Hell is where the heart is

Talking about rape, abortion, adoptions – also the last 20 years of my life. Don’t read it if you don’t want to read about yucky stuff. Go anywhere else on my blog, there’s plenty.

I was 19 when I got pregnant for the first time. Spoiler alert: I was not in a good place. I was in a very confusing and abusive relationship with the man who would donate the sperm that created my child. The night I got pregnant, I was rolling on Ecstacy. He was not pleased with my choice to take E and told me I was going to be punished. The punishment was going to be anal sex, and when I wriggled, screamed, kicked, and begged him to leave me alone, he pushed my face into a pillow and shoved himself in me.

Fortunately (in my mind), he did not go in my [itchy®© butt] but in the babymaking zone. Immediately, I was worried this would not end well, but I was more concerned about not having him shoved in my ass.

That’s the night my daughter was conceived.

I chose to place her with an adoptive family. I could not handle the thought of abortion because it wasn’t her fault. I was catholic at the time, and the thought of abortion terrified me. Or maybe more accurately, I was terrified of what everyone would think of me. It seemed preferable to be the shameful black sheep, knocked up, college dropout. I have always been scared of going to hell, so I attempted to crudely cobble my life together with a malformed understanding of theology, too much emphasis on fear-based compliance, and me hating myself. In other words, I was so afraid of going to hell when I died, I spent a good 2 decades of my life in hell every day.

I am apparently realizing I am the rare case everyone likes to use to debate what I can do with my uterus. (Ladies, wake the fuck up – it’s not uter-I, it is uter-us for a reason)

I chose adoption when I got pregnant by rape. 

It took me a few months to reach the decision of adoption. At first, I thought my ex and I were going to start a family together. I was about 6 months pregnant when I started waking up and realizing I am not okay. It was maybe the first time – despite the drugs, the cutting, the drinking, the risky sex – that I considered I wasn’t okay. I think it might have been the first time I really started asking for help. It would take me almost 2 decades to get myself put back together. I would go on to have 2 abortions – one almost right after my first child was born.

I was probably not okay because the same man who impregnated me is the same man that raped me when I was 14. I met him at a pool, we ended up kissing, and then his penis was in me. I was terrified, I didn’t know what to do. I was a fat girl with no self-esteem, so the fact that a guy is giving me attention was everything. Afterward, confronted with the shame and guilt of losing my virginity, I started a war against myself that is only now finding peace 22 years later. It’s not like repressing things that are bothering you (read: trauma) goes away. It worsens and compounds as time goes on.

At the time, I blamed myself for everything but simultaneously convinced myself this was love and he and I were meant to be together. That rationalization is what set me up to just really get twisted when we re-connected 4 years later. After we had sex – which I still don’t say is rape, I still say I didn’t say no, so it’s not his fault – I didn’t see him again until I was 18. I thought it was God/fate/whatever, and committed myself to him for the rest of my days…”for better or for worse”…I allowed myself to be tortured physically and mentally in the name of love. I have never read 50 Shades of Grey, but I am pretty sure I can top it. Since he wasn’t rich, it was not fun, but he loved me.

Less than a year after the adoption, I was dating my (now) husband. I was on birth control, but I do not get along with medication well. I had been feeling a terrifyingly familiar “off” feeling and took a test. I saw the + sign and dropped to the floor. “I can’t…I can’t do this to myself again. I can’t handle it. I am not strong enough for that… I have to get an abortion…” I remember rocking back in forth through my sobs as he desperately tried to get me to calm down. 

But, I am one for loopholes. I didn’t immediately go to planned parenthood. I am a masochist. I chose to try to fall down the steps to see if I could induce a miscarriage. I scored a bottle of Ritalin from a benefactor and took a disgustingly insane quantity attempting to induce a miscarriage. I spent hours punching myself in the stomach as hard as I could. There were two other big factors at play. One, I didn’t have $400 for an abortion. Two, I didn’t want anyone to see my insurance bill because it wasn’t my insurance. These clever DIY solutions were preferable than alternatives. 

I know a lot of focus is given to access to abortion and everything like that, but I have to think I’m not alone here. I have to think there are a lot of women like me – that were scared to get an abortion or not educated about their bodies properly combined with serious self-esteem issues…. So I guess I’ll just kind of be the .. spokesperson of baffled 30 something-year-old women who just didn’t know what is up. I had access to Planned Parenthood, maybe I didn’t have the money but I’m sure that’s something I could get figured out. Despite that, I’m doing serious harm to myself in an attempt to end this pregnancy. I was googling LD 50 (the statistical lethal dosage of a prescription based on clinical trials) of Ritalin to try to take as much as I could without killing myself.

