I Knew He Was in a Bad Place The Last Time I Saw Him. And Now He’s Gone. How Are We Supposed to Help Our Friends?

Shit O. Just saw the post on Facebook. I hate finding out that way. Too often it seems like. But I guess that’s just how it is now. You’re like the sixth person I know from Cornell who’s passed away. I don’t really wanna try to count right now but yeah there’s probably even more than that. Probably more like 10. Some of them didn’t even make it to their 40s like you. Is this normal?

My first memory of you is you freestyling in a cipher in the suite next over from mine in Ujamaa. It was in Big Rich’s room (RIP Rich too, damn). Classes hadn’t started yet. I don’t remember everyone who was there but I’m guessing there was at least Rich, Alex and Tony. I’d just transferred in for my sophomore year from Binghamton and most of you guys had already developed your crews and close friendships from the summer of your freshman year from COSEP. I was so jealous I missed out on that. So cats were freestyling. There were probably some 40s being passed around. We were all underage. People were just rapping for fun. Nobody was about to become the next Unsigned Hype in The Source. Well it got to your turn. And you busted out with, “I’m not rapper…yo yo yo…I’m not a rapper…check it…I’m not a rapper…” And somebody yelled out, “Alright O you’re not a rapper, we get it!” The whole room erupted in laughter. And so did you. Your loud ass laugh that shook the whole room. You whipped your dreads and laughed up into the high ceilings, revealing the teeth that were small for your 6 foot plus frame, opening your mouth to its extremes. You had a sense of humour about yourself. You weren’t afraid to laugh along.

I wish my last memory of you could have been better. I would try to check out at least one game when Alex was coaching at high school football in the Bronx. And tho Alex was the first one to ever refer to me as his brother from another mother we had drifted cause life does that often but whenever we saw each other it was all love. So sometimes the only time I would see him was at the end of his football games. It would usually take me at least an hour to get there. Most of the games were on Saturday and I was at the mercy of the MTA gods for good weekend train service. I’d be coming from downtown Manhattan or Brooklyn. And I’d usually watch the games by myself. The only Asian in the stands.

But four years ago I saw you there. It’s funny cause I saw Big Jose at one of the games too and you know he lives in Cali so I was super surprised to see him. Your dreads were gone but you were still O. Like most of us you’d put on a little weight. But we were what 18? 19 when we met? We were close to 40 now. After the initial excitement of seeing you after so many years wore off I started noticing some things. The game had started at noon. And I could already smell the liquor. I thought maybe you’d just had a fun outing the night before. Or maybe that’s what I wanted to think.

After we got past the initial catching up of the last 19 years of our lives you rambled on about so much. I mean we all know you could always talk. You could tell the hell out of a story. The best part is you always laughed the hardest at your own jokes. You told me you’d recently fallen on hard times. How you had a good job but the boss was an asshole and either you had quit or gotten fired, I don’t remember. And how you’d been looking for one but it’d been difficult. But you were excited about an interview you had coming up on Monday. And that you were lucky you had a good deal on an apartment nearby and that the landlord was trying to get rid of you because of it. I don’t really remember the details. Maybe that last part is wrong. We talked about how expensive the subway was now and how the service seemed worse than when we were younger. I asked you if you were on Facebook. You said you were but that you’d changed your name to Lucid Ity. You kind of rambled on about the reasons why. Maybe something about privacy. You explained to me why you chose Lucidity. Truthfully, I barely listened. You told me all this as we sat next to each other in the cold in the stands. Trading stories while both facing the football field.

After the game we went onto the field and hung out with Coach Alex. He could never stay long since he had to get to the lockers with the team. Can’t remember if they won or not. You suggested we take a picture together. We probably promised each other to hangout soon. We said peace to Alex and you and I walked to the train together. I swiped you in. As we waited for the platform you seemed anxious. And eventually you asked. “Hey man, I’m so embarrassed to ask you this but you think I could hold some money? I could really use the help right now. I don’t even know if I have enough to get to my interview on Monday. Damn this is mad embarrassing. I’ll get you back when I got it. You know me.” But I didn’t tho O. And I knew it wasn’t you asking for it. But I didn’t have the heart to say no. So I gave you all the cash I had on me. Which was probably like $50 — $60. I knew what it was for. I hated to see you like that. You graduated with an Architecture Degree from Cornell. Onel of the finest of those in the world. I didn’t want to judge you. I know more now about addiction than I did back then. But damn man, how? I thought this type of stuff happened to people who didn’t go to Ivy League schools like us. It happened to other people not to us. But that’s not how it works.

We took the train downtown until one of us had to transfer. I texted Alex later. He said he was aware but didn’t know what to do. I Tweeted about it. And D who I didn’t know that well at Cornell messaged me on FB asked me if I was referring to you. He said he didn’t Tweet but followed accounts including mine. He referred to you as “Our brother Omar.” Fuck that hurt to type that. He said he’d talked to you the other day and it seemed like you were in a bad place and that he was happy I was able to help you. But did I tho? Or did I just enable you more? He said your problem had been going on for a few years now and that he was planning to call you soon.

Again, that was four years ago. And now you’re gone. I don’t have the details. Alex reposted your niece(?) on FB. I never saw you again. I don’t think we even traded numbers. Hold on, let me check. Nope don’t have you in my phone. Do I want to know the details? Will it make a difference? Lately there’s been lot of talk about mental health and addiction. Mostly inspired by celebrities’ problems with them. Society in general seems more empathetic about both than ever before. “Reach out to your strong friends” was a thing on social media especially after the suicide of Anthony Bourdain and the overdose death of Mac Miller. I thought about the three people in my life who I’ve lost to suicide. And how I had no idea they were having issues. I thought about how addicts can be so damn charming and convincing. I have a friend now who was dealing with the suicide loss of a sibling when she lost a parent recently and who I think is depressed and hasn’t been very responsive to messages from our collective of friends. I also saw the “Reach out to me if you’re feeling down” posts on social media as well. And I texted my friend Dominique, “I don’t think people understand how depression and addiction works.”

In an ideal world we just ask someone how they’re doing and they tell us and we tell them that it’s going to get better and that we love them and then it’s all good. I’ve learned the beautiful people, rich people, successful people, loved people all can struggle. I don’t even know why I’m writing this to tell you the truth O. Maybe I’ve even crossed a line by publishing this. I was in bed when I saw it this morning on my phone and I was sad and upset. Mostly because I don’t know what I could have done. Or if I should have done something. Or if I shouldn’t have given you money that day. Or if I should have made sure that you made it to the interview. Was there even an interview? Our egos tell us that we could and can make a difference in everything, for everyone.

I have another close friend who I suspect has issues with depression. And now that I’m in another country I feel more distant with him. And I worry about him. Especially since he feels things so deeply and America is slowly drowning in evilness. And I don’t know what to do. So maybe that’s it. Maybe this is my call for help. This is me admitting that I don’t know what to do when someone close to me is going through depression or addiction. Now I turn to you, if any of you have experiences as either a person who helped or was helped, please drop me a note. I don’t want to write something like this about someone else I know. Ever again.

RIP Big O.