The Book of L: The Memoirs....


"I want you to know that I'm telling this story with nothing but love in my heart, pride in my soul for what you've accomplished and admiration for what you'll become. You're special... even in your anger you're special. In every word, action and deed (including those missteps on my part), know that for me, love has always been there. And sometimes, professing it publicly can bring forth a healthy resolution... no matter if it brings forth a con conclusion or not."- From Brandon to L-Boogie

You would think there would be more photos
of L and I together, but there aren't. This was
the first and last pic we ever took together.
That was a good day...
It was never a pondered thought to affirm the relationship between the two of us way back when it first started. Looking back on it now, I still don't see what others saw... I mean, L was, is and will always be a very beautiful girl. I mean she has the striking features that I see, just like many of you see them. But I just never saw her that way. She was the pretty home girl to me...

But the public thought something different, but we knew what it was. L was an amazing fri.... fuck that, L was my sister... and I miss her... I miss her like I miss certain things about Amber. I miss her smile, I miss her laugh, but most of all... I miss her love. L met me through my ADP Nelson... who told me if I ever needed anything, just call L and she'll take care of it. One day I needed to change my clothes and sure enough, L was right there to get me what I needed. I had never experienced this blind sort of support... coming from where I came from you don't get that kind of support. But L provided me that and in that, I made a promise, "you'll never have to worry about anything as long as you live. I got you." The funny thing about that is I didn't know how much I meant that at the time, but she'd hold me emotionally accountable for those words...

As time went on Lauren and I were inseparable. "Big Brother" is what she called me. Wanted to find Brandon, call L... she'll know where he is... he's probably with her. Want to find L... call Brandon, she's probably asleep on his couch if it's a Friday, Saturday or Sunday. So may drunken cookouts... so many sleep overs... any woman who ever talked to me had to get to know L first... a benefit in some instances and an inevitable pitfall in others. I never wanted, nor did I anticipate that there would ever come a time where the dynamics of our relationship with one another would change. But I suppose where I came up short was in two aspects:

1. I just assumed no matter what happened, be it right or wrong that Lauren would side with me. I was the big brother for goodness sake... who could be more amazing in here eyes than me? Who did she love more than Brandon Kolby Jacobs? Nobody... right?

2. There was no separation in relationships. She was a part of all of my relationships with everyone... which ultimately in my opinion is what led to us being where we are with each other today... silent

When a mirror gets broken, you can fix that... when a relationship is broken, sometimes you can fix it and sometimes.... you never get it back... Now I dealt with quite a few of the folks that Lauren was friends with, but I find one in particular when I view things in retrospect to be the one that was probably the worst decision I made. That is not a reflection on the young lady, but the timing and reasoning made that entire situation just wrong on so many different levels. And I had lost Amber (the first time) and was starting to unravel. I looked for support from Lauren that I didn't receive and I resented her for that... perhaps she thought I was being dramatic (she wouldn't have been the only one), perhaps she thought I was making it all up, that the suicide attempt was a plea for the attention I simply wasn't getting as Brandon Kolby Jacobs and it was all in a self indulging attempt to be seen. For the first time ever, maybe L didn't like who I was. What I can tell you L is that I am many things... including a liar... but I don't gain anything in ruining my life... and I don't enjoy having to take these to keep my memory, sleep, stop from seizing on a floor and just be remotely normal...


L and I would go dark for most of 2010 and wouldn't sit down for a conversation until the middle of 2011. We hashed out the things that had divided us up to that point, but had to agree to disagree on certain subjects. Regardless of that fact, we were able to move past it all and move forward. That wouldn't last long...


And now it's been a little over two years since I last saw Lauren... so rather than expressing myself in writing I think she needs to hear me say this...


Lauren, I can't change what's happened and I can't even change how you feel inside or what you believe... only you can do that. But you my girl... and no amount of time, no ill words, no tweets, no silent treatment, nothing will change that. We're family... I'm always your brother.. here for you always... yours in life and death.

 



Domestic Violence... How Do We Get Here... Blood On The Walls... And Where Do We Go Once The Blood Dries....



First of all, I want to make the point that I grew up in a house with a father, with three sisters and with a mother... so the psychological excuse of, "my daddy wasn't there to teach me how to be a man" or "I didn't know any better isn't an excuse for me." I think this is important because rather than providing the general assessment of you should never hit a woman (which should go without saying) isn't really the answer. The real answer is about managing frustration, understanding your anger, and all parties being mature enough to disagree, but doing so in a respectful way in addition to any emotional or psychological assistance one may need if they grew up in an environment that lends to this sort of behavior being okay. But how did I get here? Let me tell you the story...

