Getting an abortion was never something I planned on doing. It’s not like you live your life with that kind of thing on your bucket list. But I did get pregnant, I was 19 and I was scared to death.
I’m such a lover of kids you’d think it natural when I would eventually get pregnant, I’d be so excited and not be able to wait to have a baby. And yes, albeit babies are adorable, you don’t really look that deep into the picture beyond the cuteness until you really get pregnant. In staring at those lines that appeared on the pregnancy test, I remember staring at it for so long you would of thought I was trying some sort of magical mind trick or something. Hell, maybe I was. Maybe in staring at it longer I thought that faded second line would disappear just as fast, or slowly, as it appeared in the first place. What am I going to do? All of the sudden I’m thinking about how much money it’s going to cost, how much time I’d be able to spend with it being I’d have to get another job, and how much would I really be able to give to a child at the age that I’m at. All of the sudden at 19, I felt so aged.
The morning I of the Doctor’s appointment, I went to throw something away in my garbage and noticed it had been rustled through. “Oh, shit,” I thought. What now? I couldn’t imagine why anyone would ever want to rustle through garbage. Geez, I was feeling so low that if anyone needed garbage in their life they could just come and talk to me. In being pregnant I knew I needed to have the abortion early, if I was going to have it. Not that it makes it any better or easier I just couldn’t imagine doing it later in the term. I still can’t believe these words that I write knowing what I was about to do. I’ve always wanted to be a mom, it’s what I thought I was put on this Earth to do. What WAS I put on this Earth to do? Man, I have no idea why anymore. I thought there would be no evidence that I was pregnant to anyone. I thought that it would be my story to tell, if I ever chose to tell it. Well, I wasn’t off to a very good start. For instance, leaving the pregnancy test in the garbage probably wasn’t a good idea if I didn’t want to get caught. But like I said, who rustles through garbage anyway? It turns out, I’d started giving my mom evidence of her own. The reason I thought I might be pregnant was when I lit up a smoke one day. I wasn’t a consistent smoker but liked them from time to time, and all of the sudden when I went to inhale I felt so nauseated I couldn’t believe it. “This isn’t right,” I’d tell myself. “I’m not even feeling sick.” I thought about it for a minute and realized It’d be perfect timing for me to be pregnant. But that was also a distant thought at best. Then I became nauseated all of the time, and my boobs got really sensitive. I never knew what women meant when they’d say they’re boobs got sensitive until mine did. It was like my awful aha moment. Then I was constantly on the verge of puking. And thinking my mother would just think I was sick, was never a second thought. But I didn’t realize she’d put two and two together when I was craving a pickle one day and was vocal about it. You think you have cravings, then realize you never had a craving until you crave something while pregnant. I had to have that pickle, the thoughts of it were all consuming. I never thought she’d put those moments together. To think women before me had been showing these signs all along! Geez, I really didn’t get it. Of course, I was too young to.
When I was little my mom always would ask me if I wanted english muffins. “Yes,” I’d always say. Then I’d hide them under the couch cushions for her to find later. I must’ve loved hide and go seek then. She’d find them in about a week and there was never just one in there. I’d ask for two every day so she’d find about a dozen in there. She still laughs about it. I love when kids do stuff that you can’t get mad at because you start laughing. I think that’s what I miss the doing the most, is laughing. I used to always be joking around and having fun and then everything got so damn serious. Do we turn a certain age where the world just seems different all of the sudden? Or are we following the world that is constantly teaching us to to be different towards them? I always promised myself I wouldn’t cave. That I’d keep my light heart and would laugh uncontrollably for ten minutes once more. It hasn’t happened yet but I have hope that it will. I hate things that are too serious! Why am I so serious now?! I sit with a blank stare trying to think of things in life that make me smile and it used to be just the simplest thing! I’m quite klutzy and am always tripping and falling, or like I mentioned in another post when I was taken on a blind date horseback riding. Not paying attention and getting hit in the face by a branch. “Whoopsie!” Was one of my favorite words. Looking back from today, I think my most popular saying is “I’m sorry” now. What?! That can’t be. It is though. I got married when I was 21 to an abusive guy and I think all I ever did was apologize just because. Then, I knew that when I apologized we could move on. That was his routine when we’d fight. He had to hear me say “I’m sorry” all of the time. Nothing else was routine about our fighting either except that it was all routine of domestic violence. And I paid a heavy price for it in the way he treated me, and I also grew distant from many of my friends. He was this secret I had to keep because it was my mistake and I couldn’t admit how mean he was to me and how he was one of the biggest regrets of my life. So I sucked it up and stayed.
