Can we shift the conversation from Kanye STILL being upset about his mom, to substantive conversations about mental illness?

Kanye's mother died almost a decade ago, his behavior, although he may still be grieved is not healthy or normal at this point solely because his mother died. And even if that IS the case, the fact that his mother's death still sends him into a manic state is STILL a form  of mental illness.

Let's also be clear that some of your most creative people suffer from personality or mental disorders. I truly believe that art is their conduit for healing... And that it is what God graced them with to also inspire the world.​

I am used to being on crime scenes. I've been there minutes after someone was shot, body still hot on the ground. I've had people yell at us, tell us to leave, maybe even threaten harm a few times, but still felt relatively safe. Most of the time police are in close proximity, or I can calmly talk to a person.

Things were a bit different in Cocoa, Fl today. My photographer Marcus (he's pictured in my hurricane story) and I were following up on a story from yesterday morning.

A father of five had just taken his son to the bus stop when a guy rode up on a bike and shot him. He died. This morning, we were talking about the fact that kids would have to go to that same bus stop, with the killer still on the run. So we parked on the street where he was killed, it was very dark, a typical neighborhood. I didn't feel unsafe. This is what we do everyday. 

About 4:40 am, a man comes out of the dark, it startles me. He knocked on my window, Marcus was in the back of the live truck and we were preparing for a liveshot. He yells that someone wanted to talk to us, and points toward the back of the truck and then WALKS back across the street into the dark.

I've covered my fair share of weather in news, more of the blizzard variety.
Extreme Cold.
Extreme Snow.
Frostbite.
More Cold.
More Snow.
Snot running down my frozen nose.

When I found out that I'd be covering a warmer, albeit more violent storm, I was up for the challenge.
Wednesday night, the day before Hurricane Matthew was supposed to begin its trek into Florida, my job, News 6-Orlando put us in teams of two, threw us in locations across the coast, and told us to buckle up for wet, windy, 12+ hour shifts.

My location: Daytona Beach

Fast forward to overnight Thursday, into Friday...

I've been working since 11pm, doing live hits for the show all night. By this point I am wet, tired, and being blown by 60+ mph winds, posted up in front of the Pirate's Cove Hotel, right next to the entrance of the beach. The only thing between me and Hurricane Matthew was one building, and the relative safety of a live truck.

I have gone on long rants. Stood strong in heated arguments. I have stood up for black men and black women, and those of a different hue.

I have posted hashtag after hashtag, the names change, the storyline doesn't.

I have cried, and been frustrated. Wondered about my sweet baby boy, and husband. Father and Brother.

I am tired of explaining, and intellectualizing. It is not my job to get you to see me, us, as HUMAN.  Humanity is basic, it's the least you can do. So I won't anymore. I am not coddling anyone's willful ignorance. Not when we have access to the same books, the same Google.

I do not have to prove that I am worthy, that my family deserves to live. I don't owe you anything. I don't have to first demand that inner-city violence stop before lives are valued everywhere.

I don't owe you anything. 

Just stop shooting us.

 I haven't taken much time to process my feelings about the Pulse attack in Orlando on June 12th.

News has a way of forcing you to move on, until it's convenient to bring up again. It never stops, it pummels through, repeating ad nauseum...and then provides no relief.

But, here I am at four in the morning, back at this place for work. Every time I visit, which is often, emotions hit me. Sometimes they are strong, sometimes it's just a quick moment of sadness. This morning was different. No real reason why. I stepped outside of my live truck, and I felt like I could feel the spirits of the 49 people who died inside that nightclub. It almost seems abstract, unreal, maybe we'll wake up from it all. We won't.

The area was more bare this morning. The fence you see in the back used to be filled with pictures, letters, flowers, stuffed animals from people who came to mourn from across the world. The History Center removed most of those items in preparation for a new fence to be placed further away from the road. The new fence will  have colorful pictures from local artists. It's meant to be happier, remind people of the good times.

Happiness left that horrible night.

Communities are never the same when evil visits them like this. I am not the same after having covered it. I will never understand. I cannot imagine the nightmares survivors must deal with. I cannot imagine the pain.

But the world doesn't stop.

The new fence is a reminder of that, we must move forward. Even while it hurts. Cover it with something more pleasant for now.