Oh, how beautiful pain can be

So, you’re 19, you get raped and pregnant. Zoinks!

You don’t even believe you got raped, so you hate, self harm, self destruct, and blame yourself – consider yourself an absolute fucking failure, fuck up, worthless- for like… 19+ years til you finally decide maybe talk to somebody about something (there’s so many to choose).

After years of therapy and inpatients, a psychotic break bc you, much like Jack Nicholson, “can’t handle the truth”. You finally allow yourself to talk about probably the most painful thing you’ve endured. And then get mindfucked when you realize you are the fucking statistic everybody wants to talk about. But that’s jumping ahead.

You flunk out of college that you had a 70% scholarship to and you watch everything just fucking burn. Years of straight A’s, perfection, and here you sit. Empty. The golden child is the (long reigning champ) family fuck up. Guess law school and POTUS wasn’t the plan after all. Oops.

And you blame yourself for every bit. It was never rape, it was “if I had just used a condom” as if I’m the one with the dick. I’m sure, on some level I did at least know kind of – not my dick that I didn’t want in me in the first place. Irrelevant. It’s still your fault. It’s all your fault. It’s your mistake and you must fix it. Period.

You then place the child with the adoptive family you knew deep beyond any sense were her parents. Period. No question. You were the bridge and the pain is irrelevant bc it’s just the right thing to do. You are just doing what any mom does and that does not make you special. (So much so you get pissed if people call you strong or any of that kinda shit, can’t you hear? I’m a fucking failure)

You agree to an open adoption, knowing full well this is not enforceable in PA. You are practically a child yourself, but you face this decision head on under the firm conviction you will never see this child again. Such that, anything – a picture, a visit, it’s a fucking blessing. Failure? Fuck up? That’s Solomon fucking level wisdom there! Nope, you suck.

You agree to a pain that – for all my poetic prowess -I’ve yet to scratch the surface. You hold a child of your body and you smell her perfect, innocent baby smell and for the first time in your life, you know exactly what the proper definition of unconditional love is.

So, you agree to be a mother in the truest sense of the word: you put her first. And you put the baby in her carrier, and you say goodbye. And you cry for weeks that feel like eternities. You cry til you can’t smell the baby smell off the blanket you stole from the hospital. But then, you gotta just… fucking go.

You shove that pain into a single date – her birthday – that’s the day you get to cry. That’s the day you let those floodgates open. You got shit to do – you promised that kid you’d make her proud, you promised her you’d get through college (working full time, with a kid, graduating pregnant with #2) You promised her you’d live and someday, maybe you get to be lucky and be somebody’s mommy. Hell, you scared the nurses leaving the hospital with your son because you couldn’t stop crying and babbling about the baby you get to take home.

At that time, texting did not exist. I didn’t even own a cell phone. At that time, they couldn’t rule out the growth on my cervix wasn’t a tumor and I could potentially be infertile after this pregnancy. At that time, all I knew was I couldn’t give her the everything she deserved so I found the people who would. Painful tho it may be, the truth was always painfully obvious to me. And no one could talk me out of it and boy did everybody try.

At that time, I had no clue there’s a future she would text me, let alone I’d ever see her again. Let alone her and my other daughter become completely sisters to one another. Let alone visiting her when I come back to PA. All I had was nothing then. I could not conceive of any of these realities being possible, even in my wildest dreams…let alone … it is my present reality.

There’s been 20 birthdays and many other days where I couldn’t follow my rule where I have sobbed so hard I thought I could break my ribs. There are so many emptied bottles, dicks, and drugs I used to attempt to dull it away, but it was always there, shoved back until her birthday. This was status quo until I finally thought maybe I should let myself see how beautiful this is too.

Beautiful like a text wishing me happy belated Mother’s Day from my super busy, double majoring, double minoring, honor roll, psychology and serial killer obsessed daughter. She’s so much like me and I wasn’t even around, ya know? And here I sit blubbering not in pain but in sheer awe of how fucking beautiful pain can be. Maybe I can’t put it into a poem, but this fucking poetry.

I’d do it all over again for her in a heartbeat, but I will never once again allow myself to think I am weak or a failure. It is an obscenity. She taught me with her first breath, how beautiful, wise, and strong I am. Just took me a good couple decades to really learn the lesson.

The only thing I’ve ever done wrong was not be honest with myself that I said no, I fought, I was scared. And that piece of shit decided his dick was more important than my sanity.

And even then, that rape gave me her, and I am nothing without my 4 greatest and toughest teachers – my kids.

That text said a lot of things, but my biggest takeaway: bitch I get A+. Always have. I am a fucking amazing Mother and human being. I will never let myself forget this again. They are just as lucky to have me as their teacher as I am to have them as mine.

Oh and just as an aside, (rant incoming) don’t you dare fucking use this piece and my beautiful pain as “Christian” bull shit rhetoric to support robbing women of their right to choose. It was my choice for adoption, and it was also my choice to have two subsequent abortions because I would not survive another adoption. When anybody gets pregnant and they’re not ready, they’re fucked and minimizing choices hurts that baby so much more. I’m not fucking superwoman, I can’t go through multiple adoptions. As typical to a woman who has been abused sexually, I kept making poor choices unconsciously reenacting the pain I was in. Do you have any idea how many sexually abused women are just trying to fucking heal? And you judge? You rob them of rights and you speak of adoption as if it’s like returning an unwanted Christmas present. Up yours. Hypocrites. Women have been through so much at the hands of stupid men, stay out of our fucking uteruses. Most men barely know how to be a father but you wanna force me? I did what you said once because I chose. I also chose that I couldn’t do it again and how dare you scream at me and call me a baby killer. Your weak ass couldn’t have lived through half the shit I live with.

Freedom is choice. Stop calling yourself a patriot as you rape freedom. The more choices any person has, the more free they were. Getting to chose an adoption sucked, but woulda sucked more had I been forced. To adopt or to raise a child I was not emotionally, monetarily, everything-ly ready for. Or to raise a child a heroin addict impregnated me with cause I was psychotic and delusional fresh outta the mental hospital and not of sound mind or body – you couldn’t hold me to a contract but you wanna force me to have a baby? Think thoughts and stop regurgitating buzzwords you fucking idiots. Taking any freedom takes away more freedom!!! aaaahhh! /rant

Christ, you probably cry about tennis elbow from waving your retarded misspelled signs while women inside do their best. You’re not even strong enough to cast the stones you aren’t even supposed to be casting. Just stupid fucking signs and spouting hatred in the name of love. Ew.

A mother knows if she’s not the best mom for the job, and she gets to make that fucking choice. I’ve always made the right ones. Only Judy gets to judge me.

Fucking love that line.

Thanks! (Or I’m sorry!) for stopping by.