Learn to Breathe

As humans we try to determine what the meaning of life is. We try to make the right decisions, try to make the right choices that seem to fit in our life. We try to be as perfect as possible without knowing that every moment and every move we make is possibly leading to the imperfect life we are leading. Nobody is mentally ready for anything. Not you and especially not I. I’m Vanessa and I lead the most imperfect, perfect lifestyle.

                I’m a 27 year old female trying to understand the purpose of what life is about. I can’t sit here and say that I had the worst childhood possible. My parents fought for everything they had. They worked hard and allowed us to grow up in a safe environment. I had noticed that who I was wasn’t safe or how can I say sane. I was always the weirdo, the middle child with middle child syndrome. The person that always felt left out and insecure. From elementary school to now I still can say I’m like this bi-polar mess.

Growing up I was never a loner. I always had people to hang out with and if my memory serves me right I was always trying to fit in. I was sweet and innocent up until my body and hormones started changing. I was all over the place. I felt insecure. Girls around the 4^th grade were boy crazy. They were all about beginning to wear makeup and getting the attention of the boys. I attempted and tried to understand everything that was going on around me, but with parents that never liked to talk about anything and weren’t an open book made things difficult. My first kiss was in like 2^nd grade and I wouldn’t sit here and say it was even a kiss it was a full on make out session with an older boy. In attempts in trying to understand what the hell was going on, I always knew deep down inside that I was going to be this sexual being. There are things in my past that may have lead up to it, but I like to keep those worms in the can.  Anyway as I said a sexual being I am. I remember making out with the neighborhood cutie. Blonde hair, blue eyes, I couldn’t resist. Every summer he was my go to kissing buddy. I would like to thank him for contributing to my becoming a great kisser. So if you ever read this J, thanks. Deep down inside I knew that mentally I was different, I was in this world of fantasy and realization.

 Down the line life became how can I say, a game, a game that I couldn’t beat. I had done things that were wrong and things that I knew were way wrong. I was seeking attention in all the wrong places. My parents might have known or just didn’t care because those two were caught up in their own crap. They were always trying to catch up to each other to be on the same page, but never got there. They were doing more harm than good, but as a parent you don’t realize that until your kids grow up, become adults and make their voice heard to you then all that crap comes back to haunt you. Back to the subject well at the age of 9 I smoked my first cigarette and had stolen a pack from my father whom I may say was slick rick because he counted every pack that he had in the red Marlboro carton. At the age of 12 maybe 11 I smoked pot and had my first taste of alcohol. Peer pressure I would have to say sucks. I didn’t know what marijuana was. Again I was still innocent and my parents never had said anything about drugs and alcohol. Did I know it was bad possibly, but open communication was the key and the only thing my mom ever worried about was someone getting pregnant. At least I didn’t until 18, but again I’m getting ahead of myself. After learning about all that was happening with my life, I couldn’t understand why I had learned to hate myself so much. I had great friends and was a good student, but yet I felt insecure and didn’t know how to fit in.

I hit high school and things were changing. I was playing sports, attempting to be a good honor student, but still couldn’t get the hang of life. My friends around me seemed to have their s**t together it seemed like. But those damn insecurities of mine and mental games were getting the best of me. At one point my parents wanted to step up to the plate and finally try to buckle me down. The buckle down though wasn’t in the drinking or doing drugs part, it was in the boyfriend category. My first real boyfriend was black and that s**t didn’t fly. I couldn’t understand and still don’t understand how people could be such a******s. I had fought with my parents about this forever. That is when I had attempted my first suicide attempt. I was desperate for a way out, a way to get back at them for being such a******s. So I downed about 50 tylenol, passed out and woke up with the worst stomach pain and vomit episodes in the attempt to tell myself that I would never do it again because I hated the way that it made me feel. Did I listen to myself? Hell no because then a couple months later I tried again. This time because my boyfriend made me feel like s**t. I couldn’t understand why I liked giving myself pain. Why I lowered myself to be that weak person who couldn’t fight her demons.

Time had passed and I felt like I was in a good place I hadn’t attempted any crazy girl s**t. I was writing because writing helped me release the crazy person inside me. It helped me learn to breathe. So as I type at this moment I’m trying to breathe. After my teenage years I did attempt to commit suicide again. I was in my late teens, early twenties and I didn’t know how to approach life. I embarrassed myself in front of people I loved. I showed my crazy. After going through two abortions at 18 and building up this aggression and not knowing how to release it made me think that the only way out was to kill myself. To take myself away from this world that I didn’t ask to be put in. Life had made me the way I was, but the decisions I had made brought me to the mental status that I was in. The mental status that I am in now.

At 21 I had someone that learned to love me for who I was crazy and all, but then learned that it would all take a different turn. My dad committed suicide. He was 48 and lynched himself. I called him a coward, but how can I call someone a coward when I had attempted to do the same things a few years prior. How could I be a hypocrite? I asked myself how could he be so weak minded, but then how could I be so weak. I tried to understand because I could relate to the way he felt. Useless, insecure, scared, unwanted, a piece of s**t, stuck. After that I told myself that I would have to learn how to fight my demons. I won’t lie every single day is a little bit of a struggle. As everyone I have my good and bad, but I try so hard to be this optimist. Since his death I have only tried to commit suicide only once and that was shortly after because I had felt that worst pain emotionally. Some people learned to give up on me and they couldn’t wait. I tried to hang myself, but I was stupid with a moment of weakness, but then I got back on my horse.

 I will proudly say that I have been to a therapist once and she was a good one, but I could never go back. I have learned to fight my own demons, by enjoying every piece of life I can. So at the beginning like I said that we try to understand what the meaning of life is and that meaning we create it. We make our paths and own decisions. We make our own unhappiness. Yes, some of the people may rub off on you because they are negative, but we learn to move forward and passed it. So take a second and learn to breathe.