Having an abortion was never an option for me. My mom raised me pretty Catholic for the most part and that just a huge no-no. Going to church, from what I remember, taught me that having an abortion was a first class ticket to hell. After all, your killing someone right?
My mom wanted me to have an abortion. For her, having a child was a no-no. She tried to talk me into it but I was so confused. I had a boyfriend who didn’t want the baby, I have my mom who didn’t want me to have a baby, and I honestly don’t even know what I wanted.
Of course I planned a future, I was very dedicated to school. And I guess any guy that was willing to give me some attention.
My mom told me I had to get an abortion, I was missing too much school and I needed to make it happen ASAP.
Do you know the feeling you get when you call clinics to see how you can get an abortion for free? In that moment, I felt like a failure. Maybe I need to get an abortion and get myself together. I told my boyfriend that I was getting an abortion and I instantly heard the relief in his voice. It didn’t make me happy but it was the truth.
Now I am going to hell. That is all I kept thinking. It is a horrible feeling. To feel pregnant knowing you are not going to have a baby in the end is a hard pill to swallow.
I looked up abortions and how they happen. I read you can be given a pill, but only in the early stages. I was almost three months along. I was finally able to schedule the abortion. It was a small clinic. They did a procedure called a DNC, basically scraping the “baby” out. I will never forget it. I was completely numb so I did not feel a thing. It was quick and I just felt awkward. They said the medicine they gave me would make me a little woozy. They did their thing and sent me on my way. I did not feel myself and asked my mom to pull over, I opened the door and hurled everywhere. I felt that. I know this sounds weird but that is when I felt the emptiness. What ever was in me is completely gone. That was the last morning I threw up.
I don’t even know if I really wanted to get pregnant.
We had sex, sometimes with condoms, a lot of times without. Of course I knew that it was a possibility. I do not know how I could even think I was ready, but it happened. My mom knew I was pregnant before I even realized it myself, I swear she has some sixth sense. I was a little more tired than usual and that was her first questions. I think she had to have some idea I was pretty promiscuous up until that point. But we never really talked about it, more like “you better not be doing that”, and moved on. Luckily my boyfriend at the time was well equipped with condoms most of the time. However, if you are always skipping school and staying home to have sex, sometimes you just run out.
I had the worst morning sickness of my life. I was so sick every morning I started missing school. I felt pretty alone in that moment. I was home all day with my head in the toilet. My mom was not really speaking to me. I did not tell too many people. And my boyfriend at the time was going on with life at school. I had no one to turn to.
The realization came when I was on the phone with my boyfriend and he told me he wasn’t ready. I had no idea how I should react to that. I mean I wasn’t even ready, but we did it. It was a conscious decision on both parts. But, he wasn’t ready. I don’t know if he had a conversation with someone, or maybe reality struck him in the head. It was like over night he had a change of heart and got complete cold feet. I just thought to myself how can you get cold feet when you are talking about a baby? I was so confused, I did not even know what to do myself.
Once I hit middle school I was well aware of my sexuality and admired guys, usually older than me. I experienced puberty rather young and even sex scenes in rated R movies began to peak my interest. Now that I think about it, seems like I was like a horny little teenage boy. Except, I liked boys…a lot.
I did not go as far as to say I “dated” anyone. My mom wouldn’t dare let me out of the house so “dating” was pretty pointless. I didn’t have a phone, but we did have a computer. It was a time when chat rooms were the thing to do, and you could find a chat room for just about anything. Of course I did chat with friends after school. But I would also find myself going into random chat rooms, replying to anyone who was “cool” enough. When I think back, I am almost certain that I was probably talking to 40 something year old guys living across the country. I am also sure it did not help that I told them I was 18 or even older. Once they divulged their “A/S/L”, I kept mine within ballpark range. Because, I liked boys…a lot.
Maybe it was the attention that I got, maybe it was conversation, maybe it was the fact that I got away with it or I was just trying to join the crowd.
Although I liked boys, I excelled in school. In 7th and 8th grade I got over 4.0 GPA’s, it was all so easy. Once I was about 13, that is when I remember planning my future. I wanted to go to a university out-of-town, become a Pharmacist, I even got a scholarship in 8th grade. I was pretty proud of myself, as I am sure most of my family was. My Dad was still absent, my brothers were moving in and out of the house as their own life changed, mostly it was just my mom and I. Anyone may think that we had a super close relationship, but it just did not happen like that. I mean, I literally slept in the same bed/room with her until I was 13 and I still feel like our connection was so broken. Maybe it was because I like boys…a lot.
