Undisputed Truth: My Autobiography

by Mike Tyson

  By then, Kiki is up. When I see her take both my babies and leave the house, I think they’re never coming back. That’s my biggest fear now. I’m in terror while she’s gone. It’s sad whenever my family isn’t here and I’m alone. I used to love being alone but that was before I had this family situation. I never even think about doing anything wrong now. I would never want to go to jail. My whole job in life now is just to take care of my family and try to help people less fortunate than us. I can’t believe I’m like this.

  Because of the horrific things I’ve seen in my life, I get extra cautious. I’m always telling my wife to lock the doors, to keep her eyes on the place, to watch the workers. I tell her about my experiences where I was in a house talking to some friends and then I left and I heard that a few hours later everybody in the house got killed. So these ugly stories play in my head. My wife thinks I’m absolutely insane. They’ve never met anybody like me. If a stranger comes into the house, I think, Who is this guy? Who brought him in here? Then, after he leaves, I may ask her to get out the sage and cleanse the energy in the house. My borderline normal was to go into someone’s house and scope it out, then after I left, the thugs came in with the guns and screamed, “Everyone get down.” That was my borderline normal.

  When Kiki and the kids are gone I have plenty of time to think. I think about what a weird childhood I had, depending on my mother most of the time. How did I get out of that lowly, pathetic environment? How does a guy like me come out of Brownsville and become heavyweight champ? When you go back in history you see that the only thing I had in common with most of the champs was our poverty. Jack Dempsey was a fucking hobo. I tried to draw on that to make sense of my story but it didn’t click. How did I meet this guy Bobby Stewart who introduced me to Cus? How did Cus get me to think so gung ho? How did my mind just click and say, “Let’s do it?” Where did that thinking come from? Was it just from the way I would follow people when I was young? And then I morphed into this boxing mentality.

  Cus was telling everyone that lightning had struck him twice and he was going to have another heavyweight champion. But I was only thirteen. I never had an amateur fight in my life when he first saw me.

  So how did he know when he died that I was going to be that guy? He never saw me really being mean to anybody. He didn’t really see my confidence and arrogance grow in the ring. I wonder what he would have thought about who I became. He was a hard guy. He’d say stuff about other fighters like, “This guy is gutless. Leave him there to die.” Cus believed that in the ring you should die on your shield, you don’t quit. But now I realize that nothing is more important than life. There’s no trophy, no belt, no glory more important than life and the people you love. I used to be the first to want to die with honor in the ring. Not anymore. That’s a sucker’s game. And I was probably the biggest sucker that ever came into this game.

  I just knew that I was the champion of the world before I even had that belt. That was who I was. I still had this other entity Mike Tyson who I really didn’t come to grips with. I didn’t know who the fuck that guy was. I was this super champion-type guy and I never found out who I was in there. You’d think I was one of America’s most wanted. Probation officers wanted detailed reports of where I was any time I went out. People were really afraid of me. I was such a little pussy kid but my image was so badass. That was pretty intoxicating. I always wanted to show people that I wasn’t afraid so I overcompensated. I thought I had to be tough and mean because Cus escalated that mentality. “Superior,” that was his favorite word. I was a superior fighter.

  If Cus was around right now he’d say, “Mike, you should be fighting. Are you crazy?” But I don’t regret a minute of it. All of the great fighters, Ray Robinson, Peter Jackson, Joe Gans, Tony Canzoneri, ended up in the gutter or working in some goddamn hotel lobby sweeping up. They were so extreme in their passion for fighting that they never thought about exit plans. But whatever they went through afterwards, it was worth it to have that championship. Just to have one year of living Mike Tyson, the champ’s life, I would be a bum sucking rat piss in the gutter. Shit, yeah.

  I don’t want to make it sound like I’m a total hermit. I do go out of the house and do things. When we were writing this book, Ratso, my collaborator, and I went to the fourth Pacquiao-Marquez fight. Going to the fight with me was one of the auction items at my first Mike Tyson Cares fund-raiser. Two really nice young Mexican gentlemen won the bid and they sat with Ratso and me. That was also the first public appearance since the election for Mitt Romney. Ratso and I couldn’t believe it when we saw him and his wife walk down to their ringside seats.

