Self-Made?

I get called self-made, by those who I will admit, know me the best. At times I would have agreed, But the truth is, I am not self-made. I am very far from self-made. I wasn’t raised in the traditional sense. When I was a child and teenager, I would watch those who I lived with and pick up all the traits I didn’t want to have. I knew who I didn’t want to be by the time I was 20, but I didn’t know who I was, not really.

Then I turned 21, and my mom died. Well, she was dying before, but she helped escalate the process. And all my family secrets just kept pouring out. I never believed my family were good people. When I was cutting at 14, I use to say it was because I hated the blood that ran throw my veins. In reality, I learned fairly quickly; there are worse people out there. Those people that pretend\ to be perfect, never acknowledging their faults.

Controlling and someone managing to manipulate emotionally or mentally suffocate you—either way of dealing with people like that a penance I will have for years to come.

Either way, when my mother died, on my 21st Birthday, and all the revelations happened, I broke. There was nothing inside of me that was present at all. I was a shell. I don’t think I woke up until I was in Japan. But at the same time, I was learning in my self made coma. Sometimes reality can cut too deep. But I was a Lawrence, my mother, taught never to cry, to push forward, never show weakness. And I knew the moment I slipped up, I had someone waiting to attack me, who had a lot more time on this earth than I did, and was self-righteous, just waiting like a vulture for me to fall.

And I eventually did, I couldn’t keep my head above water, and I nearly drowned. (figuratively). I choose not to piece all that time together; there too many moving parts and chaos. The saying goes, there are three sides to a story, yet this issue probably had several sides. It no longer wants to live in the past to decipher it all. Either way, I was at my worst, and I hurt my friends. I sometimes regret looking internally. It was never that I didn’t trust them, or that I didn’t love them, because I love them more than they know. It was I couldn’t show how bad off I was. No one could know how much I struggled and how much I didn’t want to be alive anymore. The more pressure I got and the more things got chaotic, the more I just pushed forward. Because I had to. And I regret that more than anything. I regret being the prefect statue until I completely broke.

But see that’s how I am not self-made. I might have made the choices, but all those events made me. Yes, I could have taken my life. Lord knows how many times I stood looking at myself, overwhelmed, thinking it would be easier to die. But I couldn’t do that to my boys. And I know I was self-destructive. I could have easily stayed there. But I choose to break free. Not without scars and loss.

If none of that happened, I wouldn’t be capable of working with abuse victims. I couldn’t tell someone I understand what it’s like to want to take your own life. I wouldn’t have been able to finish college. Before all of this, I wanted to be a wife and mother, and I had no other real goals, yeah I was in college, but that was to provide for Caleb. And while my four children are the best things in the world to me. I learned there a whole other side to that, and I couldn’t let anyone have that much control over me again.

I learned what real strength isn’t keeping it all to myself, but those late-night talks in the car with your friend, and while it’s a growing process. I learned to heal. And I still have a vulture that loves to find new ways to upset me, consistently, And it can get to me. But my emotions aren’t my weakness. Not having those I love, is far worse. Because despite how I was raised. Lawrence’s aren’t made of stone.