Dave

Dave was a nice guy. He really was. He was 19 and I was 17, and I don't remember how we met. I think through mutual friends. He was a punk rocker and had dyed black hair (he was a natural toe-head) and piercings back before that was cool. He wore Doc Martens and chains on his wallet. You know, he was leaning more towards the Goth end of punk, cause he liked make-up, too, but he was still punk. He introduced me to NoFx and other good punk music. See, at the time, I was still a big hippie. I was a Deadhead to the core, wearing my ripped jeans and Dead shirts. I smelled like Patchouli and sandalwood and wore a hemp necklace. It was the 90s.

But Dave was sweet. He liked me, a lot, and I thought it was pretty cool that he liked me. He also had drugs. He had a never-ending supply of pot, and we tried ecstasy together for the first time. Then we did it as much as we could. I was already doing a lot of LSD, and he didn't discourage me. So we just had sex and did drugs, and he could drive, which at the time I could not, so we hung out all over the place and went to the underage clubs in the city.

Because we never thought about protection, I got pregnant. I was stunned. I guess I just didn't think it could happen. I only found out because I couldn't stop throwing up, and I NEVER throw up. I went to the school clinic and she knew before I even took the test. My dad came and got me for the first time that school year, and I was in all sorts of trouble. It was November.

I didn't know what to do. I'm Catholic, and he was Atheist, but both of our parents just assumed we would get married and raise the baby. He proposed and I said yes. About a month in I shook out of my stunned silence and thought: really? A baby? I don't even have a high school diploma and both of us live with our parents! And the really messed up thing, that I have never admitted, is I didn't want to marry him (for a lot of reasons) because he was poor and he could never give me the life I thought I deserved. Only child syndrome, maybe, or just little rich girl, whatever it was, I realized a few things. I realized he wasn't the man for me, and that it was too early to have a baby.

Again, I didn't drive, so I asked him to take me to have an abortion. He didn't want to (he wanted the baby and to get married) but somehow I convinced him it was a bad idea. I remember every moment about that day, but for some reason I don't remember what happened after. I just know that by January I was back in school and he and I had broken up.

We're Facebook friends, now. He's got a good life and a beautiful wife, and I'm happy for him. Like I said, Dave is a good guy.

Just a thought

I'm still thinking about what I just said: I really regret the abortions. I seriously hadn't let myself feel that emotion, or any of the emotions that came with it.

Shortly after my second abortion, I had my suicide attempt. I'm pretty sure it had something to do with my hormones being out of wack, my alcoholism, and my bipolar all coming together in a perfect storm. I was pretty fucked up that whole time.

Sometimes you don't know something until you write it down, so I'm going to think about this again. I wish I hadn't had an abortion. The second one, especially. You would think I would have learned how much it hurt me emotionally the first time. And I knew it at the time: this is going to be a bad idea. I just hated myself more after. And that was hard to do; I was so hateful to myself already. It's amazing how I had the capacity to love others and not myself. They say you can't truly love anyone until you love yourself, but I don't know if I believe it. I can see what people would love about me, but that doesn't mean I love myself.

God, I hate crying. I don't do it very often. It takes a lot. When Adam left after visiting this summer, I balled. I was driving out of the airport and a song came on that I used to listen to when we broke up. It was Snow Patrol, Chasing Cars, which for some reason made me cry uncontrollably. I missed him so much already.

And now I'm crying again. Twice in one summer, or even one year, is pretty unheard of for me. But step four isn't easy. It brings up that stuff you don't want to think about. They say it's a release as well. I suppose actually feeling these emotions is a release. It hurts, but it'll feel better after. Walk through the pain, right?

A big regret, or two

I'm sighing as I'm about to write this. I've had two abortions. I always thought, "It was the best decision; you had nothing to offer a child during either of those times." But I regret them. I have finally allowed myself to understand that. I'm sad about them, and wonder all the time how my life would be different, and if their little souls ended up in another body better able to take care of them.

I was 17 the first time. I was having unprotected ecstasy-induced sex with my 19 year old boyfriend, and we got pregnant. I didn't know it, at first. I was at boarding school, and just kept throwing up. I had to leave class all the time cause I was so sick. I just felt like shit. So I went to the clinic, and they knew immediately. They called my dad. Boy, was that a shitty ride home (resentment!). They asked me not to come back until I had the child/wasn't pregnant (resentment!).

My dad, being Catholic and a republican, told me I was going to have the baby. That was that. My boyfriend was really excited. He told his mom and she seemed actually excited, too. I was not. I was beside myself. How could this have happened (duh)? How could I have gotten myself into this situation? What was I going to do? In my state you had to be 18 or get a parent's permission to get an abortion, and at the time I was still Catholic enough to think that there was no way I could do it.

And then I had a moment: I realized that a 17 year old and a 19 year old bunch of druggies with no high school diploma between them could only end up fucking up a child. I knew I couldn't do it. So I convinced my boyfriend to take me to the Planned Parenthood in the next state. He was sad, and so was I. If you ever have to get an abortion, I have two things to tell you: don't look, and don't listen.

I started having these recurring dreams of a young blonde boy who had his back to me. He would stand there, and I would try to get him to turn around. I just wanted to see him, but he never would. And one day, he turned his head partway, I still couldn't see his face, but he said, "I forgive you." I never had that dream again.

But I'm still sad about it. If I had thought better of myself or my situation (he would have been loved, after-all), I might have gone through with it. But then my life wouldn't be like it is, which is how it's supposed to be. But I think it's my biggest regret. My biggest resentment against myself. I don't know how I'm ever going to forgive myself.

The second time I was 23 and a drunk. I was actually on birth control by then, but of course it's only 97% effective. Lucky us. My boyfriend at the time, well, I don't even remember his reaction. I just remember being petrified that I would have to do it again. Everything in me said, "Don't do it!" I wanted to have that child, I really did. But something else in me said, "You're a fucking loser who can't even take care of yourself. What the hell would you do with a child?" And so I did it. I, again, asked a boyfriend to be complicit in this act, and I went to the very same Planned Parenthood. Thank God they didn't judge me. I couldn't have handled criticism at that time.

And so these are my biggest resentments against myself. Aborting children I very well could have had, and wanted in my own little way. I would have a 13 year old and a 7 year old right now. I think about them all the time. I worry now, will I ever be able to have kids? Will God punish me since I didn't learn my lesson the first time? Maybe one day I'll find out, but I know one thing, any child that comes to me now will be wanted, loved, and never taken for granted.