This past Friday I was on my way to class, jamming out to a shitty playlist and getting way too into my thoughts.
Where do we go when we die? Why do we always create problems for ourselves? Why does life shit all over people that don’t deserve it?
Truthfully I can talk about my dad’s death until I face my own, but I won’t ever express how much that event has shaped my life in such a massive way. I can’t. That’s an impossible endeavor I’m not willing to begin.
I recall being in such a dark place 2, 3, even 5 years after the fact. I really didn’t want to live. I didn’t want to deal with what the universe had dealt me. My dad was gone, I had no friends. There was no one in the world who would understand how I felt. Kids my age were out at football games, the movies, doing what kids should be doing. I never really felt like I “fit” into anyone’s life. The people around me had their groups, and I was just an outsider that people didn’t really think about.
How could I be friends with people whose problems seem so insignificant? How could I associate with people who haven’t experienced struggle a day in their lives?
Most of these people had money, a good lifestyle, a strong family suit. They lived their lives day by day, and I was just along the bleachers, taking up space.
Up until this time last year, I still felt that way. Like my existence was less important, less needed, less…wanted. I had a great family willing to help me, but no one my age to really connect with. I felt that every relationship; romantic or otherwise, wasn’t really real. Just a placeholder.
It breaks my heart now to realize the time I wasted trying to impress other people. The time I wasted trying to understand why my dad wasn’t here, why I wasn’t normal, why I couldn’t be like “them.”
Now, at twenty, I realize that none of us are normal. We are all fucked up, to put it bluntly, in one way or another. We all have our demons, some are just different than others.
For the first time in my life I feel like I belong, and I have to thank the people I met in college and the professors that have lifted my spirits for that. I have to thank my family for always seeking me help when I needed it, even if I always seemed to make things worse for myself. I have to thank my boyfriend for accepting me as who I am, even when I can’t accept myself some days.
I am so happy.
When I was around sixteen, someone called the police in fear that I was going to take my own life. The officers showed up at my house, worried that I was already gone.
I wasn’t, nor did I have any plan to leave this earth as much as I may have felt like I wanted to at the time. I could never have followed in my father’s footsteps knowing the impact it had on me and my family. I knew there was so much to live for, I just didn’t know what yet.
Now I know.
I am grateful for each passing day, even if it is a shitty one. I am grateful for my group of newly-found friends that make me feel that I’m not so unwanted. I am grateful to be here and to have met the people I have met so far in life, because they have all shaped me into this crazy person that loves writing about her experiences in hopes to relate with others.
On my way to school Friday, the window on the drivers side rolled down unexpectedly.
My fingers weren’t near the switch, I wasn’t leaning on it, I wasn’t even near it.
Whether it was some freak incident or some sort of wiring issue, I have no idea.
But I’d like to think its my father telling me that I am okay and will be okay. He’s here, he sees me, and he’s proud.
And you know what? I’m proud too. I am here, I am living, and one day I will make it.