  “Hey, Mitt, we’re the forty-seven percent!” I screamed at him. Being in a household with a liberal woman who watches MSNBC twenty-four-seven must have rubbed off on me.

  “Mitt, you’re a little late courting the Mexican vote,” I yelled. The audience was predominately Mexican fans of Marquez. The fight itself was amazing. It was one of the nights that reminded people how great boxing can be.

  A month earlier, Kiki, Ratso, and I went to see Barbra Streisand at the MGM Grand. I always loved Barbra. When I was young, I read that her ego could have dwarfed Al Jolson’s. I was always attracted to people with big egos because Cus used to say that the reason that people were the best was because they thought about themselves with the grandest of visions. The sun would always set upon their eyes. I had met Barbra when she came to my dressing room after my fight with Larry Holmes. She was what I’d consider a superstar. She’s very soulful and I’m not saying this from a black or an ethnic perspective. She just makes you feel good in your soul with her singing. People get jealous and put down people like her because they can’t give off that kind of energy and love, they can’t woo people’s hearts like Barbra can. I was enraptured the whole show. Afterwards, we went back to her dressing room and took a picture with her and Marie Osmond. The next day I was still emotionally drained. It was so exciting to be around her and to have seen her sing. She’s meant so much to my mother and other people in my life. I’m just happy to be alive when she’s performing.

  But even going to that concert was a bit of an ordeal. As we were walking to the show through the casino, I saw some of my old pimp and drug dealer friends. They see me with my wife, they know enough not to talk to me. They know I’m constantly battling demons. When I’m walking in a place like that I just walk straight through. The three of us went to another show while I was working on the book. Mike Epps was doing stand-up at the Palms. My wife was behind us and she didn’t see that when I came to the table a lady got up and tried to hug me.

  “No, I can’t hug you,” I told her. Luckily some guy had gotten between us.

  “See how I saved you just now,” the guy winked at me.

  Kiki would have had a heart attack. That’s why I don’t like to go out that much. I have more fun chilling at home. It’s fun to be out if I’m in a controlled environment but most of the time people are all drunk and they can confront you. I’ve become more, I want to say protective, but it’s really possessive of my wife than when we were dating. I think I always have to protect her. but she’s very capable of handling men that hit on her. I forget how she handled me when I hit on her all those years before we finally connected. Kiki’s a very smart and sophisticated lady. She knows her way around. I may think of her as almost my child at times but in our relationship, I’m more her child than she is mine.

  Whenever I go to see a great entertainer, I’m just so thrilled to be in the same fraternity as them. If I could live this way for the rest of my life and still be paying bills, I’d be happy with my destiny. Paying my bills, not getting caught, not getting thrown in jail, not getting in any drama. I don’t care if I don’t have anything to leave behind to the kids, just to live where nobody is hurting is enough. I never thought I’d be in such desperate, dire straits to survive. I’m a material nigga. Some bad habits die slow. I don’t want to be that way, I don’t want to care more about my clothes than
I do about my health. When I die, I want to have the cheapest funeral of all time. Put me in the dirt, no casket or anything, just throw me in there. Don’t come visit me or none of that bullshit. But I’m sure some boxers in the future would search out my grave, like I did to the old-time guys. I’d be happy that people would treat me the same way I did with my heroes. Maybe I would have a tombstone. It could read, “Now I’m at peace.”

  When I think about Kiki and me I’m still amazed. Our love blossomed during a time of real adversity. I am such a difficult person to live with. Cancers magnetize shit inwardly. It sounds cool to live with a person that’s so in tune with his sensitivity but there’s nothing actually cool about that. He’s so in tune with his sensitivity he may be delusional. I commend my wife for going through the duration of waiting for me to not be like that anymore. Going through the process of me changing my ill-thought-out ideas about women in general was almost like going through the Spanish Inquisition for her.

