Anx Turned me Inside Out by Kenneth O.

INSIDE

The ConTextos Authors Circle was developed in collaboration with young people at-risk of, victims of, or perpetrators of violence in El Salvador. In 2017 this innovative program expanded into Chicago to create tangible, high quality opportunities that nourish the minds,,expand the voices and share the personal truths of individuals who have long been underserved and underestimated. Through the process of drafting, revising and publishing memoirs, participants develop self-reflection, critical thinking, camaraderie and positive selfprojection to author new life narratives.

Since January 2017 ConTextos has partnered with Cook County Sheriff's Office to implement Authors Circle in Cook County Department of Corrections as part of a vision for reform that recognizes the value of mental health, rehabilitation and reflection. These powerful memoirs complicate the narratives of violence and peace building, and help author a hopeful future for human beings behind walls, their families and our collective communities.

While each author’s text is solely the work of the Author, the image used to create this book’s illustrations have been sourced by various print publications. Authors curate these images and then, using only their hands, manipulate the images through tearing, folding, layering and careful positioning. By applying these collage techniques, Authors transform their written memoirs into illustrated books.

This project is being supported, in whole or in part, by federal award number ALN 21.027 awarded to Cook County by the U.S. Department of the Treasury.

Anx: Turn Me Inside Out Basheer

23 20 ch ar -M

“DePaul!” “Inside/Out,” Ms. Hailly announced a new class, a class I had heard so much about. I tried to wipe the sweat off my hands, which never seems to work, as Ms. Hailly reluctantly shook her head: “No,” while I approached her. “There are guys who have already been waiting.” Ms. Hailly quickly reminded me that I was one of the new kids on the block, but I wasn’t really feeling all that freshman talk. Being looked over, no matter what the reason, always hit a nerve.

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I wonder do babies cry in the womb, or is it possible to have a misunderstanding in the afterlife?

-Se

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mb ‘89 e r o f -

Because I’ve been anxious from the start. As much as I love swimming, I popped out 24 days before my mother’s due date, or should I say “our due date.” Whether it’s impatience or drivenness, I feel like I won that sperm race for a reason. This sense of purpose is the only thing that seems to medicate the anx.

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Around the beginning of April, me and the other inside students had the opportunity to meet Chris: the professor, with a kick and a twist, and Kara: the student teacher, that’s everything, but the girl next door. As we impatiently waited in a circle of multicolored, worn down plastic chairs, separating each of us: insiders was an empty seat of wonder. Other than the instructors: Chris and Kara, the outside students were now the only question marks.

Kids, prolly White, with braces and half dyed hair, the other half most likely recovering from hangovers. Like what made them sign up for jail? Was a bunch of hard legs going to waltz in here like it wasn’t enough testosterone being bottled up in these sticky walls? Would they be calm? Would they be collected? Hopefully they were just as nervous as I was, sitting there, sneaking sniffs under my T-shirt. They sell the weakest deodorant behind bars, and I swore this was the biggest ball of sweat that ever crept down my rib cage.

I yelled because it hurt, they knew it hurt. Why didn’t my mama make them stop. I cried my little heart out, never given a chance to catch my breath. I screamed, I squirmed, why they held me in place. I couldn’t take it, every second, every staple felt like hell for the five-year-old me.

Mom Dukes seemed more worried than she was when they first put me in the ambulance. I don’t remember how I fell, all I remember is it was night. In the alley in between Marshfield and Ashland right in front of the old Gale Academy. All I remember is my mother’s anguish.

-M

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In the hospital, her anxiousness seemed like it filled the entire world. Anxiety was present before that doctor treated the back of my head like a piece of notebook paper. I knew anx before I could spell my last name. Anx came in that beastly dog from Sandlot when I was three.

Anx chased me with an actual dog when I was four. As a matter of fact, that’s the only day I actually remember about that pretty daycare in Uptown.

ess er y h ardn h w w ed ” awk n i la ’s exp Mwah l r i dg ah aire . “Mw h . ly ks cur snea jitters , d r ble toe wa wk shell th visi a i e r littl n he ne w s i o th so s,” kisse e only e h h of ’t t ooc sm sound wasn e I “lik he h,” led t , glad a w b es h M scrib xieti a w te an “M ma d my m o ro forte com

-4/14/23 9:30 Am-

Next to her sat The Camel then notus flower, next to her sat The Bear, then Baddie e th two times, next to her set The Orca, then Diamond Ink, next to her sat The Wolf, next g in to him sat The Starfish, then Professor Chris, next to him sat The Grasshopper, then br to the Beautiful Mind, next to her, sat The Frog, then Kara, next to her sat The e s i Hedgehog, then The Hourglass. om

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Anxiety and the Ghetto go together like dirty socks and flip-flops. By seven, I had my fair share of both. We moved all the way from the Chi, just to settle in the most treacherous part of Fort Worth, Texas: Stop-6. Where red rags were more present than the Red Cross, and getting chased by wild dogs was more frequent than Public transportation.

