Dakota Robertson

@WrongsToWrite

Joined February 2021

868 Following

284K Followers

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Dakota Robertson

@WrongsToWrite

about 3 years ago

My biggest regret in life is the night I walked past her. The music from the festival faded into the background as my friends and I walked the downtown sidewalk. The warm summer breeze hit my skin. I could still smell the vodka on my own breath. My brain was shut off from everything going on in my life. The 19-year-old me was surrounded by my friends, and I felt “good.” On a drunken quest for some late-night greasy pizza, we walked along my city’s notorious Leon Avenue. The street was a gathering place for the homeless, junkies, and wasted potential. Trash, tarp tents, and shopping carts littered the sidewalks. It was a path I walked many times before, but I never looked at this street, or the people who slept on it, the same after that night. As we walked down the sidewalk, we approached a woman. With each step, she slowly came into focus. Brown long frail hair, raggedy clothes, and small stature. I slowed my pace and fell back behind the group. We were about 10ft away when I felt the punch in my stomach. “Holy shit.” I thought to myself. “That’s my mom.” The woman who I’d cry for if I was separated from for too long as a kid. The woman who instilled the values I hold today. The woman who I loved most in my life. Everything in that moment turned to slow motion. The look on her face will forever be burned into my mind: Lost. I could tell she was strung out. She just stared out to the night sky. Complete disregard for anyone near her, including her own son. The past 3 years all led up to this moment. The late night calls of her asking me to pick her up while she was fucked up on drugs. Me yelling at her to try and get her to realize how deep she was into her addiction. Her missing more and more visits with my little sisters to get fucked up. The year leading up to this moment was the hardest to watch. She lost everything to addiction. She burned through $150,000+ to feed her and her friend’s addiction. She was beaten by loser junkie boyfriends. She became homeless. Addiction took my beautiful mother and turned her into something unrecognizable. The woman who stood in front of me that night was someone else. And in that moment, as I walked past her, I felt like a kid again. Helpless. I didn’t know what to say. The years leading up to now, I couldn’t get through to her. Now sure in the hell wasn’t going to be different. I mean, she was too fucked up to even see her own son 2ft in front of her. I convinced myself I didn’t want to make a scene in front of my friends. So I walked past her. I never told any of my friends that night, or any time after. I didn’t want the attention, so I kept it as my secret. But it didn’t take long before that secret came back to haunt me. A week later, I was at the gym with my friend when I got a call from my grandpa. I could hear him slightly choking up, which was unusual, because he was a stern man. He asked me to come home. When I probed for more information, he was vague. All he said was it had to do with my mom. “Just come home.” he said. That drive home was the longest 15 minutes of my life. I didn’t want to admit it, but deep down I knew what was waiting for me. I opened the door to my house to find a police officer standing with my brother and grandparents. It took one glance for me to break down into tears. My fear collided with reality. I’ve never been hugged so tight from brother. She was gone. Fentanyl-laced crack overdose. She got into the shed outside the house she used to rent from my grandparents to smoke crack with her “friends.” We later found out they didn’t do anything to try and save her. Didn’t try to resuscitate. Didn’t phone anything in. Just left her there to rot for 3 days in the summer heat before her body was found. No goodbyes. No happy ending. Just fucking dead. My brother and I visited that shed the day after. I could see a stain of her body on the foam bedding she died on. Maggots crawled around where her corpse used to lie. I hope you never smell a dead body. Any thought I had of a potential God died that day. I felt numb inside. And for years after, whenever my family brought her up, I’d feel rage. I carried a lot of hate toward myself that I was reminded of. Because the last time I saw her, I just walked past. Going back, I still don’t know what I’d say. I just wish I hugged her. I don’t know what prompted me to write about this, maybe because it was her birthday last week. But I feel like it was a long time coming. I don’t write this for sympathy. I write this to remind you that life isn’t fair. It’ll kick the shit out of you while you’re down and do tear you down in ways you never expected. It doesn’t care who you are, how you live your life, or what your intentions are. But it can also be beautiful. Unforgettable memories with loved ones, hilarious experiences with friends, amazing places to see. However, I see most on autopilot and waiting for permission to live their life. They put off the trip. • They avoid the tough conversations. • They rationalize why they can’t pursue their goals. • Living life like this should scare the shit out of you. Whether it takes a loved one dying or a random dude on the internet, you should always keep in the front of your mind that you will cease to exist one day. So fuck the expectations of others and fuck playing it “safe.” Live.

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Dakota Robertson

@WrongsToWrite

5 days ago

@ItsMeBenChan @BryanBumgardner hahah thanks brotha. yes i'm still alive. been working on a lotta shit in the background

Dakota Robertson

@WrongsToWrite

9 days ago

@RyanClogg One of new DFY content clients is in the menopause space and she listed warriorbabes as her main competitor, so I checked out the funnel. That QuizFunnel is immaculate. Didn't know it was you haha