I’m still not sure if I regret it… still not certain if the decision I made was the correct one…and how will I ever know? Of course, had it not been for that decision, I wouldn’t be who I am today, doing the things I do and living the life I live and still, there is a pang of regret lingering inside my heart… especially since I am not certain I can produce anymore children. There are days I sit and think “wow… I could have been someone’s mommy” and there are days when I completely forget that fact. I’m caught up with being the me I am today.
I’ve always been a sad little thing. I grew up in a typical Jamaican home, situated in a “semi ghetto”. No zinc houses and board floors but it wasn’t quite sophisticated enough to be considered a “suburban area”… far from it. I had a tough task. I was to be the saviour… the “deliverer” of the pack. The first to graduate and make a better life, better than the ones those before were able to secure. My family was plagued by the disease of teenaged pregnancy. It was a curse that the women in my family sang until I caught the tune. They were rigid, my family. They held onto me so tight… wanting to protect me from the dangers of the outside world… wanted to protect their “prized bull” from the “curse”. Unfortunately, what I feared the most lived within those very walls I was only occasionally allowed to leave, to attend school and church. I faced demons inside that house that did more damage to my body, mind and self esteem than any predator could. I will not share the gory details of my physical, emotional, mental and yes, sexual abuse from the man we all trusted.
I got out…when I was of the legal age. I left and I’ve been running ever since. My first stop was just a little distance from the personal hell I had escaped from. I was pulled in by this beautiful and glamorous being. I shared my stories with her, my experiences, my doubts, my fears, my joy, my sorrow… I shared my life. She pretended to care about my scars. She dangled a sewing kit and duct tape in front of my face. If only I knew it was only a facade…a lure. It wasn’t long before I was living in her home with her husband and kids. It wasn’t long before I was inducted into a sex charged relationship with them. It felt good… to be wanted… not by one person but two. To be hugged and kissed… to wake up beside people who truly cared for me… to have a family. Hmm, silly. Once again, I had only subjected my mind, body and soul to people who only wished to cause harm but this time was worse. This time I gave it up freely.
Fast forward to 2011. I discovered I was pregnant… 9 weeks. The fruit of one of those unsecured sexcapades. Oh how she cried, as she was absent. I felt so lost. I found myself up at night just rubbing my stomach and promising the foetus that everything would be okay. Silly. She pushed for an abortion, took the time off from work and speedily found somewhere that could do it the same day (so helpful). I went into that room, received anesthesia and had my child removed from me. I don’t remember a thing about the procedure. I just woke up feeling dizzy. Dizzy and empty. I cried bitterly for days. I ended up in the hospital days later because I had lifted a box at work. The pain was unbearable and seemed to have lasted a lifetime. I was happy, when I saw those two lines on the test. I’m not sure where the feeling came from but it was there. Happiness. It felt so foreign. I wasn’t used to it. It only came in small waves for me. I informed my mother of my pregnancy. Her response: you’re gonna get rid of it? So funny how many opinions were available when I was pregnant but no comfort was provided when I was drowning in my own tears from the heartbreak I felt after it was gone. I moved on. Got my life on track but…
I’m still not sure if I regret it….