This is with legalized abortion and legalized brainwashing/terror tactics/and “love”. This is what fear in the name of love does to people. This is what judgment instead of understanding does to people.

This is what happens even with legalized abortion, so what happens when we overturn the one principle that brought this country to fruition? Separation of church and everything but my vagina, apparently.

Did I want to get an abortion? Hell no. I couldn’t do an adoption again, I’m sorry. I just couldn’t. I could paint poetry for centuries just using that one single instance of heartache as my palette. 

I did not think of this evening as rape. I thought of it as both my fault for taking drugs and what happens with your boyfriend sometimes. These are the benefits of no sex education whatsoever. Maybe other people are smarter than I am, but when you combine a deeply disturbed, self-loathing, masochist and a deeply disturbed sadist… magic happens. I never believed he did anything wrong. I blamed myself for “not using a fucking condom” and would be – until 2 years ago – angered if anyone complimented me on my bravery for adoption. This year is the first year of my life that I am using terms like rape and abuse to describe my teens. Prior to this year:

“It was not brave, I was just trying to fix my mistake.”

“A condom could have saved me a lifetime of pain, that’s stupidity, not bravery.”

When I got the abortions, I doubled down on hating myself. I eradicated any merit from the adoption because now I am a fucking baby killer. A fucking baby killer raised in the love, light, and acceptance of those who claim to worship a man who said rule numero uno is LOVE. I take “fucking baby killer” as a direct quote from a beautiful soul who was screaming at me the first time I went to the facility. God bless, sister.

See – this is the point that is lost in this insanity. Love. When I chose adoption, I opted for a lifetime of heartache that may lessen with time but carries a scar so profound I can barely talk about it. Every time I try to open up, I can’t. I’m shaking as I type this, and I might talk myself out of sharing a third iteration of trying to start talking. I chose that out of love – my child deserved better than me. I am praised for that, but I don’t wanna talk about it.

When I chose abortion, I chose love too. I was not emotionally, financially, or mentally capable of mothering that child. That child did not deserve my shortcomings as their burden. That child did not deserve to come into this world as I was reeling from an abortion, completely destroyed from my abusive relationship but not even cognizant of it, in denial of everything I am as a human, and I’m fucked in the head. FUCKED. What is beneficial to this child in this situation? Another traumatized zombie joining the flock? Woo! There’s so few of us. I chose abortion out of love – my child deserved better than me. I am either hated, judged, or “yeah me too” for that, but I don’t wanna talk about it.

When I chose abortion the second time, I chose love too. I was not emotionally or mentally capable of mothering a child that was created as a result of cheating on my husband with a man I met in the mental hospital after I finally suffered my first mental breakdown. (I don’t know why!) I don’t think I need to qualify any further why I wasn’t capable. Oh, right, I was already a mother of 3. I chose abortion out of love – my child deserved better than me. I am either hated, judged, or “yeah me too” for that, but I don’t wanna talk about it.

I didn’t talk about any of the prior words I’ve typed here; I only talked about my 60-80 hour workweek. That was 7 years ago, my Saturn return, and the start of this. All through being a mother to my three children, I carried that guilt, shame, and sorrow. I always felt I was a terrible mother whose children did not deserve her. I am a fucking baby killer. 

Both times I have gone to the clinic, I have talked with fellow women. There was a mother just like me sitting there. We held each other’s hands quietly as the tears ran down our faces like silent rivers. We had just been screamed at by the loving protesters telling us how we were to hell. (No shit sherlock – what do you think, we got to Planned Parenthood for shots and dubstep?) We know what hell is already, we’re there. We’re sitting in a clinic doing the only thing we feel is best for a child we don’t know, but we love. We know we’re not the mothers they deserve. We know because we’re already mothers. Every woman is born a mother, whether or not she has a child, we mother all of creation with our being. It’s our nature. 

She said quietly, “I have three babies already. I feel so bad. I just..I am not a baby killer, but I can’t afford her. How am I supposed to take care of her?”

I nodded. I understood. I gave her a hug, and I said, “me too.”

We either start talking, or we keep getting shut up. This one gets posted.

Jesus taught love. None of this is love. This is hate, and I am sick and tired of watching people spoonfeed hate in the name of love. It is not “hate the sin, love the sinner.” It is “Love is patient. Love is kind. Love is understanding.” Enough is enough, already.

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