I've touched this paper maybe a hundred times in the last
8yrs... still brings back those feelings of love...
To understand what happened on the day in 2005, when everything went south you have to understand what the relationship was like in the beginning...

She (because I want to respect her right to privacy, but still be able to tell the story) was an amazing person. She was beautiful, she was passionate, she was ready to take on the world. And we did that... together. We moved at a very young age in an effort to declare our undying and unwavering love for one another... and to spite her mother. But the move, my growth as a person, my pursuits of stardom in New Blood Entertainment led to me becoming a man she despised... and rightfully so. She took a lot of inappropriate behavior from me, moved out on her own and we still dealt with one another on a semi-daily basis... it was very much so the proverbial, "we not together, but we still together" sort of behavior. Time went on and she found someone else... and rightfully so. She deserved to be happy with someone else, but like I was with my situation she wasn't being completely honest with me. It wasn't until recently that I found out that she knew when I took my trip to Fayetteville, NC that I was going for work, but had every intention on having sex with another woman (I had been planning it for months) and of all of the women and of all of the indiscretions, that would be the one that would sound the bell in her mind to end the relationship. And so I went to Fayetteville and emotionally, she had left me...

She was gone when I came back with a note on the table... I drank a lot that night and the nights that followed... I wondered the streets of Tallahassee trying to find her... not literally, but emotionally I was lost without her, but it was my own doing that led to the feelings I had, but I was too weak to hold myself accountable... so it was just easier to blame her... Eventually we'd talk again, but it just wasn't the same. So I moved into a new complex, but decided it was best to go home for a semester. In coming to that conclusion she and I agreed that she would take my place in my apartment for the semester and when I came back, we'd discuss getting back together. Something that would never come to pass after a discovery I'm sure in hindsight, we'd both prefer had never gone down that way....

I was moving her stuff into the house when I found out that she had been with someone else... and I wish I could say more, but all I can say is I found out in a way that you never want to find something like that out. She was sitting on top of the dresser and I was sitting at the desk when I uncovered the information... and I don't know why... I can't explain, nor do I want to try and justify it, but I jumped from the chair and placed my hands around her throat... shocked and confused she attempted to fight back and was able to hit me hard enough to get me to stumble. When she realized what I had found out, she headed for the door... but she didn't make it. I hit her several times in a complete fit of rage and as blood was splattered on the walls (mostly hers from what I believe was a busted nose or lip) she finally got the strength up to grab a Mango perfume bottle and crack me over the head with it. I think she was hoping that would do me in, but it didn't... it only enraged me further and grabbed her by her face and pushed her head into the drywall. Disoriented and emotionally wounded she collapsed and I went into the walk in closet (that was connected to the bathroom) and pulled all her clothes off the hangers. No, I didn't throw them out the door... I took all of her clothes, put them in the tub and turned the hot water on... blending all the colors together and ruining her clothes. She cried and begged me to stop, but I was lost... she's since told me that morning as that was going on that I looked like I had no soul when  I looked at her... I can't remember... Her statement in the police report says I attempted to drown her... again, I can't tell you if that's true or not. All I know is that when it was all over and she was gone from the house and I was alone, there was holes in the walls and blood smeared on the floor and on the walls leading from the bedroom to the front door.


I gave her a concussion and fractured her wrist... but it isn't about that... and regardless of what she did that many people have tried to tell me was completely justifiable for me to be that enraged, I have to hold myself accountable. You see, it's not about what happened that day that may or may not be justified... it's about the abuse she suffered on a day in and day out basis from me, which I wasn't taught in the house I grew up in, that was the real issue. You see, the fight that day doesn't happen if I treated her better, if I respected our relationship, if I wasn't so arrogant as to think I have the right to do my thing and she can't do the same... she's not my property... she's a human being! Knowing my prior record for assault and battery on people in general, she didn't press charges... some might feel that was a bad decision, but what it forced me to do was live... on a daily basis with the decisions I made. I've thought about that day every day since... I'm ashamed of myself and what I did that day because there's simply no excuse. I should've been man enough to leave if I was that hurt and that upset. No person ever deserves to be attacked in that way and I despise myself for what I did that day and I've sworn to manage myself and my anger and to become a better person because of it. 