I grew up in a close knit group of friends, I think in 7th grade was when I started to get to know many more of my classmates and would soon think of them as family growing up. I love my own family so damn much too but growing up was more stressful than it should’ve been. Shit, this whole life seems like that. As if this is my hell on Earth and I have to work my way back to Heaven. But like all of us, no one gave me directions. And while my family and friends were on one train I was too busy trying to stand in front of it too realize that it had already passed through. Without a horn they all went on to live their lives unsure about what I was doing in my own that nobody stopped to ask…”Are you doing ok?” Some did while others’ stare or silence showed judgement with each wake. Wake of a wave I unknowingly created. I thought I was just here to be me. And If I do anything it’s to stay genuine to who I am, I’d tell myself. But my actions would show a different sort. The kind of person I’d not know, the kind that would’ve been deaf to any horn to begin with. I wish I could go back. Back to the days of the muffins. The simple pleasures that make glee in a day. I want glee. Even a genuine smile would be nice. So I wouldn’t have fear in the night. For the nightmares would surely come.
I don’t wish out loud anymore but I’m always silently pleading for my secret desires to come true. Please sweep me away wind. Take me wherever it is you go just not into the eye of the tornado. I put my hand up in the wind and let the gusts push it into a curve going up and down. Where is everyone? It feels like the story, It, without the storm and no scary clowns.
Ah, but maybe I am the storm. The walking disaster you shouldn’t come close to unless you know what is is you are dealing with. Keeping company with the echoes in the street at night…reminding you that you are alive. For the people that do come close, know that I warned you. I sounded the alarm and instead of hiding, some of you danced. Something I wish I could do again. Dance in the street while taking a walk around the neighborhood. Letting the insides of myself fly out as music notes fill the streets, and suddenly I am lost. Who cares? No need to ask for directions being I didn’t like the place I’d come from to begin with. The dark streets have no more echoes.
There are still no cars as I try to enjoy the peace surrounding me but can’t. I’m so lonely. Depression makes sure you’ll find out that it’s suffering is a one way ticket and a one person ride for a one way kill to my genocide. The lights go out. I wonder whats in the woods I come across. I’m terrified a spider will walk in front of me and I wont know. Yuck. Luckily I’m wearing a necklace that lights up. Ok, I can faintly can see my house. I wish the wind would act like an escalator and escort me back. I also wish I could stop wishing things were different. That maybe if I hadn’t done this or that, then maybe I could seize the damn day instead of waiting for it to be over with. I stand alone, still in the night and waiting for the crisp air to bite and wake me up. I always want to sleep and make time go by faster but its turned me into some pile of nightmares with no safe house to run into, away from the tornado. And damnit it’s getting too close to home. It’s just getting too personal.
My name is Andrea and this is my attempt at finding some solace in my life because therapy’s been, well, a joke to be quite honest. So, I’m trying to therapitize myself with writing it all out. In the hopes it won’t come back again, but if it does at least there’s more paper to write along with it. People say that words lose power, when you talk about things so here goes…my attempt at my OWN therapy. So, “HA,” bad therapists. If I ever get better I want my money back.
