This small, white stick says that my womb is occupied. I want to talk it into giving me a different answer. One that is not as inconvenient. I don’t know what to do with this information, though it only confirms what I already suspected.
Now that I know I am pregnant, the hate is gone. I suppose it was necessary in order for me to weigh all my options. To make a decision from a position of strength, not guilt, or pity.
Many will disagree with my resolution to terminate this pregnancy. The many are not my concern.
I did not come to this conclusion lightly. From the first moment I began to experience depersonalization and an increase in appetite, coupled with depression, four weeks ago, I feared what I now know is true. Certainly, it speaks to my body’s level of sensitivity. And from that very moment, I thought about what was best, not only for me, but for what grows inside of me.
Over the last few weeks, I have seen Cory for who he is. A drug-addicted, manic-depressive, irresponsible monster. He does not want this child. His opinion doesn’t matter to me, but it makes my decision one that I don’t have to fight for with him.
I know what I have to do. I know this is right. Nonetheless, the tears will not stop coming. Already, my belly expands. I imagine that if it continued to develop, it would be a girl. So I say, I love her. Here I realize, love does not suffice.