I had an abortion out of fear. Fear that my parents would hate me. Fear that people would judge me. Fear that I could never work a good job again, fear that I would be poor, that I would be looked down upon, fear of life.
Damn prochoicers. I used to be one. Until I was thrown into the situation. Now I would never stand for abortion, but I had one. There had to be a part of me that said to do it, because how else did I go through with it? The truth is, or at least what I tell myself, is that the part of me that wanted the child was very vulnerable and feeble. I had no idea what to do so I turned to others, and the decisions of others determined my fate. They threw me in a negative spiral, into fears of failure, embarrassment, of poverty, of hating myself, and regret so that any wonderful feeling that I had was taken away by fear.
My moods were swinging like Tarzan and not one pair of jeans fit me that morning. I knew something was up when I cried on the lunch line at school because there was no chocolate milk. After I got it together in the bathroom, I decided to fake sick and have my mother come pick me up. As soon as I hit home, I plunged into my bed and in seconds I was at rest.
Seven hours later, I woke up craving a gyro with extra tzatziki sauce and pistachio ice cream. When I told my mother to drive me, she laughed and said "I thought you were sick". A half hour later, the food was gone and so was the ice cream but my baby wasn't. It was still there, growing inside me. I wish I could've showed him or her the world but I knew I could not. I knew I couldn't handle raising a child. I knew I couldn't afford the expenses. I knew I was too young.
In my mind, I was positive I was pregnant but I had yet to take a pregnancy test. My boyfriend told me I was getting fat and sure enough, I was thirteen pounds heavier. I flat out told him I thought I was pregnant. He thought I was too.
I explained to him I had been craving odd...