Which brings me to the school bus where I had my first fight, or maybe two, because first I had to overcome my inner battle with Anx. IDK if it was the fact that my Air Max 98’s were brand new, or that the colorway was blue but this miniature Piru was barking up the wrong third grader. It only took a couple of punches for a flawless victory, staring at his trickling nose really did something to me. Almost 8 years old, I knew I wanted to be a winner, and that there was no feeling like a “W” over a kid that was probably four years older than me.

To break the ice, professor Chris had the outside students position their chairs to face the inside students. After Chris announced a question the two students who were currently facing each other would discuss their answers. The inner circle of outsiders alternated one chair to the left after each question, as if we were speed dating.

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After this activity, we all made one comment pertaining to something we learned about one of our new classmates. The presumably shy, but not shy, Filipino girl, chose to give feedback about our question: to name the most beautiful place we could think of. She was feeling my answer: my mind, that spurred on obviously quick but nonetheless deeper exchange of sentiments. I later learned she was an amazing artist that could draw her ass off, which is the reason I dubbed her The Beautiful Mind.

The championship belt that hid my anxiety didn’t last too long. Before I could make it out the third grade I got one of the worst beat downs I can remember. It was fast, but every bit of thorough, I didn’t even blame the teacher for waiting for help to break it up. This girl was almost twice my size and from the way she pounced on me you would think she was watching way too many episodes of Xena, the warrior princess.

First, my momma had to beg the bus driver to let me continue riding on that route, now I was suspended for getting my butt handed to me by queen Shaka Laka. At this point moms was calling me either bad or just worrisome, but Sunrise would be the start of three elementaries in one school year. Not because I got kicked out or anything, it was because me and mom’s life in Texas never felt stable.

14 /

“Grapes,” “she picky bout her grapes,” I divulged a lil somethin somethin about Baddie two times. I don’t recall exactly what was posed, all I know is, we had a mouthwatering conversation that ended at Fogo de Chão. A super lit spot in Rosemont. I’ve been planning on going to for years. The way Baddie described the never ending Brazilian style meats, compared to Cook County’s never ending mystery style meats, was entertaining.

Afterwards, Chris instructed us to add to the guidelines already set for the class, so we all broke off into separate groups. Me and “Mwah Mwah” did most of the talking, while The Hourglass took notes, and The Camel sat back and smiled. I should have known he was up to something: why this lil sneaky ninja gon’ suggest that I share our ideas from the podium in the middle of the multipurpose room. Even though his suggestion made “Mwah Mwah” little eyes smile above her mask, I was secretly cringing. Was that a hot flash, or just the eagerness that The Hourglass was nudging me with the paper.

23

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Damn, Dammn, Da-yamm!

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For da most part, smoking weed only made me more paranoid, but it did entice my mind to drift away from the fact that I was a nervous wreck. As a preteen, my Mexican Homies were allowed to smoke weed in the house, while my black friends barely knew what a joint was. So naturally, I started hanging with the cholo’s, but as the token Black kid in the crew. This designation further deserted my misplaced feelings.

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Professor Chris really liked the phrase, “paint your own canvas,” an epiphany I had during the group that inspired it on the first day of class. By week three, we were having full-blown discussions. Open discussions Chris, brilliantly stressed, should be genuine and challenging, slyly stepping back like Jerry Springer to watch sparks fly.

We were all here to deconstruct the school-to-prison pipeline, and these outsiders were so enthusiastic. For a minute there, their curious energy went unmatched by the insiders who were not only students but eerily living proof. Any time the Notus Flower dished, it was guaranteed to be a full course. I honestly felt like she was blossoming right before our eyes. I had to jump in there and unleash my garden too, but my unwanted friend or needed enemy was doing his best to tangle me up like weeds.

“Where was you at Kenny?” This was a rhetorical question, everybody seen me freeze up. It didn’t matter that I was 11 years young, they didn’t care that I had been in Texas for close to four years. This was Chicago, “if one goes, we all go.” It just happened too fast for me.