And so people have asked me for years why I love working with the Hubbard House so much, why I find aiding women of domestic violence is important... why anger management, therapy in the black community, marriage counseling, and relationship evaluation is so important... because I am a culprit of domestic violence and it is my charge and life long responsibility to serve those women, to caution men of their actions and to ensure what I did to my ex never happens to another woman. To have three sisters and the amazing mother that I have makes what I did that day even more of a shame... and my mother has never bashed me, nor have my sisters... there was never a need to. I knew of my own personal morals that regardless of if other may feel that my actions were justified given the circumstances... I know.... I know what I did was wrong. Fellas, I hope this opens your eyes to some things, maybe gives you some perspective and ladies... always evaluate your relationships... never sacrifice what you feel you deserve or what you feel like is "as good as it gets" because thinking like that reinforced bad behaviors and domestic violence can be physical, psychological, or emotional... know yourself, know your mate and everyone lets hold ourselves accountable. I'm grateful to my ex (who has been able to forgive me and move on... and I thank her for that... as she's a really good person) for being so forgiving and allowing me the opportunity to learn from my mistake on this side of the jail bars so that I can hopefully help someone else. Have a good day yall...



Death To Made Greeks.... Bitch, You Wasn't All That Anyway!


I'm aware these are Spartans and the bodies are Persians, but maybe you'll
see my message in the image from a non-literal perspective when we get to the end.

After sitting on this one for a while, I thought it best to share my thoughts on a topic that's important to me and since I'm usually the one to get the pot boiling, I said to myself, "self, why not be the one to get an important discussion going?" So here we are and the cusp of what seems to be a new wave of greekdom. It's strange because as much as my generation, 2006-2010 (which is totally different from 1998-2005, or NPHC pre-Iota, or above ground pledging, etc) and back (and that wasn't even that long ago) have different perceptions on what MADE is, who is and isn't made and just generally how different the Greeks post Robert Champion (RIP) are, I pondered a thought. The thought isn't whether these Greeks are truly made, but rather... does it even fucking matter?

And before any of you say it, I'm well aware that Chief Keef isn't Greek (did he even finish high school?). But I'm posting this pic of Chief as an example... how many Iotas, Alphas, Omegas, Sigmas and Kappas you know that look like this... or want to still live this lifestyle (some of his behavior is shit I've been guilty of in my own life). We've got a shit ton of us who look just like this, dress just like this on college campuses, are members of fraternities, took a shit ton of wood... aaaaaand for what? Niggas made like a mothafucka, can tell you Invictus faster than Speedy Gonzales, know they Founders names front, back and side to side, and know the EXACT date of homecoming... but they can't tell you the last time they logged into their orgs site to put in community service hours... OR EVEN DID ANY FOR THAT MATTER!!!!! I mean seriously, who was it all for? When we sat under the bright light or in that dark room and answered why we wanted to be whatever it was that we wanted to be, what was the agenda? It was supposed to be in an effort to be....

THIS...
Omega Psi Phi at National Conference in 1955
Kappa Alpha Psi in 1940
Alpha Phi Alpha's Beta Chapter in the 50's
Iota Phi Theta Alpha Chapter in 1969
Phi Beta Sigma at Morehouse step show in 1980

But instead, we seem to be more concerned about "where the hoes at," "nigga, where you pledged" or "is yall boys running the yard still"... like my nigga, is you serious? Nigga did you even run the yard when you were on it? Who gives a fuck who runs the yard!? LOL... seriously... you do know that's four years of a LIFETIME... but I digress... 

Whoever made this picture should be HAZED
It has nothing to do with the orgs, the picture
is just silly...
So here we are... all of us at our apex... membership is high (whether they're financial or not), you see decals everywhere for everything, nalia is being sold by the boat loads, we're able to do more good than we could have ever imagined 50 years ago... and we do (let's not thing this is the pessimistic Greek talking here)! Our problem is we could be doing so much more if we did two things:

1. Stop having a debate that has no answer... over who is more made than who

2. Pick better people.

Contrary to popular belief none of our founders were dropped off in the middle of the woods, passed an egg, sat in a tub of ice, or any of the stupid ass shit we've conceived over the years and wrapped in this pretty package of, "it's a learning experience"... they were AMAZING people who picked equally AMAZING people and didn't sacrifice their organizational agenda in an effort to run the yard or have the "most made" people. Keep in mind now I did a lot of the same shit some of yall did.... and I knew it was fucking stupid then too...lol.

