Countdown to no longer being pregnant

My first appointment is tomorrow. Because I live in a shitty state with a 24 hour wait period, I can't get the procedure done until Friday or Saturday. I'm still wondering where I will get the money. The clinic has funding sources that can help with up to $200 of my procedure, but I will have to find the rest. My abortion will cost $480. I can lay hands to $150 more. I don't know what to do.

I'm going to try to gather as many comfort items as I can, to make this the least shitty experience possible. Only a local anesthetic is included at my price point, so distraction is called for. Unluckily for me, I'm missing the charger and headphones to my Android, so I won't be able to take that to the clinic. I could take my laptop, but I'm taking the bus and I'm absentminded. Been there, won't do that again.

I'm staying with a friend right now. She lost her baby a few months ago to a miscarriage. I mentioned abortion to her once and she quickly told me that wasn't an option. She a Baptist and real conservative. I'm so scared she'll find out and kick me out, but I can't have this baby. This situation stinks. Her pregnancy was wanted and she still mourns for her baby. Mine was less planned but this baby is loved. In fact is loved so much I'm doing the most compassionate thing I can do. This is going to kill me emotionally but it's the right thing to do.

I don't have any support to have this baby.Yesterday when I called a minister I knew for help because I couldn't find a shelter for my family, all they could recommend was a shelter that takes kids when their parents can't take care of them. I feel like God is against me and hates me right now. Going through this has solidified my decision and ensured I will never set foot in another house of worship as long as I live. No one is here for me, everyone else is living their own lives. They feel this is something I brought on myself, and they're right. There is no help out there for people like me, and I'm not naive enough to believe there will ever be.

I'm so sad thinking this may be the daughter I always wanted. With my fucked up childhood, I don't really need a daughter, so it's for the best. I've done this before, but this time feels different. It hurts my heart the closer I get to having it done. If you've been there and it was hard for you to do, your comments would be sincerely appreciated.

I'm having an abortion

Today I finally made a decision about this pregnancy. I spent all morning looking for a homeless shelter and none of them had space. How can I bring a child into this mess? I did some research and found a few abortion funds that can help. I'm hoping using more than one will enable me to pay for this abortion.

In a few weeks, my life will be different. I'll be in a different city, trying to adjust to life. My kids will be in new schools. And I'll no longer be pregnant. I got my world rocked by morning sickness today. Another 3-4 months of that is not fun. Plus any bed rest I may have to go on like I did with my others. I have to figure out what to tell my children. Someone felt the need to tell my children that I was pregnant and ask them how they felt about a new brother or sister. My kids have been so psyched about a new baby. How do you tell your kids that a baby isn't going to be born?

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SUICIDAL THOUGHTS: Keep Fighting, Don't Give up!

This was a good video to come across today. I've hit a low point in my life, and I sometimes feel alone like no one cares and there's no way out of my situation. I tried calling a few friends, but they had their own shit to deal with. And I didn't call "S" since my friend is already tired of my bullshit. I didn't want "S" to see me like this. I'm not suicidal, but sometimes it feels so easy to stay stuck and stand still. As a black woman, I feel I have to hold the weight of the world on my shoulders. That's ridiculous. Even Superman needs help sometimes. So if you're going through some stuff, or know someone this might help, check this out:

Fear and loathing

I'm disgusted with myself right now. I'm seriously considering an abortion, and I'm in the process of losing a friend. My life is too complicated for another child, and why drag someone else into my mess? I have health and financial fears and just feel afraid in general. Afraid to lose this baby and afraid to have it. I don't know what to do, and I want to be proactive in any decision I make.

My friend is disgusted with me. I know "S" is fed up with what appears to be my rationalization of my childhood and my passivity. Before calling, I was resolved not to talk about my life or my viewpoints with "S". It never leads anywhere nice. My friends gets flustered and upset and so do I...I just want the easy conversations we had in the beginning. I want that easiness back. I hate talking about my fucked up life and my fucked up way of doing things. Why can't we talk about cupcakes or some shit? I just think if we stop focusing on any of my shit, things will get better. I just wish my friend could take me as I am, move past my way of seeing things, and be ok with my life being off limits...Talking about my fucked up life has driven a wedge between us. I hate that. I just wish things could go back to the way they used to be.


