Death has always been weird to me. I have never been able to express condolences appropriately. When a close uncle found out he had cancer my first words were “well, that’s what he gets for smoking.” I did feel bad but showing empathy has never been a strong trait of mine. It is also weird to me because for much of my life I was waiting to die. There have been many times where the only reason I am alive today is because I always thought about the risk that if there were a God I would be sent to Hell for killing myself. My Grandma died this past Christmas and there was a lot of pain, anger, and envy. There was pain because I am human and hated the thought of her being gone; there was anger because she should have passed a lot sooner, but medicine and her kids kept her alive. I should not say this so cold-heartedly because honestly, I would have a hard time letting my mom go too. I could see in her eyes she was very clearly ready to go and when she did there was relief, but still the pain and anger. The envy was something I feel is a bit abnormal. I envied her because she was able to cross over and not worry about Hell existing. I am sure I said it to my daughter’s mom too many times how much I envied my grandma. It was a really hard winter. But the main point is, I suck at death, and I really am sorry to those I cannot clearly express condolences to. I do feel bad and know how loss feels, I just suck a lot at the expression.
Life comes in 3’s. I have experienced much of what is criticized in women’s rights movements today. I gave birth to the baby of a rape and chose adoption, as any pro-lifer would say is the mysteries of how God works. I am assuming pro-lifers would say this because a couple were able to adopt a baby. Reality is, is that couple would have probably ended up with a child sooner or later, and they actually ended up with two more. I also experienced what it feels like to be at that point where you have only one way out and being pregnant could close the doors that could lead you out of an abusive relationship. I could have chosen adoption again, however his family would have never agreed to it, and they had a lot of money and were a fairly well-known name around the area. I am not trying to make excuses, after all, I have admitted that it was honestly the best thing I could have done for myself, and where I am at today, I know this to be completely true. Abortion is not all what pro-lifers make it out to be. When done in the first six weeks like I had it done, it was literally a little spot, a zygote. This is not saying I agree completely with abortion. I do not believe it should be used as a means of birth control because that is not good for a woman’s body at all. I believe after the second trimester it should definitely be illegal, after all, it is then a baby in my eyes. I still debate on the second trimester. I can understand for medical reasons for sure. However, this post is not to debate my beliefs, but to tell the third of the 3’s, the daughter I have today.
When I got pregnant with my daughter, I had moved back to the shitty small town my parents retired to. I was living in a really shitty trailer with really bad water and working at a pizza parlor that were both owned by the same guy. He pretty much owned the town. It’s a great way to feel owned when the guy you buy your liquor, food, water, and housing from also pays your paycheck (very minimum wage). It’s a dog like feeling, but smart on his end. I was beat down by life in every sense. I went to work at a low paying job that left me just enough money after bills to buy booze and weed. Work was where I ended up meeting the sperm donor, we both liked to drink and smoke so that is pretty much what the whole relationship was. As any drunken depressed uncaring spree will get someone, I found out I was pregnant. There was fear, but also not. I actually barely had the energy to care. I quickly chose adoption because I was too broke to afford another abortion and no way did, I want to parent. When I told my parents I was pregnant, they gave me two options, I go to a Catholic maternity home in a small desolate town that they found and they would support me, or I don’t, and they would have nothing to do with me. My parents have always been great at parenting (sarcasm). My parents thought I would come out of the home a happy Catholic woman. I did end up happy in life, however, not because of the home. In fact, I will never step foot in another Catholic church again because of them. There is a lot that went on there that I will not dive into as it’s not the point of this blog, however, I got out as soon as I could.