Eminem says to “Lose Yourself,” but when you’re lost all you can think of is how desperately you need to be found. I am lost within myself, outside of myself and everything in between. And I’ve walked the 8 mile up the road and don’t like what I have to see. Where did it all the time go? And how in a world where everyday is so long did I get through so many of the years? I still feel like a teenager. All of the sudden I begin questioning everything I learned in school wondering if there should’ve been life lessons taught as part of the curriculum. We learned addition but all that I use that for is to add up all of these bad days…..multiplied by my negative feelings equals out to be the probability of a girl in the danger zone all of the time. My ADD is something you’d recognize when you really get to know me. But all in all, it’s the damn truth that I have it. With ADD you go from one subject to the next within a metaphorical minute. One minute I want to work out in the gym, then drop that just as fast, then I want a different job, then a different arraignment for my room. And let’s say that happens every day. Cleaning the house I’ll mush up all the cleaning chores instead of doing one, then the next and finishing each, I do some of one, then some of two and so on and so forth. ADD is about distracting the mind because it can only have a certain amount of time in an attention span’s mirth. I see it as a blessing and a curse. If I get down about something then I could be distracted so easily and quickly I’m off to the next subject. The curse however, is when it works backwards from being in a good mood switched to a bad one. Some days I’m in limbo all day long, I just hide at home. Moreover, I just try to sleep all day. My brains on combustion mode in each of the thousands of thought that come through with death underlying in each. I don’t think I want to die but I sure as shit don’t want to live. Not like this. Not in the grips of a life I can’t seem to understand. It feels like everyone else knows the secret. Like there was a turn in the 8 mile that I missed when I went the other way. Then something distracts me enough to not focus on it too badly. At least for now.
The days get longer within every night I conquer. “Where am I headed?” “Always a place of dread.” I’d think. I feel like I’m battling all natural disasters combined into one mind which will always take it to the Nth degree within. If I move left or I move right, “I can’t see. I just can’t see what to do!” The brain fed snowstorm is always there to heed my confusion. My impulsivity rises as I can’t make clear-headed decisions because, as no one realizes yet, my head is not clear anymore. I looked to the mirror today and couldn’t see myself. I felt my face as I stared the long stare into the big black hole of each eye. Not an easy feat as my OCD is hooking it’s reins hard these days. As I look to the mirror I can ONLY look at my pupils. That’s one of my rituals. If I don’t do it perfectly and look at the exact center of the pupil then I don’t allow myself to look away. And if I look somewhere else, I “have to get the rituals back on track”…I look, left eye, right eye, left eye, right eye. Over and over again until I’ve done it 24 times. Then, only if it “feels” right, can I look away. Otherwise, I have to start all over. “If I don’t,” I’d tell myself. “Then something bad will happen to someone I care about, even death.” That’s the toll of OCD…you can charge at it’s bridge and try to do otherwise, but the bridge always collapses when you’ve been doing rituals since you were four years old. You don’t need to go to jail if you suffer from OCD, it’s conformity will keep you behind bars in such a suffocating way, you’re already there.
If I were a wishing girl I’d wish for never ending happiness. For all to be well on each and every day, and polite beauty around every corner. Dread wouldn’t be found in such beauty of a wish, made upon a star one night so full of starlights.
In the nighttime skies of wishes not lies, I ask for this broadening spectrum of hope to keep ensuing. “I will be better,” I’d say to myself. “If I could just have a chance at it.” And low and behold the chance of the starlight mixed with the dark of night keeps upon me. All the while knowing it might be my only shot.
I haven’t felt mentally healthy in fifteen years. What do I even do with the chance I’ve been given, as I lay among the stars and the moon. I’ll have to try this forbidden thing called happiness, which is mostly shunned or dismissed too soon. It usually plays a game with my mind, this happiness. Giving me a peek a boo once in awhile. Just long enough to know that’s this is what I’m fighting for, yet, not long enough for me to say it’s been worth it. Life, without happiness feels worthless. Only to breathe is what I have ingrained in me. I will keep the dread of depression and mental illness at bay, but also as my coat of arms to protect me from all things unfamiliar. When the earth’s moons change, so will my new life. I hope, as I realize the darkness of the eclipse above the horizon. I don’t know what to do with happiness. I don’t know what to do with life, in fact, I just don’t know what to do. Do I ask for forgiveness once again and wish to go back to the normalcy I seek? No, I won’t do that now. I won’t bother the starlight tonight. I’ll just go on my windy road with fingers crossed, that, like the changing of the seasons or temperatures of the day, I’ll settle in to my new abode of a silenced “happiness,” peeking out in the moonlight. I’ll accept it without recall and know that the starlight is watching….always to know what goes on into the night.
