At the age of ten, Ernestine Johnson’s father goes to prison, and her mother turns to drugs. Therefore, from a young age Ernestine learns to survive on her own terms. Overtime, she uses her body to get everything she wants—except love.
Excerpt: My mother poured her first glass of brandy the day the police hauled my father away in handcuffs. By the end of his trial, she was an alcoholic. Every day, she drank bottles of cheap liquor until she finally passed out. The grief consumed her life, and she used the alcohol to soothe the pain. Shortly after we moved into the apartment in Southeast D.C., she discovered drugs. Then, within weeks, the crack cocaine overshadowed the alcohol and obsessed her life. Of course, her addiction left me without a father or a mother, and ultimately sentenced me to life without parole in the ghetto.
Excerpt: By the time I was seventeen years old, I hated my mother. I blamed her for every bad or wrong thing, which happened to me. Many days, I wanted to die. I barely passed my classes in school. My overweight body looked disgusting, and I spent most of my time taking care of her. The rest of the time, I spent hustling in the streets. Our lifestyle became a constant struggle, so to compensate for the financial shortfall I progressed from oral sex to almost anything you want from me sex. I loathed the men, the game, my mother, my father, and many days I hated myself.
Excerpt: Strangely, I felt liberated after Jerome’s brutal beating. For years, I had endured his hell because I believed that I loved him, and that I needed him to validate me. However, the obvious truth was that I hated him as much as I hated my father and every other man in my life. The abuse simply masked the truth; I still hated me.
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