17 Oct
2026
They let me out in the middle of the night. I had no ride, no money and nobody waiting outside. So I walked, for about seven hours, until the sun came up. That walk, and a few bus drivers who showed me kindness the next morning, helped me make a decision that changed my life.
Late in 2005, leaving a football game, I was riding in a car that police pulled over. It turned out the car was stolen. Everyone else ran. I stayed, and I wouldn't tell them who had been driving. At that point in my life, I felt I had no one and nothing to live for.
I ended up in jail in Pompano Beach and spent Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Year's Day there. In the end, I was not charged. The police knew who had been driving, and they had seen me get out of the back seat that night. I believe my unstable living situation, my lack of prior arrests and my upcoming brain surgery also played a part in my release.
They released me in the middle of the night, about two weeks before my surgery. I actually told them they could have held me longer, because I had gotten comfortable in there. A corrections officer told me I had spent the holidays in jail, so I should go have some fun before my brain surgery.
Before I left, the officers asked to hear one more of my poems. I offered to let them keep it, but they refused. They said I should give it to my special friend.
Then I was outside, alone, in the dark.
I walked for about seven hours straight, not knowing where I was going, until the sun came up. The whole way, I was talking to myself about death. I had thought about it so many times. I had wanted it. But walking through that night, I started asking myself what real happiness could ever come from it, and whether there would be any way back if it wasn't what I hoped.
By the time the sky was getting light, I had my answer. As I wrote in my memoir: "So in my mind then I began looking at earth as the best place for me because at least here I’d have options and opportunities for making my life better."
Options and opportunities. That was the whole decision. Not that my life was suddenly good. Just that here, it could still get better.
If you are thinking about suicide, call or text 988 (Suicide & Crisis Lifeline, U.S.).
When morning came, I still had to get home. I explained to the bus drivers that I had just been released from jail, and they let me ride for free. One of them gave me a free pass so I could get back home.
Those drivers didn't know me. They didn't know about the surgery, the seizures or the years on the street. They just saw a young man who needed to get somewhere and decided to help. In the acknowledgments of my book, I thank strangers who gave me food and love while I was living on the streets, "wanting nothing in return." Those bus drivers belong on that list.
Sitting on that bus, I realized I hadn't had a single seizure the whole time I was locked up. I had three people I truly loved on my mind, and I was heading back.
On that ride I made a wish. In my words: "I had one wish, which was to change my life so I could become a total lover, not a fighter, and I had to figure out how to do so."
I also knew that to make that change, I would have to become immune to the things people said to discourage me. A guard had already told me to forget what the crowd said about me. Now I had to actually live it.
You don't have to have been in jail to have a night like that. Maybe you've walked out of a hospital, a relationship or a job with nowhere to go. Here is what helped me:
A free ride costs very little. To me, that morning, it meant I didn't have to walk any further alone. If you ever have the chance to be that person for someone, take it.
The full story of that year, and the brain surgery that came two weeks later, is in my memoir Neglected But Undefeated on my Books page. And if you are walking through your own long night right now, keep going until the sun comes up.
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