My ex-girlfriend nudged me awake to tell me that she was pregnant. Everything was going to be okay, though. We were both scared and terrified, but at no point did we lose control of ourselves. Our relationship was on the downward swing, and we realized that the most compassionate and intelligent thing to do was to put the child up for adoption, since neither of us felt comfortable about the idea of an abortion. We knew it was going to hurt, but it seemed like the best idea. I had support from friends and co-workers while I was going through the initial stages of shock, and finally, acceptance. It was a difficult situation, but we were confident that we would be able to get through it together, and not let our crumbling relationship negatively affect the life of our unborn child.
Then I told my mother - and that was that. The earth might as well have stopped rotating around the sun at that moment for her, because I (supposedly) ruined her life. An itemized list of some of her comments is the most effective way for showing her general attitude towards the situation:
- "You are, and always have been a flaky, undependable person. You're not cut out to be a father, not now, not ever."
- "Terminate the pregnancy or I will disown you and never speak to you again."
- "Whether or not you terminate this pregnancy isn't up to you or your girlfriend, it's up to me because you wouldn't be here without me."
- "All your friends at work are only supporting you because they're all white trash who get knocked up and pop out kids so they can collect welfare."
I didn't speak to her for a few weeks after the initial conversation, but was basically cyber-bullied by her - threatening emails, text messages, voice mails of her screaming that I was destroying her life and that I had "no right" to impregnate a woman (still don't quite get this one.) My girlfriend and I aren't exactly the most mentally stable people on the face of the earth, so this sent us into a bit of a panic, and by "panic," I mean full blown nervous breakdown.
Long story short, she decided she wanted to terminate the pregnancy. This is the only time in my life that I've ever legitimately gotten down on my knees and begged someone for something. I told her I wouldn't be able to live with myself, that I would do anything to change her mind, that she didn't have to work until she gave birth to the child and I would financially support her, etc., but nothing worked, and the pregnancy was terminated. Our relationship ended shortly after that, and she moved out of our apartment.
I proceeded to spend the next few weeks pacing around in circles in my apartment, cradling a stuffed penguin like a baby, sobbing hysterically, and plotting my suicide in intricate detail. Clearly I never went through with it, but I still don't feel like I deserve to be alive. Over the summer, I was rear ended by an SUV going 60 mph while I was sitting in traffic on the highway, causing a five-car collision. For the first few seconds after the impact, I legitimately thought I was dying/dead, and I felt an inexpressible joy at essentially getting what I deserved, but, to my surprise, (and, dare I say, to my disappointment), I was alive, and, (except for a sore back), completely fine. It would be inaccurate to say that I'm suicidal now, I think. The feeling of "cheating death," (especially when I believed that I deserved it/it was meant to happen), lingers and follows me around. I have a sick obsession with dying now - perhaps I always have. The difference now is that I "deserve" to die (at least in my mind).
Since then, my relationship with my mother has been been reduced to basically nothing. My father never knew about the pregnancy. He is also judgmental and can be ignorant about a lot of things, but at the end of the day, he would literally do anything for me, and I know he would have supported me. I still speak to him once or twice a week. My mother, basically only when it's absolutely necessary. I've spent my entire life trying to "be the bigger person," and move beyond her petty, narcissistic form of abuse, but at what point does forgiveness just turn into letting someone trample all over you? At what point is "passive resistant" synonymous with "getting f***ed in the ass?"
I still feel physically ill when I see her, and I haven't been able to look her in the eye for the past ten or eleven months. I don't remember the last time I told her I loved her, or the last time I felt comfortable speaking to her about anything personal. She doesn't know I have a girlfriend now, nor does she really know anything else about my life. I live relatively close to my parents, but live on my own. I finally told her that she's responsible for inflicting more pain on me than any other human being in the world, that's it's absolutely inexcusable, and that my perception of reality is completely warped because I can't wrap my head around the fact that a human being would be willing to give birth to, and raise, a child, then basically throw him to the side like a piece of dirt. I have an envelope of pictures in my desk that I take out and look at sometimes. They're all pictures of my mother holding me as a baby. I sit on the floor, flip through them, and cry until I can't possibly cry anymore, because I feel like it was all a lie. I feel like I have no mother, and if I have no mother, I have nothing.
I feel as if I'm being constantly stabbed in the face with a dull knife. My existence has essentially turned into constant chaos, with occasional pockets of good moods or good experiences. I usually vaporize Cannabis every few hours, every day, to basically stay consistently high, otherwise I'll have panic attacks and violent outbursts of anger, in which I'll do completely reasonable things, like punch holes in walls, rip doors off hinges, throw things around, and otherwise trash my apartment, before collapsing into a heap onto the floor, in hysterics, assuaging my petty sense of juvenile self-pity by convincing myself that "life"/"god"/whatever screwed me over.
There will be periods where I'll "come to terms" with what happened and feel alright about it, (especially after a journey, all of which, since this incident, have been colored with a theme of redemption/absolution of guilt), but the results are not long term, because a week later, I'm losing my mind again and convincing myself that I deserve to die, everything is my fault, I'm a horrible human being, feeding into my exaggerated sense of self-deprecation, a result of being raised by nasty, malevolent, narcissistic, shallow parents for a quarter century.
So that's where I'm at. I don't really know my objectives in writing this. I'm not looking for sympathy, or for an "answer," or anything else. There are three people in this world who actually know this full story, and keeping all this inside is physiologically painful; I can feel something beneath my chest beating from the inside, trying to work its way out. Perhaps some will say this as a means of seeking attention - and maybe they're right. I just can't keep it inside anymore.
Akasha224 is a fictitious extension of my ego; all his posts do not reflect reality & are fictional