Like My Mom

August 18, 2016 – 4:32 a.m.

Well, it’s come to a point where I must face reality and stop running from the fact that, in so many ways, I’m LIKE MY MOM. Sounds crazy, huh? Who wouldn’t want to be like their mother—a woman you looked up to and loved more than life itself, someone who gave you life and held your hand through childhood while sheltering you from the bad and protecting you from all evil? Needless to say, that’s not how my journey played out.

Looking back on my life, I can remember a few good memories, but there are so many bad ones that it’s hard to find the good. I’m not sure where to start—there’s so much I’ve always wanted to say, so many questions I’ve always had. I just couldn’t understand where it all went wrong. I guess they say raising your children starts in your home—a place it seemed like my mom never really was.

But in so many ways, I find myself being LIKE MY MOM. Every time I look up, I’m doing something just LIKE MY MOM. SMH—it drives me crazy at times, only because I tried so hard not to be like her.

I’ll jump into this.

I grew up watching my mom in a very disturbing domestic relationship. I can remember being woken up from my sleep hearing cries for help, having to get up and run next door to the neighbor’s house to get help, and waiting on the police to show up—once again—because “Cookie,” the boyfriend, was drunk again and beating on my mom. That went on for years until, out of the blue, he just went away. Needless to say, we felt safe for the time being.

We began doing more things, like going skating once a week. She would dress us all in the same colors and we’d hit the Roller Dome South. Boy, I loved those Barbie skates! That was the beginning of my skating days.

We got older, and she started being at the shop even more. Yeah, my mom was also a cosmetologist and had her own salon right there on Pontiac Street, next to a fish joint that used to be so bomb! LOL. But it seemed like the older we got, the more she was gone.

We used to have some weird babysitters and strange people always watching us—but those secrets are stories in themselves; I’ll get to them later. And I mean these stories are wild!

If she wasn’t at the shop, she was at the club. You couldn’t tell her nothing. She was in all these fashion shows—I can remember Fashion Strut—lol—and some guy named Jeff. Boy, you couldn’t tell her anything! The smallest thing bouncing around with ten-inch nails on, liable to have green, red, blue, or pink hair any given day, called herself Sapphire. LOL. I always thought that was funny. I’d be like, “Girl, yo fire done sat and blew out.” Hahaha.

As I said, we got older and moved around a bit. It wasn’t until one of her boyfriends that I felt a strange vibe about my mom. I can remember the night it happened, we were movin to a new house and arguments broke out and this fool pulled and gun and shot at my brother but she took his side on the incident and let me tell you stayed with him about 9 years after that! that time would blow your mind if I told it all. I know it changed my way of thinking about her at that point.

Time went on. Around 1995, I started dancing, created a group, and boy, that was the start of my dancing days. The only thing missing was my mom at every show, yelling and screaming like she would do for my brother when he touched the stage.

Time went on, and I still did my thing. I was in sixth grade, making $400 a week—braiding hair, making dance outfits, and anything else I could to get money just to shop and have the latest. I never understood how my mom could work 24/7 and stay fly, but if I asked her for something, it wasn’t so simple not a jordan or air max nothin the answer was no.

By the time I was 14, I was doing whatever I wanted—had a boyfriend, a house full of friends, leaving the house whenever I wanted, never had to worry about much. My mom wasn’t home, and we lived in one of the livest spots, right next to Burger Dairy by McMillan Park.

Things didn’t really get ugly until one day she went into my room digging around when I was gone and started to read my diaries. Boy, the plot thickened! LOL. I would always write down everything I did. The problem was, instead of coming to me, she took my personal diaries to her shop and let all her customers read them as well. That began a war between us—a war that’s gone on still to this day.

Now, that’s just a slight intro to how deep things were. But here goes nothing…

As a kid, I grew up angry, feeling out of place. At first, I felt different, always wondering why I didn’t have the same face or skin complexion as my sister or brother. Joi would always tell me I was adopted and nobody liked me her words "You were a mistake". As time went on, I realized it was just me I stopped listening to her. I look just like my mom.

I always felt like the outcast, like I never got enough attention. Question after question ran through my mind: Where were you all those years? It felt like wasted time.

I can remember when I was five, I got hit by a semi-truck. Yeah, sounds crazy, huh? Just my luck. How did it happen? How did I survive?