  I have so much admiration for my wife. She makes me love myself when I want to blow my brains out. I respect her so much for how much she wants this stuff between us to work. If back then she would have said “Fuck it” and taken the baby somewhere else, I would have been so happy. I really have no idea what made me stay loyal to this girl. I don’t even know what gave me the strength to try to change my barometer of the past forty years. I never knew anything about commitment. I’ve been madly in love with girls before but I still always cheated on them and was disloyal emotionally and physically. Kiki made me strong enough to even attempt to go on that journey towards being a loyal man. It’s greatness in itself, even though you don’t accomplish that attempt, even though you fail. That’s how complex a situation this is. Imagine what you’d reach if you were that individual. That’s when you become a champion of moral accomplishments.

  I am so appreciative of Kiki. I don’t care if my wife was a prostitute with full-blown AIDS, I wouldn’t deserve her. That’s real talk. I don’t deserve my wife. I got her probably because of who I am and what my accomplishments were and because basically I’m a decent person but no way in life do I deserve to be with my wife. I’m such a bum compared to her.

  What do we really know about love? Love commands us, we don’t command love. And when it commands you, you have to answer that call. No one ever refuses love’s call even if the nature of love is ruthless. I don’t know what love is but I suffer from its symptoms: insanity and total bondage at an unfathomable level. But it also can command you to rise to the highest of your potential. Love can be just an orgasm to some people. To others it can be the thought of love, a fantasy we strive to grasp and live out. I tell my wife that I love her every second of the day but my love is what? My love is jaded, my love is toxic sometimes, my love is romantic, my love is lustful, my love is celibate, my love is many things. Love sacrifices control on its altar. It’s disastrous to give up control and still don’t know what you are giving it up for, but you’re willing to do that because love felt good. But you still don’t know if it’s going to feel better than giving up the control. So you’ve got one foot in hell and one foot in heaven. Sometimes we like to conceive of lust as love because we think it feels so good it has to be love. Love is sacrifice, love is worth dying and killing for, history proves that. But we must have some kind of moral compass in our journey through life. All enjoyment is not good enjoyment.

  I have a favorite book that I try to read every day. It’s called The World’s Greatest Letters: From Ancient Greece to the Twentieth Century. I love connecting to the past this way. You learn so much about these people by reading their letters. Some of these people are so self-centered they don’t think that anyone else is capable of loving the way they do. A lot of these guys are control freaks and they get frustrated because their love is not answered quickly enough. What these people are writing is so poetic, the way they express themselves in language is so breathtaking. And sometimes the person they’re writing to doesn’t give a shit about them.

  I read these letters and I cry. You think about Napoleon, this great world leader, and you read a letter where he’s begging to his love Josephine to come to him and she doesn’t. Check it out:

  April 4th, 1796

  By what art have you become able to captivate all my faculties, to concentrate in your self my moral existence? It is a magic, my sweet love which will end only with me. To live for Josephine, that is the history of my life. I am trying to reach you, I am dying to be near you. Time was when I prided myself on my courage and sometimes when considering the evil which men might be able to do me, a fate which I have expected. I fixed my eyes most steadfastly on the most unheard-of misfortunes without frowning, without being surprised. But today the idea that my Josephine might be unwell, the idea that she might be ill and above all, the cruel, the fatal thought that she might love me less, it withers my soul, stops my blood, makes me sad cast down, and leaves me not even the courage of fury and despair. I have often used to say to myself that man could have no power over him who dies without regrets. But today, to die without being loved by you, to die without that certainty is the torment of hell, is the lifelike and striking image of absolute annihilation. I feel as if I will be stifled, my only companion, you who fate has decreed to make with me the painful journey of life, the day when I shall no longer possess your heart, will be that when parched nature will be without warmth and without vegetation. Love thee as your eyes, but that is not enough, as yourself, more than yourself, as your thoughts, your mind, your sight, your all. Sweet beloved, forgive me, I am worn out. Nature is weak for him who feels keenly, for him whom you love.