*"Free image courtesy of FreeDigitalPhotos.net"

Real rape

I had decided to stay out of the rape debate currently happening because I have an actual personal stake in it. Anything that triggers me to go batshit crazy and takes me back to that hopeless feeling is to be avoided at any cost. Except now. I get steamed when people feel the need to distinguish between rape, real rape and rape rape. What the fuck is "rape rape". Is it like "sex sex"? Seriously people, grow the fuck up.

It stings a little when people try to speak on behalf of rape victims, and presume to know what they want most. Especially if they've never been through it themselves. My heart goes out to those who've gone through rape, especially those who conceive as a result. I've been there and everyday I look at my child who looks so much like the rapist who helped make him. Friends and family played the it's not "real rape" game with me, and told me to get over it.

Everyday during that pregnancy I felt like I was imprisoned in a cell made of flesh. The only way I got through it was with a lot of denial and dissociation. So for people to actually play this game of semantics gets me hot under the collar. Bravo Donors For Boners for taking on this issue. And for the record, garlic makes vaginas cry too (read the post, it makes sense)!

Great expectations

I'm pregnant. There's really no reason to talk around that, so I'll just put that out there. I've known for about two weeks. The baby's father could be any of the 4 men I slept with that week, although 3 seem likelier. I got horny, I fucked, enjoyed it and this is the result. Since I have a lot of unprotected sex, this was inevitable and I'm coping well with it.

The last few weeks were spent trying to decide whether or not to carry to term. No matter what I chose, there would be someone who would have a reason for my decision being wrong. There were so many variables that went into my choice. How would I cope with another child? What about my other children? Can I afford this? One of my friends with benefits knows, so I took his feelings into consideration too. Then I chose to carry to term.

There were a lot of things I had to consider. My financial situation is very unstable at the moment and I'm moving soon. Two of my children have developmental concerns, and it's only been two years since the birth of my last. I'll be on my own with this baby, just like the others. And this will make "baby daddy" #4. I never wanted to be that girl.

Growing up, I knew that I would be a mother someday. All my children would have the same father: One man who wanted to be involved in their lives and loved them with all his heart. I knew firsthand how much it hurt to have a father who didn't want to deal with you, and I saw cousins who struggled and received no help from their multiple baby daddies. I was turned off by that, and was raised to be monogamous, and to find a good man who would love me and our children. How did I get so far from that?

  

I'm extremely promiscuous, and I know how that is judged by our society. I'm a fat black woman with multiple children by multiple men. I buy right into the Aunt Jemima/Mammy stereotype right there. Except for the sex part, so I guess I have a little Jezebel in me there. I could attribute some of this to past trauma, or I could accept total responsibility for how my life turned out. All I know to do is to take responsibility for my actions right now. There are people depending on me, including this baby. I need to make the best choices for this child, my current children and myself.

Adoption is an option right now. I just have to be brave enough to make that choice. Plus, who really wants a partially or fully black baby with an unknown father? The men I slept with were of different races and right after the other. This could go either way and I won't know anything until the birth.

Sometimes I just don't understand

Well Readers, I'm back after a long break. I've had a lot of things on my plate lately. Trying to prepare for a move across country. Starting school. Dealing with the past. It's that last one that has mainly kept me away from this blog. I'm finding it hard to cope with the things that were done to me and that someone has recently told me about. I'm going to share some of those with you to get them off my chest and out of my head space.

I was talking to my aunt several weeks ago about things in general. Gradually the conversation steered towards childhoods. Mine, hers and my mother's. She'd told me about the sexual abuse she and her siblings endured at the hands of their mother growing up. This was in addition to the physical, verbal and emotional abuse that I was already privy to from my mother telling me. From another aunt, I have since learned that everyone denies the sexual abuse. The ones most affected have since passed on, and the person accused of the abuse died almost ten years ago.

I really don't know what to think when my aunt tells me about that. I want to see her the way that everyone else in the family does, as a crazy overly religious loon. I've never known her to lie to me and she's always been forthright in everything I've ever asked. But the things she's accused my grandmother of doing are mind boggling. Is it possible that the sexual abuse of someone else close to her has caused her to see sexual abuse everywhere? I've known people like that. Convinced that a pedophile lurked behind every bush, hedge and tree.