One second Ryan and my older cousin D’marri we’re talking, the next second they were rumbling right there where they stood, then all over the corner of Deira’s apartment building.

That shit was crazy! D’marri was handling Ryan pretty good then to my surprise, this other shortie named Neil jumped in. Now I was really bewildered, not only were they fighting like savages, THEY WAS NOT TRYNA TALK! Totally the complete opposite of Fort Worth. Before I could gather myself to aid and assist my people, another kid named Kenny jumped in and helped. The guilt I felt was overwhelming, the family basically looked at me like a failure.

Around this time, I learned how to stop crying, I had to hold them tears inside, I had to learn how to be a savage.

“Speak clearly,” I told myself, sometimes it feels like I’m mumbling in my own head. When it comes to speaking, it’s not just 100 yard dash for me, this race has always been littered with a number of hurdles. Before I could take off, The Grasshopper began to make a good point in one of our class’s open discussions about Proper speech versus talking White. The Grasshopper explained that he spoke proper his entire life therefore he had to deal with African-Americans labeling him an Oreo (black on the outside, white on the inside). The Notus Flower was very passionate about the subject, to me it sounded like she wanted to get rid of the whole “proper” notion completely. Here I was itching to pose a whole different angle, to get my point across I had to be definitive.

“Talk slowly,” “use your hands Cho.” I mentally prepared to interject. But The Wolf was already tossing freebands. He understood the importance of wearing many hats, moving in different rooms, processing various environments precisely. Whether it was for job interviews, or the type of jobs done in the shadows, I could tell what The Wolf was getting at.

The Beautiful Mind grew up observing her immigrant parents deal with language barriers, in light of that she is so well spoken. A point I stressed to the Notus Flower specifically. I urged her that “speaking” like anything else, was a vocation, which could be mastered. Personally, for the last few years I have expanded my vocabulary, I could see The Wolf deviously smirking. I knew what he was thinking. In his head, he was calling me Martin Luther Cho.

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I rapped myself out of breath, I smoked myself out of breath. Either way, Choky was running out of breath. The capital G comes from the neighborhood, the blocks I ran errands for my people. The unforgiving streets, that mirrored a pool of demons, who were ready to suffocate me with permeating Anx. The G could’ve easily been a moe if it wasn’t for my grandmother’s address. The G might’ve been a lord. If it wasn’t for my cousins that were all folks. Telling me and then showing me and pushing me, too young to understand that I was losing me.

The school to prison pipeline does not start at school it starts at home, it starts in the community. The community that filled me with a titanic size ship of anxiety. Crowded lobbies, antagonizing Park Districts, unpredictable lake fronts, and if I dared to cross the wrong viaduct, there was a chance my bent up Air Force 1’s wouldn’t return. I couldn’t even go to the movie theater without peeping the scene. Why see a horror flick when my own life carried so much suspense.

Professor Chris prescribed the book “Being Bad” by fellow Chicagoan Crystle T. Laura, as a foundation of curriculum. Mrs. Laura, a dedicated teacher, and even more dedicated big sister, poured out a revealing memoir about her younger brother’s turbulent experience with this country’s school system, and how this affected her relationship with him, their mother, and her love for teaching.

The Hedgehog used this piece as another talking point to vehemently express the fact that there are not enough teachers in schools, who understand the students in those schools. “The teacher should be from the type of communities they teach in.” His words resonated.

Mrs. Laura’s insigh t highlighted a tr end she had to he statistic. She knew r baby brother C that it all starts w hris was becomin ith being diagno ga suspected Chris sed with a learni landed in the syst ng disability, and em. as she

Through candid discussions we started making some breakthroughs. One class “Mwah Mwah” passionately shared a similar experience with Big Pharma influenced categorizations. “I was diagnosed with ADHD.” “Mwah Mwah” perked up in her seat. Instead of society looking at kids like somethings wrong with them. Jabbing at the air she continued, “Why can’t it be that some peoples’ brains just work differently.” Normally reserved, The Camel had to give his testimony as well. He admitted to being discouraged as a kid from being put in a box. Which like so many others in Black America led to another box, a systemic box.

As The Grasshopper packed his bags, I felt that little tingle of envy I think all insiders feel when another one of us is released. It didn’t take long for that feeling to transform into hope because The Grasshopper represents big leaps. Big leaps forward never backwards.

The anxiety whispered to a familiar place of self-doubt, good thing my other ear was preoccupied with The Chipmunk. The last couple weeks of class put a spotlight on a different side of him. As much as this guy could joke around, he had a whole nother level of sincerity when we explored the topic of teacher-activists, and how that related to his own brother, who was a teacher challenged by the system us Chicagoans refer to as CPS.

