We all know Erica Mena is craaaaaazy! And now, like every other video model with minimal aspiration she writes a book! And truth is, we only care because she made it on the cast of Love & Hip Hop! And after a little work the hood found some excerpts from her book and had to post them up for the hood to see!
Shoutout to Bossip for the connect:
We all know how this goes; I was born, I lived, I died. Typically when someone writes a story about their lives that’s usually the form it follows but we both know that this isn’t one of the “typical” situations. I know just as well as the person reading this that the only reason you picked this book up is either a) I was on the cover, b) you think this is going to be some sleazy tell all or c) you’re actually interested in what I have to say. I’m going to go with either A or B because from my experience I’ve learned that the truth doesn’t sell, at least not in this industry. No one cares about the truth. Nothing matters but finding out who slept with who, if this person had surgery, if this chicks azz is really fake, if her b00bs are real, if that person really likes girls or if he really takes it up the a$$. Sorry to disappoint you but you’re not going to find none of that in this book.
I’m not mad at the fact you think it’s one of the first two, actually I’m happy that you do, simply because I thrive off of proving people wrong. I eat critics and brush my teeth with the bulls#!t that I see on TMZ or in blogs. I rinse my mouth with the lies depicted on reality TV and I spit out nothing but whats real. While I have had relationships with other celebrities this book isn’t meant to expose them or paint them in a negative light. This book is to allow you to see who I really am and that contrary to popular belief I’m not this crazy, psycho, nut bag that you see on TV. I’ve fought, I’ve struggled, I’ve laughed, and I’ve cried just like a real person. I’ve had reasons to do the things that I’ve done whether good or bad and regardless of how you feel after reading this, I’m still going to be me at the end of the day. I’m a girl from the Bronx, and I embody everything that being from New York entails. If you can’t respect my hustle then f**k you, it’s that simple. However, if you’re interested in getting to know who I really am then I suggest you get comfortable; make yourself a drink, roll a blunt, do whatever you need to do to relax because by the time I’m done, you’re going to need it.
If it’s possible for a baby to have memories of being in utero then thats the first thing that comes to my mind. My mother used to sing that song to me while sitting in a prison cell. Yes you read that right, prison. She was shoved into a 6×8 cell with the very basic of necessities. She was doing a three year bid for something that I believe any mother would have done if they were in the same situation. She was guilty of trying to provide for her children and her unborn child. She was guilty of having a “by any means necessary” mentality in the sense of doing whatever she could to make sure I came into this world not wanting for anything. My mother has always been a go getter, a real hustler in my eyes. To me hustling isn’t something that you can teach, that person either has it or they don’t. Hustling is something as simple as bathing everyday. Either you want to do it or you don’t. You can’t make someone want to wash their own ass just like you can’t make someone want to hustle and better their lives. See, as big as my father was in the drug game at that time he was very cheap. Yes, he would occasionally shower my mother with gifts and he made sure that she was well taken care of but at the same time he wasn’t really a good provider if that makes any sense. It’s along the lines of people saying any boy can be a daddy but it takes a man to be a father; make sense?
My father made my mother struggle more than she had to instead of helping her and giving her the things that she needed which ultimately led to her being sent away. Anyway, my father’s nephew presented her with the opportunity to make some extra money if she would drop off a package at a specified location. She figured it sounded easy enough and even if she was hesitant, the only thing on her mind at the time was being able to provide me with a crib before I entered the world so she agreed. When she was exiting the apartment the police were going in to raid it and she was caught up in the mayhem that followed.
So here I was, cozy inside of her womb listening to her angelic voice sing me to sleep. As crazy as it may sound I wish I could’ve stayed there. I wish I could’ve stayed protected, stayed sheltered from the world and its harsh realities, stayed nestled in a place of unconditional love and warmth but that’s not how life works. Life likes to wait until the bases are loaded and it seems like you’re going to go home only to turn around and throw a fast ball right at your head and knock you down. Seems like a weird analogy to use but I would soon find out how true it was and the significance it would have on my life.