If that were all we talked about, I wouldn't be writing this post. Being sexually abused by their mother was something I'd known for at least ten years, though my other aunt claims that she only heard of this within the last few years. But then she also managed to avoid talking about the physical abuse when I pointedly asked her. The next time we talked she was more open and admitted that their mother did hit them, and often. Eventually, it got to the point where I had to be more open and out there about the abuse my mother did towards me. I didn't want to tell her, as I knew that my mother was her favorite growing up. She spoke a lot about the compassion, love and caring that my mom gave her, and how that impacted her as a child.

It wasn't all gravy, as I picked up some other feelings that she seemed to harbor towards my mother. She seemed disgusted by her weight, attitudes and outlook on life. Wanting someone to love her, and trying to see the positive in life made her seem weak to my aunt. Being obese made her almost worthless to any man that would have wanted her if she'd been slimmer. It became less about how much she loved and looked up to my mom and more about how much of a sucker she was. I'm curious to see if there are any additional dynamics to that relationship that I don't understand. Her point of view did give me some insights into why she may have abused me, especially in the ways that I'm about to describe.

My mother was very difficult to be with sometimes. If we all have a cup to lug around that holds all the stuff that we've dealt with, hers had overflown a real long time ago. She seemed perpetually on the brink of tears, when she wasn't moving frantically around the house sporting a maniacal smile that scared me when I would greet her at the door after school.

I never knew if the same Mommy that sent me off to school would be the one who would greet me at home when school was over. The same hands that lovingly applied lotion to my face, or combed and braided my hair, could strike out to slap or hit. Sometimes it made no sense which reaction I would receive. The same offense could merit a thousand different responses.

Once, I made the very bad mistake of telling secrets to a cousin of mine. For this, I was stripped of all my clothing and made to lie face down on the bed, spread eagle. Using a phone cord, my mother made sure I understood that what happened in our home, stayed inside it. Acting up at school was another no-no, as were bad grades, and not being obedient to her every demand. Sometimes during those beatings, she would talk about my body or I might get caressed on my butt. Eventually I came to have sexual feelings during them, so I'm sure that I'm blocking out some details. I know that I consciously choose to do so in order to keep loving her and to avoid hating myself.

If that were all that happened, I could stop there. There would be nothing to understand. But my aunt told me something. My mom confessed to her that she had molested me, starting from when I was a toddler. One day she went to pull my panties down for a spanking, and ended up masturbating me to orgasm instead. I don't remember that. I do know that I was very sexualized starting around that age, and my mother was verbally reprimanded by more than one person for my sexual acting out.  Some people felt I was too sexually precocious, and I had a habit of being sexual towards other children and men. I spoke with my other aunt about this, and she said something my mother always used to say. My mom would tell anyone who asked that I was a "sexual being" and that children were born being able to express sexual feelings and desires. People just assumed I was a horny little slut destined for early motherhood or prostitution. Almost word for word I got to hear the same things my mother used to say, in a voice that was eerily similar to my mom's.

I also remember the time when my mother reached her hands between my legs after trying to touch my breasts. I pulled away from her before she could touch me, and she laughed so hard at me. I always wondered about that, and that incident has disturbed me more than anything else she did. I think it was the point at which she realized that she could no longer touch me. I dissociated a lot back then, spending hours in a daydreaming state. Pretty much ignorant of the world around me, I created fantasy worlds to escape into. That's when I wasn't masturbating for hours on end.

According to my aunt, my mother liked touching me. She enjoyed my responses and liked to watch my clitoris become bigger and bigger. I know that my mother had a fascination with my body. The way it looked, responded and changed. She talked about it constantly, and it made me uncomfortable and ashamed. If my nipples became hard, that warranted a comment. There was a lot of focus on making sure that my genitals were always sweet smelling and clean. I had to sneak to masturbate as she would call attention to it, even if I did it in private. My mother also felt that men who touched young girls weren't always necessarily at fault. Sometimes, the little girls pursued them or were hot for it. She didn't feel men should be prosecuted in those instances.

For my sanity, I'm willing to see the aunt who told me the way that everyone else does: As a crazy overly religious loon. Otherwise, I can't deal with the thought that a mother who's hands were sometimes used to love and sometimes to hurt, touched me that way. Why would she do that to me? Even though it meshes and it makes sense in light of what I know and remember, I deny that. I refute it and it will never be a part of my truth. So Readers, what do you think? I really don't know what to think, and I've put up a wall around this piece of information. It perfectly fits the puzzle that is my childhood, but I don't want it to fit in. I just don't understand sometimes, and I don't know what to think or feel.