In this retrospect “Being Bad” gave me the life lesson of Teacher-Activism. Like damn, dismantling the school to prison pipeline is really a thing. The problematic alternatives The Orca spoke about were presented from the jump by the insightful Mrs. Laura. But before you could blink, her memoir had even more valid solutions.

Solutions that The Wolf also provided in his own memoir, he raced to illustrate on a squeaky table off to the side during periods of our Depaul class. As onlookers, the outside students became intrigued by ConTextos, it was ironic how interconnected the two courses turned out to be. There is a term called co-teaching, that emotionally snatched me back to my most cherished moments of school.

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I firmly believe co-teaching would have done wonders for The Starfish. Instead he was sentenced to one of those: county-bound “Alternative Schools.” In his voice, I could still hear the perplexities, the exasperation, and the betrayal as he vividly told the story of his first trip to Cook county jail.

The Starfish’s in-school arrest was not because he committed some type of violent offense.

Naw he got booked because he wanted to attend school, he wanted to be in class with his classmates where he belonged.

Starfish see things in black and white so it’s gon’ be hard for him to get over this terrible ordeal that still affected him a decade and a half later. The Orca and The Chipmunk chimed in explaining that the staff at alternative schools were all equipped with shiny yet intimidating handcuffs. The outside students got a taste of our world. Our reality, our nightmare, a nightmare of a pipeline we didn’t create. A reality that Professor Chris knew all too well. A world Kara never chose to sugarcoat or white wash away.

The Camel represents replenishment and survival, lil bro always did remain positive. The Frog represents transformation, ever since I met lil bro it seemed like he was coming into his own personal power. The Bear represents caution, healing, and leadership. I could tell lil bro was starting to realize that all the answers he needed lied within.

These three younger brothers had found Islam, found brotherhood, and through the holy month of Ramadan, we all found a deeper sense of discipline, unity, and understanding. Fasting does wonders for your mental, physical, and spiritual health, without it, we find ourselves pulled through this funnel of modern day slavery. That infamous pipeline which preys on broken homes, preys on misguided youth, preys on depression, preys on addiction, and preyed on my anxiety. I went from Sullivan High, to Nancy B. Jefferson, to the school of hard knocks, where they try to wall off our spirits with the thickest padlocks and the heaviest doors you can imagine.

This year marks the 20th anniversary of the Graterford Think Tank, formed by students from the very first inside out course with Temple University and Sci-Dallas in the state of Pennsylvania.

After reading Paul Perry’s Peace: Death of a Street Gang Warrior, my purpose, my Anxmedication was refilled. There was no looking back, Basheer had to push forward. Not just for my Moms and my Turkey Legs, but for the ones who pray next to me shoulder to shoulder. My brothers, who fasted from sunup to sundown. For the classmates from Depaul, who listened, empathized, and vowed to push past the powers who created the pipeline, the new Jim Crow, the old Jim Crow, the White Lion. You are what you read, figuratively meeting heroes like Mr. Perry, who said: “I have become acutely aware of the fact that most people struggle on some level to fully connect with their own humanity, and the humanity of others,” assured me that I am not walking this path alone. Books like “My mind playing tricks on me” by Charlemagne, reinforces my standpoint and helps outline my Jihad with Mr. Anxiety therefore, another route to dissolving it.

As the mask mandate was lifted our class became more revealing which spurred conversation back on the Deck and I know the outsiders were gossiping on their magic school bus about us too. Like She wasn't already pressure, Baddie two times finally could unmask her full elegance not just in stature but in thought, her soft spokenness, compassion and intelligence no longer muffled. She smiled as I accurately predicted the passage "Mwah Mwah" would Choose to share out of "Being Bad": "To teach from a place of love then, is to empower," chosen from the soul of a true Educator. Whether it was "Mwah Mwah's" Major in education, or Baddie's Major in criminal justice. These kinds of connections needed to be made if we wanted to deconstruct. If we were going to be the demolition men and women we set out to be.

The Never-disappointing Professor X made sure that before the class ran its course he highlighted the term "Whiteness" from White privilege to white supremists, from the teachers who are trained by this racist status quo, to Black America who has the right to be hostile. The Friday before the last Friday me and The Hour Glass got a chance to chop-it-up. I had grown to love her genuineness but this time she really pulled back the curtain. She explained how she began to realize her own parents' prejudices from the way they viewed the inner-city Kids compared to the completely white part of Denver where The Hour Glass grew up at. Now her parents might not be members of the KKK but from the way The Hour Glass carried herself and participated in shared- dialogue, I was inspired and disappointed all at the same time.