My mom was holding my hand as they started yelling, “Here comes a truck!” but somehow she was missed. But I was dragged three blocks down the street. I recall looking down at your feet while you stood there crying as Mary held me.

Why didn’t you hold me closer? Why did you let my hand go?

You didn’t know, but I feel like you loved me a little bit, but yet you let me go.

There were times I tried to tell her things, and she would say, “No, not now, maybe later.” She always had hair to do or a show to get ready for. She didn’t even realize I was being molested by the babysitter because she was in such a hurry and always had to go.

It took so many years to get over that and just let it go. I knew she would never listen, so I kept it bottled up inside along with the rest of the secrets I always had to hide. Until one day, I had to get that off my chest.

Battle after battle, I had to fight with her as I got older, trying to figure out what it was with her and why things were so out of order. It seemed like she wanted to be my friend and not my mother. The whole time, I was looking for guidance, love, and closure so I could mend the past and move forward.

But I remember, like it was yesterday, my life took a turn for the worse. All hell broke loose—it seemed like an evil curse. She took my business to the streets, and as my mother, I can never understand why she didn’t just talk to me.

From that point on, the monster was created.

The streets did me bad—all from someone who was supposed to love and protect me.

I was then Fort Wayne’s most hated. I was the talk around town. Everywhere I went, they were pointing and laughing at me like I was a clown. Everything about me was destroyed, and I didn’t even see it coming I was so young but confused.

I never got the chance to decide if I really wanted to be with a woman. But she told the world before I even knew, and the battle I had to fight after that—man, you have no clue.

The hate in my heart was at its all-time high.

To this day, I just want to know: Why?

Why did you do it?

Why didn’t you talk to me?

I am your daughter, your last child, your baby.

I never finished high school. I couldn’t even tell you what prom was like. Every day, I almost had to fight. I was being called a dyke left and right. I cried myself to sleep every damn near every night confused as hell. After awhile I was oh well guess im gay now lol. And baby what a time to be alive them times were wild on the run with her and the parties on Hanna St. let me save those.....................

It drove me insane mentally. I felt like a monster inside. There was nowhere I could go, nowhere I could hide, wishing it would all just go away I just wanted to be normal.

Until that day, I got fed up. This bullying had messed my head up. I just wanted it to end.

I sat there and counted pill after pill, taking them again and again. I got to 50 and said, “Okay, this should be enough.”

I felt the pain in my stomach hour after hour as it started to burn. I tried to keep it a secret but suddenly got scared and told Brittany what I did. She started yelling for help because she knew this was serious. Amanda came running up the stairs as I started to pass out she grabbed me and yelled "Dad start the car", they put me in the car, flying downtown. Good ole Andy smashed the gas and helped save my life.

I thought that was the end for me.

My vision got so blurry, I began to get weak. Everything seemed numb from my face down to my feet.

"I was in a coma for weeks."

That could have been the end for me, but God told me to hold on—there was more for me to see.

Even after that, I made it through that crazy mess. There was still a long life scar I’d always wear on my chest.

Life went on, even though I never returned home after the age of 14. My mom lost custody and I never had to return home.

There are still so many scars and open wounds from battles I’ve had to fight all my life with unanswered questions and sad memories.

This leaves me to believe why I always said:

I don’t want to be LIKE MY MOM.

And before I go, I’ll say this:

I did hair LIKE MY MOM.

I owned my own salon LIKE MY MOM.

I was in domestic relationship's for years LIKE MY MOM.

I would change my hair often LIKE MY MOM.

I wear glasses LIKE MY MOM.

I wear rings on every finger LIKE MY MOM.

My ears are pierced over ten times LIKE MY MOM.

I know how to sew LIKE MY MOM.

I wear my eyebrows real thin LIKE MY MOM.

I’m short and slender LIKE MY MOM.

You get the point?

Yet I grew up without my mom—just LIKE MY MOM.

To Be Continued…

—

D’Estin Perry

August 18, 2016

4:32 a.m.

Broken Silence: Heal Momma Heal

Real stories of grief, survival, healing, and hustling while rebuilding your life.

This story is part of the upcoming book

Broken Silence – The True Life Story of D'Estin Perry Sr.