I Cried, for the First Time

No, not just now. Nor recently. More like over a year ago.

In the previous post I mentioned that I would be writing post ideas that have been swimming in my head for a while. No, I have not been dwelling on the crying continuously for a year. Actually, it is something I have only recently remembered and realized.

As long term readers will recall, the first and last time, I cried was a day or so after the first abortion. The following excerpt is from "Damn! That Hurt!";

...The only thing I clearly remember after that was going to a Wal-Mart with my mother.  We were in line waiting to purchase our items.  Behind us was a couple about my age.  They had a baby in a stroller with them.  The baby was crying.  Basic fussing, like babies do, not causing too much of a scene.  I was about ready to burst into tears.  I asked my mother for the car keys to wait in the car.I bolted out of that store so fast.  The moment I got in the car I bawled like never before.  Tears streaming down my face and hyperventilating in my breathing.  My mother got in the car.  Asked me what was wrong.  Really?  She couldn't put the two together?  I said something to the effect of "I killed my baby" or "I will never see my baby" or both of those things.  Her response?  Oh, that's all. I thought maybe the baby was annoying you and something about I did the right thing, it was no big deal, I would get over it, etc.  Then and there I decided that the only thing to do was to be numb about the situation.

If you are new to reading this blog I would recommend that you read "The First Abortion," to be able to start at the beginning of my story.

Back to the subject at hand. I had not cried since then. I suppose it would be rather difficult to cry over something I did not remember. But even after the memories surfaced I still had that inner child crying within me. Eh, she was probably there the entire time, since the first abortion. I just refused to acknowledge her. I didn't even know why she was there. Though deep in my soul, I knew she was there.
There were times I felt like crying. But could never really bring myself to cry. Sure, there were times when I would get sniffly, maybe even a tear or two fall down my cheeks.
During the different grief sessions at the Rachel's Vineyard Retreat the other attendees did cry, when telling their stories or listening to others' stories. But I was just stoic when speaking and listening. No one judged me for not crying, nor did I judge others for crying. There may have been a moment of self judging myself for not crying. "What's wrong with you, do you have no feeling?"
It was when I was going through a particular rough patch at the beginning of last year, 2017, when I did finally cry. I had been switching between bouts of anger (angry at who or what I do not know) and extreme sadness. One night, late at night, in late January or early February I went on a video binge on YouTube. Searching for all the saddest and most painful songs I could find.

It was then I finally let the tears fall in a sweet sweet release! Everything, the pent up feelings for the past twenty-two years finally came bursting out. Every ounce of moisture being released from my eyes. Face completely wet. Puffy eyes. All of it. Was this the first time crying ever within those years that I had cried? That heavy? I am not sure. I probably had cried, a time or two, over something unrelated. But I really don't recall crying like that.

I never really felt the need to talk of it. I never thought there was any significance in it. But I truly believe this was a major pivotal point in my healing. Probably not a first step, but definitely a huge step, even leap, in my journey to getting up and dusting off.

Does He Even Remember Me?

That's a question I asked myself last night while trying to sleep.

I sometimes have dreams about getting back together with "Matt." Many times it comes to fruition. But then he disappears. Or one of us we will try to contact each other, yet missing a connection. We are never parents in any of the dreams. I never really gave much thought to any of these dreams, other than wonder where that came from after waking up.

Until last night. I was thinking about him. Thought about the good times and the bad times. And yes, there were good times. But does he remember any of them? Does he remember the woman he dated for a year and a half? Does he remember the woman whom he impregnated? Does he ever wonder if the child really was lost to miscarriage? Did he ever wonder if she was pregnant before breaking up with him? If he thought yes, did he wonder what happened to that child?

Does he even remember her name? Does he remember what she looks like? Does he remember that he was her first...everything?
I remember the first time he kissed me. I giggled. It was nothing against him. I wasn't laughing at him. I was almost twenty years old, and had never been kissed! Heck, I had never even dated anyone! It was a nervous reaction. I remember when he first told me he loved me. I just couldn't bring myself to say it back. He was rather offended by that. I wasn't sure if I did love him. I didn't know what love is. Perhaps I still don't. I did end up reciprocating the sentiment. But did I mean it? Did he mean it? I don't know. Perhaps, on both accounts.
I remember the first time he tried to have sex with me. I remember being swept away and taken in. Almost relenting. Then pulling back. I remember the first time of surrendering to him. The details of which would not be appropriate to speak of.

During the breakdown of 2014 I did check on Facebook to see if he had a profile set up. Not really that I wanted to reconnect, just checking to see if he was on there. What would I even say to him? Why would I tell him that I was contacting him after all this time? At that time he was in a relationship. He may or may not still be.

