Tag Archive: pain

Numb it.

Is it me or is everyone pregnant or holding a baby these days? My boyfriend said the other day that everyone has babies and pregnancies so I’m going to eventually have to deal with this. So easy for someone without a uterus to say. He didn’t mean it cruelly and he is right. I’m just not sure how to begin.

But for now I’m just numbing it.

Wine, vodka, food. Whatever is handy. Last night I drank 3 glasses of wine by myself. No I don’t need help and no I’m not an alcoholic. But it’s nice to numb it all sometimes and get a little instant happiness.

Unfortunately it usually just numbs everything else and the pain and sadness is all that remains. So there I sit. Drunk and sad.

I lied to my friend.

The pain of it all got so intense, right after the abortion. I was sorry I had done it the second it was over and spent the next 3-4 days wishing constantly I could turn back time. And I HAD to talk to my best friend about it, she and I help each other through everything. I couldn’t tell her what I had actually done, she had a gorgeous 5 month old baby she was excited about him.

So I lied. I told her I had a miscarriage.

I knew almost immediately this was a mistake. I wish I had thought it through further.

She did what she always does, gave me love and sympathy.  I didn’t know it until that moment, but I wanted neither. I don’t deserve sympathy or love. I wanted silence about it for a while. Even now, when I go through a few days of despair she senses it and knows its about the baby. That is when she starts in with the, “you can try again and have more!” positive stuff that makes it worse. I don’t want to try again, I wasn’t trying to begin with. I do, however and always will want the baby I had back.

I wish I hadn’t lied to her. I just added to the complicated misery of the whole thing. There are so many women who do lose babies and deserve love and sympathy over it. It is a horrible thing.

I killed my child, I didn’t lose it.



Those moments.

It’s within those moments of complete despair and sadness, when you think briefly for a moment that you don’t want to see another sunrise that your remember who you really are and there are things left here for you to do.

I’ve only had suicidal thoughts twice in my life. The first time was after an accident I’d been involved in. I was fairly damaged from it and a doctor told me, while truly gazing into my eyes, that I may never be the same and may not recover. I went home that day and imagined slitting my wrists till my blood poured from me till I felt no more pain. But those thoughts went away and I recovered.

The second time was yesterday. I’ve spent nearly every moment of the past 6 months hating myself for what I did. I don’t think I will ever forgive myself. Ever. And I can’t take it back or change the fact that I murdered my baby before it took it’s first breath. I’ve gained weight. I’ve isolated myself from my friends and family. I’ve shoved away the most beautiful man in my life who adores me completely and stood by me. I’ve stopped living since I did it.

What stopped me from opening my veins? My son. If I killed myself it would kill my living child and I couldn’t do that.

I haven’t mentioned the beautiful son I’m lucky enough to have. He reminds me of happiness, and at the same time I regret what I did more and more when I look at him. I’d give anything for another child like him. I Never felt that way till now. I was so complete with just him. And maybe it’s just a mourning thing or a post abortive syndrome thing, but I wish I could stop thinking it. The reality is I didn’t want more kids. I sort of still don’t. But I ache for the one I killed.

Today I was reminded that he is why I’m here and improving his life and making him happy is my mission in this world. I’m truly grateful for him and these moments today that brought it into perspective.

Ever changing.

The pain morphs.

Lately it’s been hitting me like lightning during my happiest times. Striking down quickly and harshly as if to remind me that I’m not allowed happiness. I murdered my child before it ever had a chance.  Child murderers aren’t supposed to ever experience bliss or happiness again.

I have had good moments since I did it. Many.  They don’t last as long as they did before. They don’t fill me in the way that happiness and laughter use to fill every inch of my self.

I cry a lot still and I wonder if it will ever stop. I sob my eyes out with my big, very dark sunglasses on when I am driving sometimes if a song hits me the wrong way from the radio. I cry in the shower quite regularly. I cry when I start to talk about it with my baby’s father.  Sometimes I have to lock myself in the bathroom at work to cry, and tell my coworkers I have food poisoning so they will leave me alone. If they ask why my eyes are red I lie and tell them I vomited.

Crying should be cleansing. But it never relieves my pain the way it has in the past. You know that feeling after a really good body gripping cry, one that has been building up for a while? I feel worse after a fit of crying. My wheels have spun and the emotions have surfaced and nothing has been resolved and I feel the black hole of despair has widened within me.

Abortion is the only acceptable (I use that word very loosely) form of human murder in our society.

I feel like I should be locked up with the key thrown away for what I did. I should be removed from the luxuries of my life. Soft beds, chocolate, wine and books should be taken from me as punishment.  My sentence may actually be life. My life is gone now.  My friends all ask where I am or why I haven’t been around. Why didn’t I show up to the barbecue? Can’t I meet for happy hour?  One friend made a huge deal of how I have been ignoring her. How do I tell her what is going on in my life and that I may never recover? Happiness now is relative and so very short lived and I don’t know that I believe that I will find it again.

This whole experience has changed the way I look at other women. All other women. I read the rates, I know there are thousands upon thousands of women who have aborted their babies as I did.  I find myself sitting and staring at a random stranger wondering if she has ever had to deal with the same situation.

Did she welcome the loss?

Did it leave a crater in her soul as it has mine?

Did she tell anyone? And if she did, did they judge her or love her through it?

Was she lucky and had a miscarriage before she had to give the go ahead for a stranger to rip her child from her uterus?

I wonder. They have to be all around me. Rich or poor. Women are aborting.

I found this wonderful post on  a blog I frequent, about abortion recovery. It helps knowing some of  this is normal, but what it doesn’t tell me is if I will ever return to normal or forgive myself.


I already hate this blog.

If I’d made one different choice months ago I would be about to give birth to my baby instead of pouring my broken heart and bleeding soul out to strangers on the Internet.

When you have an abortion, you certainly don’t talk about it with friends and family.  You barely make eye contact with the other women in the clinic that day. You don’t speak of it to anyone. It’s the most shameful secret a woman can carry.

I can’t talk about this to anyone in my world. So here I am. It has been 6 months and the empty, throbbingly painful numb I feel has completely engulfed me. I am usually a talker. So not being able to speak of this to anyone has only made my black hole grow.  It screams at me. It whips at me mid-happy sentence. It swallows me hole at the edge of the ocean on vacation. It creeps up just as I fall asleep.  It tortures me constantly, invading every single moment of my life. And rightfully so. I can never take back what I did in that moment that is now just a tiny blip in time.

Actually, I can speak about this to my baby’s father who I am still dating, and who is wonderful but he requires his own post at a later date.  And as amazing as he is, he’s not my girlfriends who soothe and heal me on all matters (that I can admit to).

Make no mistake, I’m not looking for pity here. I’m a grown woman who made a choice. A choice that seemed necessary and, oddly, right at the time.