Honest to the point of pain. This is really not a well known thing. See, I had been lucky all those times i was promiscuous. Looking for love in all the wrong places. Love can not be found in some boy’s trousers, however, sperm can be. So, when I was 21 and had just moved out on my own, I found myself pregnant.
I had been living by myself for less than a month. My period was due almost as soon as I moved in and I thought it was just late. You know? Stress from the move. Highly irregular cycle anyway from weighing less than 100 lbs when I had rocks in my pockets. Periods were anything but periodic in my life. But a week or so after I moved, my breasts started to feel tender. This was a whole new thing. The only time my breasts had ever been tender was way back when I grew them to begin with. They were small and pretty much not even noticeable in my life. So, the ache made me take notice.
I bought a test at the drug store. I peed on it. It turned positive way before the time to wait was up. I cried. The next day, I went ahead and called a clinic I found in the yellow pages. I made an appointment. I cried some more. A few days later, I had to tell my boyfriend. I swear to all that is holy, the first words out of his mouth were “Are you sure it’s mine?” I knew then I would never go out with him again. He gave me half the money for the procedure and he drove me to the clinic and drove me home.
He left me at home, alone. He didn’t comfort me or apologize or buy me a card or flowers or anything. I didn’t date him anymore. I worked with him and I hated seeing his face every day. I made a choice. I know that. It was my decision. It was something I felt was the right choice for me. I am still positive there was no other suitable option. But I can never forget.
That tiny little period of time will be with me forever. I do not regret the decision, truly. But, I do feel a tug of guilt. I feel guilty for not being more careful. I feel guilty for putting myself in that situation. I feel guilty for even being with that person. I knew I didn’t love him enough. I knew he didn’t love me enough.
I didn’t completely stop having sex, but I did very seriously curb my activities. I made a true effort after then to always choose someone that did care for me. I stopped casually dating and sleeping with boyfriends. But even that wasn’t a good solution. I still ended up making bad choices about men. But not nearly as many bad choices as I had made before then.