My Founder, the original Ace, Lonnie Spruill, Jr.
at our 50th Celebration
Now I'll probably be good and dead when my fraternity gets to be 100 and I'm fine with that... but I want to know that they'll get there... I want to know 200yrs from now Alpha, Omega, Kappa, Sigma, AKA, Delta, Zeta, and SG Rho are all there too... but if we want to get there, we have to look to our past and re-evaluate the future. Do I have the answer? Hello no! Am I saying just let a mothafucka walk up in your org no questions asked? NIGGA YOU CRAZY! But what I am saying is some of the shit isn't necessary if you reflect something worth being apart of, force them (the non-greeks) to meet HIGH academic and moral requirements to be apart and ensure that the person responsible for intake is mature enough to care for those people they're aiding in crossing the sands. We got enough shit to worry about in our communities that we're meant to be serving to be worried about how made a member is, if he or she went through what we went through or why a person did grad instead of undergrad. Nigga is you asking your MADE ass LB or LS why that mothafucka ain't paying no dues since they crossed, but be the first one in line for Beyonce/R. Kelly/Jay-z tickets, has new Jordan's or a 2014 Lincoln MKS? Lets keep this shit in perspective niggas... and until we can, I say DEATH TO MADE GREEKS, BITCH WE AIN'T ALL THAT ANY DAMN WAY!!!! LOL... Feel free to discuss folks....


The Night I Killed Myself... Not A Joke... A Serious Story of Suicide... All Of The Lights...

First of all, we won't play the blame game... there's really no point and in actuality, the only person responsible for that happened to me that night was me...  you can't hold anyone else accountable when you make a very conscious (and insane) decision to kill yourself... but before we get there, the stage has to be set. 

I'm not exactly sure what day it was that I completely lost it, what I do know is that Amber and I had been at odds about a multitude of things and oddly enough, her position was completely legitimate. I know it might serve the masses who read my blogs, because they're supporters of me, to hear that at this point she did something wrong, but in actuality, no... she didn't do anything. I was already in a bad way because this was the first time our relationship had fallen apart and I wanted to talk, she wasn't having it and I didn't know how to manage my emotions. You have to understand me and who I am at this point (and really to a certain degree even now), I struggle with emotion management. I'm either very high or very low... I either am super confident or I'm a shell with no belief in myself. So Amber had left and I was in a very bad way... so I started to see someone to help me manage the emotional loss of Amber. Whelp one night something (I really don't remember what) happened that caused me to go into emotional upheaval. And for some reason (like it tends to happen when I reach my emotional ropes end), I snapped... I found a bottle of gain alcohol, about 30 antidepressants, smoked some weed that was probably laced with something, popped some ecstasy pills, loaded my 9mm handgun, got in my car and I started driving... yes, I was drinking the bottle as I was driving...


It's strange being in that place. Oh sure a lot of people ponder killing themselves, but it's like biting into your own skin... oh sure you think you can do it, until you see your own blood... then it becomes real... I know I spoke to my therapist while doing 108MPH over the Dames Point bridge, cutting off cars, waving a loaded gun out the window. I had gone to a place of pure insanity... and rather than leave out the emergency exit... I treated it like the killing joke... for some reason I waned to be that man in Burma and watch the world burn... Funny, I shouldn've been able to see the signs of where I could go if I wasn't in control of my emotions, but that night... I really just didn't care... that night, I had made a firm decision to end it, but rather than end it in such a way that was finite, I wanted to go out in a blaze of glory... make it something that folks would talk about throughout the ages... or at least in a very high and drunk state that's what I thought.


So I just was driving down A1A on the phone with my therapist rambling... rambling in a drunk state while switching lanes and pointing my pistol at anyone who dared to honk their horn... I had no shirt on... just a wife beater and some jeans... I had no idea where I was going and I guess my therapist couldn't figure out where I was with all my drunk rambling, but she didn't want to disconnect the phone. You know, when I look back on it.. if the phone hadn't disconnected, I think she may have been able to save me from what would come next, but unfortunately, it just wasn't meant to be... the phone disconnected on A1A (as it does for everyone) right as it becomes a 2 lane road when you're headed to St. Augustine. I ended up taking it all the way to St. Augustine, crying about Amber, crying about money, crying about my mother hating who I was... I was in complete shambles. Don't ask me how I managed to make it to St. Augustine from Jacksonville, but I did... and when I got to the place I'd take my last breath... my brother called...