I have since found out that he now has a son. Doing the math, that son is less than a year younger than what Hanelore would be. Because I don't know the exact mathematics of that boy's birth month or even when Hanelore's due date would have been; I am not sure if "Matt" impregnated another woman towards the end of our relationship or soon after my breaking up with him.
There is a bit of hurt in that. Whether he was cheating on me or started a relationship soon after the break up. I can't help but wonder what was so special about the mother of his son that she was "allowed to" give birth to his child, but I wasn't. Did she have support from "Matt"? Did she have support from her family? Or was she stronger than me and stood up to them all? Is she the woman "Matt" is in a relationship with, or was recently? Does "Matt" look at his son and think that the son may or may not have a sister? Does he regret his non committal attitude toward my pregnancy with Anastasia? 

I'm Mad at God!

Well, not really. Well, yes, maybe. I don't know.

I am coming up over a cold that had me bed ridden for a while, other than going to work. But not only that, it is around about the time my first child (Anastasia) would have been conceived twenty years ago. Funny thing about when you are sick in bed; not much you can do except sleep, read, watch online movies, and think. The thinking is what can sometimes knock you down. Heck, even the sleeping, if you are notorious for weird dreams. Which I am.

Been having buttload of baby and young child dreams. Nothing I can really remember much of. Sometimes it can just be simply giving birth. Having the baby in my life, yet being kept at arms lengths from being able to hold her. An older child being introduced to her new sibling. Being at an airport or some sort of transportation center; handing children over to some random woman and saying goodbye.

OK. That being said; let's get to the title of this post. The phrase "hindsight is 20/20" seems to be fitting for my current situation. When I have been awake I am just mopey. Hard to clean house, fix a meal, or do any regular household chores. Just sit and stare. While not technically a thing, I would call it "conception mourning." I already Googled to see if the description existed. Nope. I guess there is a rock band by that name, or a song.
I have read that women who have had abortions will mourn many anniversaries surrounding the abortion(s). One of those times could be in regard to the time the child was conceived. Probably true for women who have experienced miscarriages.
Looking back, that could be consciously or sub-consciously. In my case, I think it is leaning more towards the sub-contentiously. January has always been a sucky month for me. Never knew why. Always attributed to coming down from the holidays. Which could easily be true. But not the complete picture.
It was about this time three years ago, in 2014, in which I had my first break down. I felt like absolute crap! Yet I didn't know why. Oh, this has got to be a whole separate post as to when my break down and memories started. I will get to that soon. Hopefully sooner than later.

In the looking back, I feel as though I am mad at God. Where was He during the "family intervention"? Why didn't He give me the words to convince my family that abortion was wrong? Why didn't He smite my family; mom, aunt, grandmother? OK, maybe that's a bit harsh. Why didn't He at least temporarily incapacitate them, to give me time to get away from them? I could have run off and hid until I could find something resembling a nineties version of a crisis pregnancy center. Where was He the night before the abortion? Where was He when I walked into that clinic? Where was He just before the abortion happened? Where was He afterward?
Actually, come to think of it, where was God when I first met "Matt"? Where was He when"Matt" was first trying to seduce me? Where was He the night I finally did relent?

As has been stated in the post about the abortion itself, I came to a "conclusion" "that there is no God." But the reality is; I rejected God before the abortion. Sure, I had been baptized as a toddler. Sure, my mother occasionally took me to Sunday school, sometimes keeping me with her during church services. Sure, I did attend church during high school. Even belonging to the teen club at church and joining the teen choir. Of course calling myself a Christian. But I didn't really have much of a prayer life, nor attended church after graduating high school.
So, basically I didn't turn to Him during any of the moments leading up to the abortion. Didn't pray for the relationship between "Matt" and myself. Didn't pray about my child after I became pregnant. Don't remember much about what I was doing or thinking in the time between the "intervention" and the abortion. But I do know I didn't pray about it.

So in the end, it is myself I am mad at me. Not God.

(Since the time of the abortion I have since came back to church. It has been a journey. Becoming a member of a denomination different than that which I grew up. Joining a church of another denomination, once again. But this time I am sticking to it to the end. Have a much stronger prayer life. Perhaps I will talk about that at a later time.)

Do You Know Me?

This is a post I have been having bopping about in my head for a few days.  It could have a few multiple connections to it.  Then in an email exchange my dummy self told my mother about this blog, just not the title or link.  But more about that later.

