologist like the doctor suggested?  I was thinking that this problem can get better faster with that option than what they were doing right then to make her better.  On that day that my dad drove me back home after school, I would soon know the answer to that question that was ingrained into my mind the whole time and the dilemma that he was facing with that question.

Half way home, my dad talked to me about what was happening to my mom.  I’m sure he knew that I knew what was going on with my mom but it seemed like the talk was more for him than for me.  I didn’t say anything and let him talk.  As he was talking about my mom’s situation, his voice was getting raspy and he was constantly clearing his throat.  Even though I don’t spend much time with him, I know him well enough that when he’s clearing his throat while saying something, he’s not sure about talking about it.  Soon, he was clearing his throat every few seconds, like he was trying to hold something back.  I didn’t look at him during that ride, but I knew he was tearing up about it because he was constantly wiping his eyes a lot like he was trying to hold all of his emotions back during the ride.  I could hear the sadness and his voice as he was explaining what he had been through with my mom in the past.

He said something that intrigued me about my mom’s past.  This is not the first time my mom has acted this way.  He told me that when my mom gave birth to us that she was acting the same way as she was now.  He told me that she had to be put in a mental hospital to get better.  No wonder my dad was hesitant of going to a Psychologist.  He’s afraid that she will be put back there again.  My grandma also talked about it too after my dad talked about it.  Both cried as they talked about that story.

As I quietly listened to his story, I also held back from tearing up myself.  In my 19 years of living on this earth, I’ve never seen (or remembered) my dad almost breaking down in front of me like that.  It was uncomfortable for me because he never shows that side but I felt like that moment showed me that he was a human being and that he was hurting over this as well.  What he was sharing was real.  He was being totally honest and he was being vulnerable.  I feel like that was a true moment of connection between him and me even though I said nothing.  That moment had impacted my perception of him for a long time.  Even though he’s not the best father in the world, I know that he’s trying the best he can.  After we arrived home, I got out of the car and went through the front door of our house by myself.  My dad was getting himself together in the car.



David Hayder, Independent Rapper and Internet Radio DJ
Official Website:  http://www.davidhayder.com
Listen to my latest songs here:  http://www.davidhayder.com/listen.html

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