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I was born Aiyi’nah D. Ford to teenage parents in the Southeast quadrant of Washington, DC. Raised in a home with my maternal grandmother life would soon take the first turn into a downward spiral. My grandmother was killed before I knew her, the sole fatality of the Peeping Tom sniper. My grandfather imprisoned, myself, my mother and a host of aunts and uncles found ourselves homeless orphans. I found myself in the custodial care of my great aunt and cousins. Whether it was a blessing or a curse has yet to be determined by all parties involved. Nonetheless, it was a hell of a lot better than where I could’ve ended up. My biological mother and uncle also lived there for a short time. However, the sounds of the streets continued to call their name and they eventually heeded the call. In layman’s terms, my mother left and never came back.
So here I was, in the midst of strong, independent women who were much older than me. Although we were related we became a family. My great-aunt became my grandmother. The eldest of my cousins became my mother subsequently her children my sisters. Aside from how they may view me, I still view them as such this very moment. But I digress, their was always an attempt to allow my biological mother in my life. This proved to be a major mistake as I was severely sexually abused under my mother’s supervision. While I was young when it occurred, I remember at is if it was yesterday. To tell your mother you’d been hurt and she tells you to “go sit down…I’m trying to fold clothes.” Let’s not dwell, I’ll simply say the person I was died that day.
My early childhood is filled with memories of private schools, uniforms, church services, singing engagements, community plays but not too many friends. I was a troubled child. I knew that I was different in a lot of ways. I wondered why I liked girls but the girl I loved the most {my biological mother} never liked me back. I wondered why I loved the Lord but he didn’t quite seem to love me. I remember crying…all night. I remember having to be escorted to the bathroom {which was only down the hall} because I was too afraid to go alone. My family loved me and did everything they could to love the pain away but I just waited for the day they’d leave me too. So I did things to keep our relationship strained. Yes, I sang and that was allllll people knew. They saw the little girl with the big dresses and bunches of bows but they didn’t see my pain. I began to be promiscuous believing that some little boy would sex my gay away. I gave more and more of myself until there was nothing left. Until, I just stopped bathing, I didn’t brush my teeth for years. Honestly, I wanted to die because struggling to be something I’m not and fear of becoming what I was are two very difficult things for a young child.
My family did their best. They tried to fix something they didn’t even break. But after all the p’s: punishment, psychologists, psychiatrists, psychotropic medications and prayer. I was finally sent to a residential treatment facility and then to another and that is when I began to write. When you are locked up everything is regimented, you are told when to sleep, when to eat, what to eat, if you could visit your family, when you could visit your family. It sucks! But I found me there. I began to see that I was not the only person in the world that liked girls. I had experimented on the outside. But when I was locked up I fell in love. I did the domme thing for a minute, then versatile, ultra femme and the touch me not. I embraced myself wholeheartedly and then I was “out”ed by my social worker. See the policy was anything that staff confiscated was given to your parents. So confiscated love letters between my lover and I were handed over to my folks. My very religious, Jesus be a fence, the devil is a liar folks. Needless, to say it didn’t sit too well with them. Eventually, my mother signed me out of residential treatment citing that I was becoming institutionalized. That was code for I was being too gay.
I returned home, my family attempting to act as though I’d never left. But the person they knew had died once again. As a result of my detainment ,I was unable to return to public schools. Therefore, I had to attend special education. This was difficult for a person who had always been academically inclined. Hell, I skipped second grade and was damn near finished high school by the time I returned home. I found myself in the midst of people who were incapable of holding a conversation. The teachers couldn’t get them to do the classwork so homework…forgetaboutit! There were a few hidden gems there, idiot savants who were misunderstood. Who’s intelligence coupled with the fact that they were Black made them a threat. Therefore, they had some bogus reason for being placed in special education. Some mysterious way, I ended up getting accepted into a program that allowed me to attend regular high school. Let me inform you that it is not the kids in special ed that one must worry about…it’s the folks that haven’t been placed as yet but need to be! I excelled scoring a 1490 on my PSAT and that was just the practice test. I found myself being propositioned by colleges and universities everywhere. I began to realize that perhaps the bleak future I saw wasn’t going to be my epitaph. I decided I was going to John Hopkins University. Fate had it that I met the Director of Admissions. He insured me that I was a shoe-in black girl, bilingual with good grades applying early decision…in there! I applied and got accepted to other colleges but I never received a single thing from John’s Hopkins. I remember checking their website hoping that the date would change for the release of early submission acceptance letters. I felt the anger rise just like old times. Then it hit me…if I wasn’t going to go to JHU at least I would know why the hell not! So I called the school and the nice admissions folk informed me that my application was incomplete and that my social worker {the special ed equivalent of a guidance counselor}had neglected to submit a recommendation. When I confronted her she admitted it. I remember this like it happened five minutes ago, she looked me in my face and said “I didn’t think you could handle the disappointment when you didn’t get accepted.” I was crushed. Another part of me died, I decided that since my efforts didn’t count for shit why would I try…and you guessed it…I began to act up again.
I decided on St. John’s University but my counselor insisted that I apply to one local school. So I did…Howard University. That was the smartest thing I could’ve done because when graduation came and it was time to complete paperwork…I found myself ass out. So if I was in it alone, I figured I’d rather be in familiar territory. I went to Howard straight from high school. No break or anything. My year and a half at Howard brought many things to my life. By the time it was all said and done my best friend had become my fiance and I was homeless. I lived with him for some time. {Yes, you read right him.} However, the reality was I am a lesbian and let’s just say he loved women all of them and not just me. Needless to say we grew apart.
Life alone and independent was different. I worked in different fields and dated different women. But then I met her…the one. She changed the way I saw life and love but the pains from my past made it impossible for us to exist. No fingers to blame in the situation. Let me just say that I couldn’t tell my story without including her in it because I never knew what real love was until I knew her and that played a hell of a role in the Nay that I am now.
This brings us to today, I am focused, successful and passionate about life. Each experience I’ve mentioned has shaped who and what I am. I am thankful for each success and failure and hope that I never forget each lesson learned. If I could write my own eulogy it will say…she came, she saw, she conquered. And I hope that you’ve learned enough about me here to see that you can too.
What had happened was
The Story
of
SimplyNay