Disappointed that she had to endure this stagnate way of thinking which could of infected her own mental capacity. Inspired that not only did she push back with more wholesome values, she was obviously a great role-model for her younger sister who The Hour Glass loved dearly.

The Hour Glass was symbolic to the American Dream that has yet to be, to the type of time we as a country are destined to put in.

An unforgettable closeout, unforgettable gourmet cookies, unforgettable choreography to present those gourmet cookies. Unforgettable discussions, material and empathy.

Simple, gentle, and graceful strokes by the Beautiful Mind that didn’t get a chance to be vectorized, because our group of beautiful minds cannot be vectorized, our class of beautiful minds refused to be vectorized. We were wrong, we were right, there was darkness, there was light, there was juice, there was sprite, presentations representing each other's insight. The Free-Dome Project focused on designing an App that would bridge the students/teachers/parent experience. “All of us” created a pamphlet like Free-Dome that described how to target the pipeline from both ends with the phrase: no more children in handcuffs. Just us collectively imagined a community center that was not only a safe haven for at-risk youth but a second home for kids who felt plagued by their first one. These projects, these avenues were new pipelines. To deconstruct we, us, the U.S. needed something better to replace the old ones.

Ideas. Jewels. A Jewel that was mounted on a pen. ConTextos knows of this Jewel, that's why you're reading this right now. Zeal.ous knows of this Jewel, therefore they create transparent ways to train Public Defenders. We all expected Diamond Ink to pass the B.A.R, and with this experience etched in her mind she will push to reset it as well. Because this class, this synergy, these special young women, these Divine totems: reset me. Last month in Salon, Augie said something like: “ You can see a part of yourself in everyone you meet.” I've seen the fearlessness in myself, in the form of The Bear. If I could tear down my community by selling poison and perpetuating violence I could use that same rebellious attitude to buck against the establishment who laid the plumbing. The Wolf was a sign to learn to live with oneself. How could I look at him with contempt or aspersion, like I wasn't sitting over there striving to break through while secretly fighting to be comfortable in my own skin. Before I let idleness like gossip and envy ruin me, I must remember the totem of The Chipmunk, the meaning of balancing work and fun. I was going to follow my instincts like The Starfish unfazed when my Foundation was perceived as stubbornness. But first I needed to go deep within myself like The Orca, dissecting and inspecting from the inside out. Regarding life as nothing more than a specimen, not in a hurry to understand that specimen, that dead Frog that symbolizes a metamorphosis. Reborn, just like my little brother my voice calls forth the rains. As much as The Hedgehog was the totem of Defense, it is rooted in a strong, long lasting connection with his mother, a candidness that strengthened my own bond with Mom-Dukes. The Cockroach, like The Camel, are the only two totems of survival, I guess that's why we were so close. He always looked at the “glass half-way full,” that feeling of accomplishing the impossible. Anxiety was the artificial light that had me scrambling for a hiding place. Growing pains! Successful adaptability to hostile environments. It probably was that premature movement into adulthood, but those early responsibilities made me better, it gave me farsightedness. Now I envision what lies over the horizon, legs firmly planted on the Earth Head-in-the-sky. And Allah won't let me lose sight. I went from anxiousness to purposefulness, from a cockroach to a Giraffe and yeah, that's a memoir.

Basheer

Just Because Just because I’m here Doesn’t mean I’m not there Just because I don’t belong anywhere Doesn’t mean I don’t belong everywhere Just because I’m Nigerian Doesn't mean I'm Africanus Just because I'm a chicagoan Doesn't mean I'm American Just because I'm Muslim Doesn't mean I hate Jews Just because I evolved Doesn't negate I paid dues Just because I'm numb Doesn't mean I can't cry Just because it hurts Doesn't mean I can't try Just because it's storming Doesn't mean it won't pass Even if I think I know the answer Doesn't mean I can't ask Just because it's tough Doesn't mean I gotta quit Just because it burns Doesn't mean I gotta flip Just because I'm bleeding Doesn't mean I won't heal Just because I'm vulnerable Doesn't mean I ain't real Just because I am real Doesn't mean I gotta judge Doesn't mean I can’t budge It just means I gotta feel it It just means I gotta love

Until the lion learns to write their own story, tales of the hunt will always glorify the hunter - African Proverb Copyright

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