  Your illness, that is what occupies my mind night and day. Without appetite, without sleep, without care for my friendships, for glory, for fatherland, you, and the rest of the world exists no more for me than if it were annihilated. I prize honor since you prize it, I prize victory since that gave you pleasure, without which I shall have left all to throw myself at your feet. In your letter, my darling, be careful to tell me that you are convinced that I love you beyond all imagination. That you are persuaded that every moment of my life is consecrated to you; that never an hour passes without my thinking of you, that never has the thought of thinking of another woman has entered my head.

  I love this guy’s stuff! Napoleon is a nut. He’s turned out! Josephine didn’t care a damn about Napoleon. That was a Robin Givens deal right there. Sometimes I take the book up to our bedroom and I read these letters to Kiki. This is my favorite. It’s a letter written by the great German poet and dramatist Heinrich von Kleist. In the fall of 1811 he fell in love with a housewife named Henriette Vogel. He was thirty-four, she was thirty-one. They shared a passion for music. But Henriette was dying of uterine cancer. Heinrich was a depressive type and he was poor and was looking for immortality. Vogel wasn’t the first lady that he asked to enter into a double-suicide pact, but she was the first to say yes. They spent the night at a small inn drinking wine and coffee with rum. The next morning they seemed ecstatic as they went down to the lake. First he shot Henriette and then he shot himself. This is one of his last letters to her:

  My Jeanette, my little heart, my dear thing, my devout, my love, my dear, my sweet, my life, my light, my all good, my shadow, my castle, my acre, my lawn, my vineyards, O sun, oh my life, sun, moon, the stars, the heavens, my past, my future, my bride, my girl, my dear friend, my innermost being, my heart blood, my internal star of my eyes, O dearest what should I call you? My golden child, my pearl, my precious stone, my crown, my queen, my empress. You dear darling of my life, my highest, my most precious, my baptism, my children. You are my tragic plays, you are my posthumous reputation, you are my second, a better self, you are my virtue, you are my merit, you are my hope, my heaven, my child of God, you are my intercessor, you are my guardian, my angel, my concubine. How I love you so.

  I read that out loud and then Kiki and I cry together.

  Ain’t that something?

  That was the way I intend
ed to end the book. Kiki and I all misty-eyed, reading the love letters of great people in bed – my darkness gone, my spirit soaring from the inspirational words of our giants of history. But you have to live life on life’s terms, as I’ve said in the book. And I couldn’t live with myself if I lied and tried to cover up what happened in the last few months.

  Maybe part of it was searching my soul and digging into the darkest corners of my psyche to honestly answer Ratso’s questions about my life. It also could have been the pressure of going back into the world of boxing and entering the ring once again, this time as a promoter and nurturer of young boxing talent. Of course, my chronic negative self-image doesn’t need much ammunition to act out and sabotage whatever joy and happiness comes into my life.

  But it happened and I have to tell you about it. About a month or so after I completed work on the book, in April of 2013, I had a slip, my first one since January of 2010. I went out one night and I had a drink. And then another. And another. I told you I’m a bad, bad drunk so I smoked some pot to make me mellow again. I felt horrible when I came back to Kiki and the kids that night. But not terrible enough to stop me from repeating my slip a few more times in June and July of this year. And then in August, a week before my first Iron Mike fight promotion, which was broadcast on ESPN, I fell off the wagon again.

  Look, I’m a vicious addict and if I don’t follow my steps, I’m going to die. So I started going to A.A. meetings again. One of the most important steps is to make amends. So right before the first fight on my first card as a promoter I walked over to Teddy Atlas, my old trainer, who was doing the color commentary for ESPN. I extended my hand and I apologized to him for my part in what happened back there in Catskill in the ’80s. I hadn’t talked to Teddy for almost twenty years. It felt good to make amends. I guess that gesture meant a lot to people because that was the first thing they wanted to talk about both during the fights and in the interview I did between fights.