There's been so much ... I feel so broken on so many levels.
Me, her mother, at the same age. Beautiful, smart and sexy!
Value most: sexy, beautiful ... smart last.
Lost my virginity @ 13. While my mother was in California when she jumped bond with the photographer. The same man that whipped me with two belts. She protected him over me. She chose him over me.
Smoked marijuana given to me by my mother. Safer source/supplier she said ... Better I give it to you than getting off the street.
My sister and I shared a room. Remember us fighting over the telephone. My mother coming upstairs ... not to break it up but to cheer her on. "Get her Divita. Whip her ass."
What kind of mom does this?
Graduated from high school @ 16 years old. Left for an out-of-state college fast and in a hurry.
My freshmen year, 16 years old. Pregnant. He wanted to marry me. Abortion. He left college.
18 years old. My junior year. Cheerleader. Captain of JV Squad. Abducted from campus with two other members. One raped and murdered. My mother a media hound.
Left college. Capital murder trial. Death penalty.
Back home with my mother.
Dating a man in his thirties. A mailman. Drove a corvette. My mom moved him into the house. Never had a home. He became her roomer. I became available. Pregnant. Didn't tell him. Secret abortion, secret to him ... she knew ... they all knew. He loved me and would have wanted to marry me. Didn't want to marry an old man. What I remember most about him: the stuff he used in his hair smelled musty. He wore dentures. Never saw them. Never saw him without them. He probably needs a post to himself. Moved out. Back to college campus. He moved out and got his own apartment.
Introduced by his best-friend's wife, suppose to be my best-friend, in her thirties, educator, Masters Degree, to one of her friends ... a drug-dealer in his thirties... A car. An apartment. Clothes. White Flint. Macy's. Neiman-Marcus. Jazz. Georgetown. Pregnant. Abortion. Pregnant. A son. Beaten. Battered. Abused. Exploited. Moved back in with my mother. He told me one day ... She said to him ... If want to continue to have access to her ... you'll have to pay me ....
Money, drugs, sex... what she valued most. This was my role-model of a virtuous woman ... Who was praying for me?
All before I was 25 years old.
Not my daughter. I protect her. Telling her how special she is. How smart she is. You always have choices. You never have to do anything you don't want to do.
Be empowered.
Be smart.
Be self-determined.
Have honor.
Have integrity.
Your word is your bond.
Be authentic.
Trust God in All things.
Most of all, my daughter knows that her mom loves her. Loves her so much it is my breath of life.
God, I beg you, cleanse my mind ... I know you've forgiven me ... just like the woman at the well. My body is your temple and you reside in me today. I can't erase my past. Not another day ... shall it block me from the future you have for me. I have to forgive me.
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