SEEING IT DIFFERENTLY

My day always started off relaxed, then my cell door opened. Out and about, the world came fast, and with it numerous interactions. That's why I'm in my head, calculating what I'm saying as I heard nonsense from those I'm incarcerated with.

The majority of it was layered with foolishness: "Did you hear Gino got caught with a cellphone last night," or "This idiot Mark puked on the tier, and we had to clean it because he was too high." My annoying soundtrack that Tory Lanez captured perfectly with his Peterson album.

I use to do the fake smile, nod, and gave my ready-made response: "These morons are making prison worse." It worked constantly, thanks to decades of practice. That's why I'm able to navigate it all.

My life is now centered around me, and me alone. I had this eye-opening discussion with my better half. She shared insight on how I am: a father figure to EVERYBODY. This came about due to my worrying about my baby brother who has mental health issues.

My brother hasn't verbalized his thoughts in 6 grueling years. He did drugs, and never came back. He...he's my heart, and as I'm stewing in the cell learning all of this, I indirectly made the next young kid to cross my path take on my brother's persona.

I helped everybody I could, taking on their problems, making them mine. I did this all the time, and it took on a life of its own. Everybody would come to me, and I would give every drop of myself in assisting them. No matter what I'm doing, life stopped to help these kids.

Today, I'm on the phone with my sister, discussing our family. She shared with me about our baby brother's mental health. It was a conversation I never had with her, because we're living life; she, out there, and I, incarcerated. So to hear about her taking over his care if--God forbid--our mother passed. This was something I pondered all the time, because I carried the burden of letting my family down with my poor decision-making. Honestly, it broke me in ways that I had a real fear of him being placed in a mental institution for the remainder of his life. But our sister stepped up, and that fear was removed. I took a sigh of relief, then said my goodbye as the call closed.

My next call was with my better half, and we spoke about our day, then I broached the subject of my brother and his care. As I did, my better half boldly shared her thoughts: "You continue to be a father when you don't need to." That froze me. What she said made me think, and when I did...my eyes opened.

I placed those problems on my shoulders because I felt it necessary, due to my actions leading me to a cell, leaving my siblings behind. I internalized that by making it my life's purpose to help everybody. I helped EVERYBODY...but myself.

My better half asked me this: "Would they do it for you?" I'm on a phone in prison, looking at the men around me, and I said no. They wouldn't. They're not capable of doing what's right. I followed that with a but. There wasn't a but, not when my better half made me aware that I'm in prison, serving more time than I could count. That broke through more than a thousand yelling voices in my ear.

The call ended, but I sat in the day room, thinking, and thinking, and thinking. I'm in my head, face to face with myself, asking real-life questions: "Do you want to go home?" "Don't you think it's time to change tactics and focus more on you?"

When I had the answers, I rose to my feet. The men came, and with them were more stories of prison nonsense. I did the fake nod, fake smile, and same damn response. However, I climbed those steel steps with less weight than before; I recognized that it's all on me to get home. Me. Tutankhamon Emmanuel Waterman. The man who spent 27 years making his life matter, but I'm not squandering it on those who didn't care. I care, and I'm going to prove it to myself each and every day.

It's my time to start building a plan of action to get out and be the man I worked endlessly to become. Shoot, I had my biggest cheerleader wake me up with her love, passion, and strength. I never had somebody do that. Never.

I hear you. And I will prove it to myself that I can and will. Do you hear me: I'm coming out of this, because my life matters. Mine.