Walking along the side of the road it is blustery and quiet. No one makes a sound except the rare car in the distance. It’s eerily quiet tonight, but I love it. Sometimes my life feels like I’m at the busiest intersection in town but I’m the only one here. Oh, how I love the nighttime. I’m always more awake and always seem to feel a little better when it’s dark out. Maybe it’s because I don’t feel like I stand out as much, who knows? I walk alone around my neighborhood missing my old best friend that used to walk with me. Him and I grew up together in this place and now all I have of him and everyone else is the memories. And I hate it because the memories are even starting to fade. Is that what happens as we get older? We have children and simply fade into the night? I hear an ambulance turn their sirens on. “Maybe their coming for me.” I’d think to myself. Maybe they’ll come and help me find a new life. Where did the old me go though? Usually outgoing I’ve turned into quite the introvert and am always anxious. My normal self is playing the longest game of hide and go seek. I’m so ready to go to the hospital where it feels safe. No one is their to make you miserable when you go to the hospital. And I’ve been to the hospital for this. Years and years ago. I hear gravel scrape on the ground as I take my next step, of course it’s stuck in my shoe, that’s just the way my life operates isn’t it? If something bad is going to happen then that someone it will happen to, is me. At the hospital people are so nice to you and it doesn’t even seem like it’s because their paid to be that way. My first experience was filled with genuine concern of theirs and them actually trying to set me up with the right plan. But the problem is, what if you turn out to be suicidal quite a bit and don’t know what to do but go to the hospital. And this was when they didn’t put people in inpatient unless the situation was dire. Am I dire? Hell no, but having suicidal thoughts or even thoughts of harming yourself is. So what happens when that just won’t go away? That’s what they mean when they say the word “ideation.” Suicidal ideation is when you think about suicide a lot but don’t necessarily feel the need to go through with it. I tried to refuse the ideation’s service but the demon had already nustled up in my head. It didn’t even knock so I couldn’t say I don’t do anything door to door. My Dr. that I’d unloaded to about the depression advised me to go. No one wants to go the the hospital to spend their entire day away waiting. But isn’t that all I do anyway? Wait? Be patient to wait. Oh, wait, wait, wait “miss….please have seat and wait.” UGH! Sometimes wait 24 hours, sometimes more. Then they release you and tell you to be good. What a crock. THAT’S your suicide prevention plan? Restraining me to a bed? “Don’t put me in restraints!” “What is this for?” “I haven’t even done anything.” Pleading with the Dr.s and nurses. “This is for your protection as well as ours,” they say. But I voluntarily came to the hospital asking for help. Except for the one time I overdosed and it took seven doctors to restrain me. I get fiercely protective of myself when it’s other people out to “handle” me. But why when it’s myself preying on my inner self do I just let that go? I fight til the death when I feel I’m the prey but I’ve been my mental prey all along and simply fall weak to it. Man, I hate this. I hate myself even more after realizing what I just wrote. Why don’t I fight for myself more? Or maybe I am fighting for myself by going to the hospital and not sitting at home hurting myself. But that’s not what one social worker had to say. She was the ‘bad cop’ out of the mostly good ones. Or maybe had the power trip she’d been longing for because when she got to little old me, oh did she prey. And hook, line and sinker I’d take the bait. But, like me, that’s neither here nor there. I sway from the in-betweens of life and limber. Sway to and fro in my easy going mentality with others, but fierce when it comes to myself. Constantly, I battle with who I am and why I am. The why’s of life unbeknownst and the who’s, undecided as I step up for battle after battle, in life and limb.
I’ve watched things become very different at the hospital over the years, they don’t restrain anyone anymore unless it’s really necessary for people with suicidal ideation. My ideation in having those bad thoughts showed me I was nearing the end. It was just a matter of time that the compulsions set in. I used to have suicidal ideation all of the time. It was daily and mostly all day. It really haunted me. I had to take the ESL of brain chemistry because my mind suddenly became foreign. My thoughts were morbid, I was thinking very irrationally, and all I kept trying to do was to figure this thing out. Blood became the forefront of my mind, replacing all things happy. Morbid, morbid things I’d attach to as it was the only thing I could relate, and therefor rely on. It actually calmed me down sometimes to think about killing myself. The world I lived became such a far off place, to this day I have a hard time understanding it. And I didn’t have to think about it on purpose. Morbidity was always in the wakes, casually waiting to be exposed.