Still vibrating with rage, he slammed his fist on the table and announced, “I just want everybody to know that THANKSGIVING IS CANCELLED!
Because I was never alone, I had no comprehension of the impact my music and I were making on the outside world. I never had time to think or reflect. I now believe that this was completely by design. Did Tommy know I would be easier to control if I were kept ignorant of the full scope of my power?
Strange how death can make people forgive those who trespassed against them and their children.
I noticed the cops too, standing there, unfazed, in the pulsing midst of the energy and excitement. It was one thing to be informed, but quite another to see with my own eyes, hear with my own ears, and feel in my soul the reaction from real people to me and my music. What I felt that night in Schenectady was not idol worship, it was love. It was the kind of love that comes from honest connection and recognition.
Every weekend, Tommy would turn off the radio that was my lifeline and take a moment of silence before popping in one of his beloved Frank Sinatra CDs. What a tragic metaphor, listening to Tommy hum “My Way” as he drove us back to my captivity.
It was the first time I felt safe enough to go back and peek in on Mariah, the little one, and recognize what she had survived. And suddenly, the first verse and chorus of “Close My Eyes” came to me:.
But I closed my eyes Steadied my feet on the ground Raised my head to the sky And the times rolled by Still I feel like a child As I look at the moon Maybe I grew up A little too soon.
I was a wayward child With the weight of the world That I held deep inside. Life was a winding road And I learned many things Little ones shouldn’t know.
More than my personal happiness, I needed my career as an artist to survive. Happiness was secondary. Happiness was a fleeting bonus. I married Tommy because I thought it was the only way for me to survive in that relationship. I saw the power he could put behind my music, and he saw the power my music could give him. Our holy matrimony was built on creativity and vulnerability.
My beauty school class was made up of mostly Italian girls. There were mean girls, there were shy girls, there were regular girls, and then there were the girls.
I was bound to be a beauty school dropout.
I was a fish out of water, and though I survived it, I knew that no one there really cared about me, and I certainly knew I wasn’t staying.
You don’t have to do this,” they all said. But I truly believed I had to. I saw no way out. I didn’t know what else to do. I’d learned how to endure disappointment and carry on, to make the best of things and keep working. I certainly knew how to live with fear. I didn’t know life without fear.
And I missed a lot of life, but I’ll recover Though I know you really like to see me suffer Still I wish that you and I’d forgive each other ‘Cause I miss you, Valentine, and really loved you.
Over and over I have tried to be her fire department, financing treatments and paying for stays in premium rehabs. But even with substantial resources, there is no way to rescue someone who doesn’t realize they’re burning.
If there was any perception of a fairy-tale marriage or life, it was absolutely smoke and mirrors. The ironclad safety that Tommy provided from my family turned into an ironclad dungeon. The control and imbalance of power in our relationship accelerated.
But I knew some things he didn’t know too, particularly when it came to trends and popular culture, which I suspect made him feel threatened. He seemed threatened by anything he couldn’t control.
Nothing feels like family when you are under surveillance, which I always was.
And I miss you, dandelion And even love you And I wish there was a way For me to trust you But it hurts me every time I try to touch you.
Tommy had shared his own opinion with me and my nephew Shawn: “Puffy will be shining my shoes in two years.” I was stunned. Wait. What did he say? It was one of the very few times I stood up to Tommy, telling him that what he had said was blatantly racist.