I lost my virginity when I was 14. It was not cute or pretty. It was in the back of a van (at work) with a guy I barely even knew or even dated for that matter. He was older, of course, about 17. We never even kissed, but I did not know what to expect so I went with it. We had random hook ups at work and just eventually found it harder and harder to not get caught. Our sex sessions eventually stopped, then he offered me to his friend. Yea, I had sex with his friend (another co-worker) who was also 17. It was also ugly and awkward. I am not even sure if I enjoyed it. No, I know I did not enjoy it.
Then came another boy. Yea, still at work. He was much nicer and we actually had a few conversations here or there. Then, I guess that gave me the courage to give him a blow job in the back of our work van? Not something I am proud of and that also led to more awkward moments. I was obviously digging myself a hole at work.
There were more boys, luckily not at work. These were all works of my online chats. Yes, I fell into the deep world of online dating. I talked to a bunch of people. I think I found the most pleasure in that. I could have conversations with anyone at anytime and if I wasn’t into anymore I was hit the ignore button and keep it moving. Most were only online, and once I was 15 I was able to have my own phone. Needless to say I was being pretty reckless. I even talked my friends to come with me to meet up with a guy I met online. They did, and we met at the movies. I gave him a blow job and never saw him again. Maybe it was because my friends teased me saying he looked like T-Pain? Who knows, but I know that it was easier that way.
Then there was one boy. I was a Freshman and it was cool. I had friends, did well in school, I was honestly living my best life. I started to date and that was cool. Holding hands, walking home from school together, going to dances, kid shit. Then I met a guy, I thought he was the shit. He was fairly popular, had nice clothes, smooth talker kinda guy. Couldn’t pass a class to save his life, but I obviously did not care much about that.
Good girls do like bad boys. I was still on a tight leash at home, so the only way I could get around that was by skipping school. I skipped school more and more but I brought home really good grades. We would skip school, smoke pot, have sex, not my proudest moments. But that is real. And that is what I remember. I could honestly say that is when I really felt like I loved someone. I am not saying that was “real” love, it was definitely puppy love, but it was love to say the least. I liked this boy… a lot.
I often ask myself that question every day. I like to think I can relate to a lot of people, but since I have become a private person over the years, my story has been a closed book.
I do not remember much of my childhood. I wish I knew why. My parents divorced when I was 2 and my mom raised me and my 4 older brothers by herself. So, I did miss a lot of the conflict that many children go through when parents are divorcing. Although, we did not have the nicest of anything,
my mom provided in an admirable way. We lived in the same house, always had food, played sports, had the best birthday parties, and always, always had presents under the Christmas tree.
Yet, I still do not remember much of my childhood. The age gap between my brothers and myself is pretty significant. My youngest brother is 6 years older than me and my oldest brother is 14 years older than me, and the other two fill in the gaps. They grew up a lot faster than me (reasonably so), and maybe I was trying to keep up? My mom worked full-time and often tried to work overtime on the weekends (when we did not have extra curricular activities going on). So I do not remember spending much quality time with her growing up. Being a mom of 3 and working full time as well, I can definitely understand. I love my brothers, however I always felt so disconnected from them. Growing up, they were going through such different phases in life, and I was home watching Spongebob.
I wish I remembered my childhood. I was my moms youngest and only daughter, pride and joy, to say the least. I feel like she would have bronzed me and put me on display, if it was up to her. I could not do much as a child, go to friends houses, sleepover’s, birthday parties, etc. Maybe that is why I do not have defined moments that stick out to me. Saturday mornings consisted of cartoons, grocery shopping with my mom, more TV, and just hanging around the house. Vacations were non-existent. But if I was a single mother of 5, I am not sure how much of a vacation I could provide. I get it, I do.
My Dad was not involved in my childhood. I vaguely remember “visits” with him. It would be at an apartment where he was living at the time. Or at my grandparents house. And it only happened a handful of times. It did not involve much interaction with him and did not last more than a couple of hours. I do not feel like he tried to raise me at all. Birthday presents were picked out by my brothers and my dad would sign his name. My parents did not see much of each other but I do know they did argue a lot. Needless to say it was close to impossible trying to get these two in the same room, for any event.
Maybe I tried to forget my childhood? Does anyone else not remember their childhood?
No one really understands your story but you. However, often times we all end up feeling the same. Tired, stressed, lonely, hurt, sad, and could end up down a path no one wants to go down. If you are reading this I hope it finds you happy, healthy, motivated and most of all I hope you leave here knowing that you’re not alone.