Don't Kill Me: Eminem Love Story

Chaoter 5: D

My hospital bed was pretty nice. Cotton sheets, fluffy pillows, and a relatively soft mattress. Two large windows were on each side of me, green pine trees looking in. Aside from the fact that I was surrounded by complicated medical machines and that there was an IV in my arm, the room felt like home. At least better than any home I've had for that matter.

Bright yellow daffodils were perched up on the window sill, giving off a soft glow against the peeking sun. Finally the clouds pulled apart and allowed the light to seep trough, giving the day a much brighter look.

My mind was finally starting to return to normal as I was being hydrated by intravenous fluid replacements consisting of saline and sodium chloride solutions.

My breathing was now steady and my heart rate was brought back down to where it should be.

I had called in to work once I was rejuvenated enough and was given the day to relax and get my strength back up. My supervisor, Tatia, was beyond worried and bombarded me with constant questions and concerned comments. Most of those comments revolved around me moving to a better place.

She hated the fact that I lived in the projects, surrounded by poverty, drug abuse and heavy crime. In her mind, I should have been well off by now to afford a more comfortable lifestyle. To me, it wasn't about having enough resources to support something a notch higher. I had bigger goals in mind that required savings in my bank account.

I was willing to give up a couple years of my life and reside in the place I'm in now, to be able to build a steady foundation for myself later.

Some may think that because I grew up in a household blind to ambition and goals, I was going to turn out the same way. They are wrong. I was determined to be the best I could be, even if I had to endure sweat and bitter tears.

I loved music. My mind revolved around rhythm. My tongue revolved around lyrics. And my heart prospered when it was in harmony with melody and deep passion.

I wanted to build my own studio. A studio where I could be myself and myself only. A studio where I could pour my heart and soul into my work and get rewarded by transforming lives of my fans. I wanted to be a rapper. As a matter of fact I was one. Deep in my heart I had always been in tune with the beat, my mind being in sync with the tune.

My ambitions of becoming a hip hop star were not known to anyone. I kept them locked deep inside a box stored in my head, and only allowed them to surface when I was alone.

When I laid in bed, I would stare at the ceiling and think of the life I lived. I played the scenarios of my childhood over and over again in my brain, to the point where I thought I was going to go insane from the terrible memories. Yet I did that to inspire my future listeners and possibly change lives and bring hope. It was the events I had lived through that brought me ideas to write about and gave me the motivation to keep going.

My desk drawers in my apartment were filled to the top with notebooks. The notebooks were scribbled full of rhymes, partially written songs and full on ballads that I couldn't stop writing.

I was shy of my talent. I never came off as one to like hip hop, and especially one to be an artist. I was confident in my skills and ability to create, yet I was cautious of people knowing what I was capable of.

Acquaintances saw me as a quiet, introverted individual that was careful in her life choices. I kept to myself and spent my nights after work reading and writing. I took great pleasure in reading classic rap lyrics and trying to find inspiration in them.

I was fascinated by Tupac and Biggie. I was intrigued by their stories and their iconic personalities. The legendary marks they made on the world made me want to push harder to get to where I wanted. It has been a hard road for me my entire life, yet I lived by one motto.