When I got to the maternity home, I knew I needed a job, after all, I was having trouble with the sperm donor not signing his rights away. Apparently, for adoption sperm donors need to sign away their rights as well, not just the birthmother. The problem was he wanted to parent. I think it was at the point where I realized there was a chance, I would have to parent that I started caring about my life. I would never agree to give him custody, after all, he was high on meth pretty consistently. Since I knew there was a chance of parenting, I knew I need to find work so I could provide because I did not want to live on welfare. I started work at a local gas station until I could find something better and I eventually found work as a carrier at the post office. Right when I got the post office, I left the maternity home, so within a couple months I would say of moving there. I got my own apartment and was getting ahead enough that I could take care of my daughter if I had to. When I started the post office, I was around five months pregnant and made sure to keep my head down. I worked as hard as I could during probation. I knew that if the post master found out I was pregnant he would find any small reason to let me go, after all, it would be an inconvenience for him. Probation was 90 working days or 120 days together, whichever came first. When I got pregnant, I was 156, with all the walking I did I stayed roughly around that mark, in fact I lost weight a bit, so I didn’t show during probation. I think I was gaining baby weight as I was losing body fat. By month seven I started gaining weight and clearly showed. My postmaster had given me great reviews by than so he really had no valid reason to let me go when he found out, and I explained to him I chose adoption so I wouldn’t need leave. I am not bragging but when I gave birth, I was almost 180, two weeks after birth I was 130. I always said Black Chyna had nothing on me.
I worked hard at the post office and gas station until I gave birth. I started loving the shit out of my unborn daughter. The adoption plan was all over the place and it was a long hassle of going back and forth with the sperm donor who kept falling off the grid. Once I got around the 6th month mark my adoption counselor and I decided I needed to start looking at families to at least have an idea who I wanted to choose and to let the potential family know the risks of everything going on. The sperm donor finally signed his rights away the Friday before I was scheduled to meet my daughters’ parents. Things get hazy here because I went into false labor before I even had a chance to meet them. I say false labor, but I was dilating and having contractions less than five minutes apart. I was injected with steroids for my daughter’s lungs when this first happened and given medicine to stop the contractions. I knew she was going to be early, however at the time, I was barely 7 months along. So, the way I met my daughter’s parents was not the most ideal of ways, they brought me candy though. I like candy. I liked them a lot, however, hated them when my daughter was born less than a month later.
There is a moment when you hold up your baby onto your bare chest, whom you have loved and talked to throughout your pregnancy, that you realize you would do anything for them. This moment can barely be explained in words other than just love, the purest of loves.
With adoption, this is also the scariest and most painful time as well. I knew that because I loved my baby so much is why I needed to give her up to a family who would provide. I was scared and full of pain, but also relieved from not being pregnant anymore. I remember when my daughters’ parents came into my hospital room to meet her, I hated them. I had met them before and we had really hit it off, being very into a lot of the same interests and complete wierdos. When the moment came for them to meet my daughter though, all I could do was hate her soon to be mom. I did not want them anywhere close to her. I have often wondered if I have a potent aura, because I seem to give off what I am feeling fairly easy and I’m pretty sure they felt it. I had been very dead set on about the adoption, after all, I knew I was in no position to give my daughter what she needed and deserved. I did not want either of us to depend on welfare. I did not want her to be in daycare with strangers. I wanted her to have a future and an education that didn’t cost her a lifetime of debt. I had spent my pregnancy set on adoption, however when I held her in my arms I could barely fathom letting her go. I looked for every reason to not choose her parents, even the shallowest of reasons. I did not want to say goodbye to my daughter. Those three days I spent in the hospital they spent wondering why they were not good enough. Ironically, it was the opposite. I knew they were better than me and could give my daughter everything I couldn’t. The pain of leaving the hospital without her was pure agony and the only way I was able to handle it was to tell myself I could go and get her anytime and that I just needed the weekend to figure it all out. Inside I knew this to be a lie, but it’s how I coped those next few days. Sometimes I do need to fool myself temporarily to get past emotions. Obviously, everything worked out amazingly as they are my best friends now, but damn I’m a bitch sometimes.
Life works in 3’s, pregnancy via rape that leads to adoption (a pro-lifer would say god works in mysterious ways), abortion to get out of a very abusive relationship (pro-choicers would say this is a great example) and getting pregnant while waiting to die that in turn woke me up and gave me strength. Personally, I feel people need to mind their own fucking business and need to stop being so fucking extreme. There have been no easy paths in my life, however, I do feel stable paths forming.
I apologize if this blog is a bit all over the place, I really tried to piece it together correctly to where it makes sense. In 60 days, I have literally told all about my life and who I am. I do feel very healed in many ways but there is still healing left for the little girl I suppose. Well, I suppose I have blogged for two hours so now need to get to work. Have a great day everyone. Be good to yourself.