The Quality Inn that I died in...


Things get foggy from a personal perspective once I arrive at the hotel. The video cameras and police report speak on and show me stumbling out of my car, dropping my pistol and laying on the cement for over 10 minutes. I then get up, place the gun in the trunk of the car and wander into the hotel and demand a room. The woman at the desk, who can tell I'm clearly not in my right mind ask me if I have any much, to which I replied I don't... but then my brother called my cell phone. I'm not sure of the details of the conversation, but I apparently asked him to pay for the room. I had the phone to the lady at the desk and she agrees to let  him pay for the room... as she does that she stated that I began walking in circles and then collapsed on top of her glass coffee table, breaking it and cutting myself up. And then I stopped breathing. It didn't take the police and EMTs to get there, but at that point I was basically gone...I don't know the guys name who decided to hit me with the defibrillator for the fourth time, but he did and I woke up. 


Okay, so the part everyone always asks me, "did you see angels? Where there devils reaching out for you? Did you see a bright light." Um... fuck no. It was just dark... really quiet and dark, but I felt... weightless... I had no mass. And as bad as this sounds to some people, this was the best sleep I got in my LIFE! The annoying shit was coming back here... because I don't remember those first three times they hit me with the defibrillator, but that fourth one hurt like a mothafucka and woke me out of that sleep. As soon as they hit me I do remember trying to jump up, but I was in a EMT vehicle and that immediately stabbed me in the arm and put me back to sleep. 

You know, you'd like to believe that whenever you wake up and your dick is in the soft hands of a woman that nothing can be better.... but not the case if that bitch got a catheter in her other hand. "You're gonna feel a little pinch..." YOU LYING ASS BITCH!!!!! I FELT MORE THAN A GODDAMNED PINCH!!! I FELT LIKE I SHOULD'VE REPORTED YOU FOR A SEX CRIME!!!! But, she was saving me from my own stupidity as they had to immediately remove the toxic I put in myself out.

Then this shit, I got a tube put down my throat and was pumped with liquid charcoal, which apparently absorbs toxins that you put into your body and also disrupts your stomach to make sure you... um... remove them yourself as well... Needless to say being brought back to life is way less fun than just stay dead, I can tell you that much right now. 

So in the great state of Florida, if you decide to off yourself, and you manage to accomplish it, and they have to bring you back to life, and the succeed and they can't get a hold of a relative... you get what's called Baker Acted. What is that you ask? Well you're deemed unstable and put in a ward with a bunch of other people who aren't wrapped to tight. Problem with that is most people who try to kill themselves aren't really crazy... they're probably stressed... but not nuts in the long term clinical sense. Nonetheless, I was handcuffed to my bed and I woke up in a padded room.  Eventually they uncuffed me and I wasn't forced to sit in the padded room, but my shoe laces were take, my belt was taken, and ultimately, my dignity... It's humbling and life changing to be somewhere you can't leave (when they Baker Act you, even after they find your family you're stuck there for 72hrs until you're deemed safe to take care of yourself). And the thing is, if you're not crazy and you stay around crazy people for long enough, you start to think you might just be crazy. When you can have a normal conversation with a person with multiple personalities and manage the convo... it's time to bounce before you get stuck in that mindset. Well, I wasn't real big on participating in the little group discussions, I was still not in my right mind from what happened and I was in pain from the defibrillator. I called some folks when I got access to a phone, many didn't come see about me and others did. Eventually I got out and was assigned to River Point for substance abuse treatment. Since then it hasn't been easy... but it definitely has been life changing.


Well, what I can tell you now is I'm glad I'm not dead... that I think I'm clear on. The thing about pain is you have to feel it... all of us... we have to feel it. It's what keeps us grounded... lets us know we're real... lets us know there is a God out there somewhere. And even if you feel like he's forsaken you, that pain is him letting you know he's there and you just need to take a few steps toward him to make that go away. Suicide is no joke... depression is no joke... mental health is no joke.  The black community looks down on so many of these issues and so many people think they understand how people who get this low feel and like to call it selfish to try to kill yourself. I don't know, maybe it is... but aren't we all selfish on some level? Ultimately, it should never be able that person being selfish, but rather how can you helped them by allowing them to see the need to help themselves. Believe me, I'm still working on it.. So when I miss Ashton I those tears start running I just tell myself, "don't trip B. He ain't through with you yet."