I had spent the previous year in Colorado performing for the masses, and was invited back to my father’s home to regroup.
On 4/18/2013 I was peacefully meditating on the back-porch of my parents house, the eldest-younger brother (Christopher William Smith/ UPS) came home from school and decides to strike up conversation. It was pleasant at first, then slowly but surely his words became more aggressive, choosing not to understand my artistry therefore perceiving myself as just some bum freeloading off my father. At this moment in time, I’m on the outskirts of my family, living in the dining room without a door… so there wasn’t anywhere I could really go to get him away from me. After 45 minutes of his ego using white education to verbally bash my entire existence, I threw some water on him. Honestly the amount of water was minuet, but it was enough for him give into his mental confliction and allow his demons to attack me at FULL force.
He punches me in the bottom leftside of my jaw, knocking my bottom teeth up into my top- breaking my front left tooth (Dental records to prove it.) Then he shoves me back into a portrait on the wall, sending it crashing to the ground, shards of glass everywhere. Somehow, I end up on my back and he’s ready to finish the job.
***I now realize as an adult, that as a stepchild and not being a part of their nuclear family, that I’m often used as the punching bag/escape goat for anything that’s wrong. Seeing myself as the common denominator- and therefore the cause. Any conflict automatically becomes my fault. Anything I do is not good enough, or I’m not trying hard enough. All my family knows are school and government jobs. Artistry and the mechanics of founding a business aren’t even on their radar. It’s taken me 28 years to develop my artistry to the level it is today.***
Fortunately, my father (Charles William Smith Jr.) comes- and immediately thinks I’m the culprit. I knew that if he didn’t see malice in my eyes he’d catch on. I simply say “Dad, it’s not me.” He turns to my brother and sees his aggression and stops him.
Hours pass, and my stepmother (Lisa Florence-Smith) comes home. She never says anything else to me (for 6 weeks or so), not to see if I’m ok or anything. Since actions speak louder than words I realized she didn’t love me. ***I suppose what hurts the worst is that I gave her much of my love from a son that belonged to my deceased birth mother. During holidays and birthdays, I’m the one that stepped up with cards, and gifts when her own sons didn’t care to care.***
Later that night, my brother passes my doorless room and whispers in “Faggot ass nigga.” So in retrospect, I was bashed because I’m a colorful, multidimensional artist and therefore perceived as weaker. I am not. “Fag-bashing.”
I then realize that history in only repeating itself and things weren’t going to change. So I call the police. The officer told me I could get a warrant for my brother’s arrest the next day, but he didn’t tell me I needed a police report, and there wasn’t one so the warrant attempt didn’t work.
Sure enough, my step mother successfully schmoozed my father, and I became the enemy again. Accused of holding grudges, being disrespectful, and attempting to tear the family apart. Alienated for not referring to her as mom.
______________________________________________________________
Incident #2: Mental Inquest Warrant
Monday 5/20/2013- From the truama and my abusive past, I developed a speech impediment- a stutter throughout my life. They’d become accustomed to me not being able to express/articulate myself as well as themselves. Also I have severe ADHD, and my medication was changed from time released to “instant effect.” Speeding me up and surpassing the lies they continuously feed me. They righteously filed an M.I.W for my arrest, claiming I was a danger to myself and others. Honestly, I’d rather paint rainbows, than argue/curse with idiots.
They successfully alienated me, filing an M.I.W. against myself, having 6 police officers come get me from my house. 4 of which snatched me out of my bed in hand-cuffs at midnight. I’ve spent the week in the psyche-ward, being evaluated. Fortunately, just because I’m a bisexual, artistic, spiritual, philosopher doesn’t necessarily make me crazy.
I returned a week later on a Tuesday night, being picked up by my father. We barely made it up the driveway, before he kicked it into reverse and was taking me back to the police/psyche-ward. I dove out of the car. He slammed the car in park, jumped out of the car and stood between myself and our home with malice in his eyes. His hand on his back pocket. My father owns two guns. He’s raised me on the story of soul singer Marvin Gaye and how his father shot him. It isn’t the first time my father had threatened us at gun point. Yes my family is sick, but I’m not afraid…
___________________________________________________________
Incident #3: Restraining order
Wednesday 5/22/2013- Days later, I’m laying in bed around 11 p.m.- 2 more cops (with a third party, female) ordered me to leave, I had to stay 500 ft. away from my house. My evil step mother lied and went and got a restraining order against me. She’s trying to make me into a threatening big scary black guy, and victimizing herself as the scared little innocent step-mother. Rather then punch me like my brother, she’s crying wolf and using the law to aggressively attack me. I’m harmless, but she hates that I’m my father’s first child. She’s jealous, trying to erase me from my bloodline. I couldn’t go back to my father’s home until I appeared in court a week later and showed the judge I’m a non-threat. The case was immediately dismissed.
My belongings were immediately set out on the curb. I was homeless for the following 2 years. Couch surfing from shelters, to park benches, and a few friends who understood my struggle. Not to mention I have serious health issues (including but not limited to rheumatoid arthritis to and moderate limb paralysis.) Long story short, there isn’t alot of room for philosophically spiritual performance artists in the corporate world.
Moral: Even throughout it all. I’ve regained my sense of self, and remembered why I initially became an artist: I have great depths of love in my soul, and limitless highs of inspiration to share. Intuition and spirit elevates myself above the conflict, for a nontraditional personal glory.
Recent Comments