I try to stay as anonymous online as possible in regards to the abortions.  When writing I try to be as basic as possible while trying to avoid anyone recognizing me.  I make sure that no one knows where I live or where the abortions took place.  I avoid using names in any way.  There are only a rare few couple of persons who know me and this blog, simultaneously.  Telling others of my abortions is something I am unable to do.  Though I am able to speak of it and my thoughts "behind the safety of a computer."
A friend who is the administrator to their church's Facebook page expresses an interest in linking my blog to one of the page's postings.  The selfLESS side of me would allow it,if it would help someone who has had an abortion, those wondering about the life of a post-abortion person and/or someone in a crisis pregnancy.  The selfISH side of me knows that many of my friends read that page.  While I do try to be as careful as possible not to be recognized, I am still afraid that there may be that one minute thing that a friend could pick up on.
I am many persons to many people.  Those who know of my Anastasia and Hanelore account don't know my personal likes and dislikes or basic bio info.  I have a Facebook account on my real name.  Those people know my likes and dislikes along with basic bio info.  And even though they know I am pro-life and post about pro-life news and issues, they do not know about my abortions.  
Sometimes I wonder if my family, friends and co-workers even know me.

Even as myself, I feel as though others don't really know me.  In this fast paced world, we as a society don't take the time to know others.  All we want to do is make small talk with others.  We judge others.  We make up stories about others.  It's easier than to talk and listen to those who are hurting.

We see so many people around us.  Perhaps they seem fine, perhaps not.  Abortion is legal.  Yet there is shame with it.  No one wants to admit to having one.  Maybe it is because deep down, legal or not, our consciousnesses tell us and know it is a sin.
Perhaps the girl standing behind you at the grocery store has had an abortion.  What about the checkout girl at the grocery store you see once or twice a week during your shopping.  You talk to her about her cats, her home, her kids, her spouse, her parents, etc.  But you don't know the pain she may be hiding.  I am in no way advocating that you ask her about her personal details.  Just saying that many people are hiding hurts that many of us could not imagine.

It is not just about abortion either.  Some of it could be sins that the person was directly involved in.  Maybe it was something beyond their control that the sin was committed against them.  Somebody told them they were in the wrong and they feel guilt for no reason.

One of the things that bugs me is middle age men who say to women, "Why don't you smile?".  And yes, it is almost always middle age men that do that.  But not all middle age men do that.  I mean, REALLY?!  They don't even know me!  Be they customers from my job, someone in line at the store, someone from church that I don't even have regular conversations with, or what have you.  I always want to ask, "do you know me?".
That's the thing with modern society.  Everyone is expected to smile, smile, smile!  For no reason.  It would be one thing for someone to walk around with a constant frown.  Even then still, if you don't know the person, leave them alone.  There life is none of your business!  Can't people just have a neutral look on their face without someone bothering them?

Damn! That Hurt!

More of my story, previous posts in chronological order;

I Knew, Almost Soon After Conception
"Matt" Didn't Care
Her Views Turned on a Dime

This is probably the scariest part of my story in regards to the first abortion.  I have told of all the events leading up to this moment. 

The following may contain "colorful language" and graphic subject matter.  This is also where memories seem to be the haziest.

After relenting to the having the abortion done my mother came to pick me up to take me to the town she was living in.  See Her Views Turned on a Dime for more on my mother's change of heart in regards to my pregnancy.  I do not remember much about the ride to her apartment.  I do recall her "reassuring talk" about the daughter of one of her friends from work who had an abortion.  When I asked my mother "what if this is the only chance I could have a baby" she responded with telling me about the girl's abortion.  She had said that when the girl's sister was pregnant she told her mother, my mother's work friend, that the baby she was carrying could be "the spirit of her sister's aborted baby."  I have recently been seeing this whole "spirit of the aborted baby come back in a new baby" sort of thing in a few "words of comfort" stories.  I don't think I actually bought it then, and I sure as hell don't buy it now!  But at that time, I was grabbing at straws and trying to believe anything while nothing seemed believable.  S
he also told me that I would have plenty of chances to have more children and would be married and settle down.  How did she know that?  Did she really believe what she was saying?  The future is no guarantee.

I do not know if "Matt" knew about me visiting my mother or not.  I may have told him, I may have not.  The next day we went to the abortion clinic.  I do not know if the trauma has blocked out my memory or if I had been drugged, possibly to not notice any protestors or just basic avoid backing out.  Either way, I do not recall the drive to the clinic.  Though I do know exactly where it was.  The locale was inside an older plaza type building.  It is now another business, with a Planned Parenthood across the street in a newer building.  I do not recall the walking in.  I do not recall anything about the waiting area.  I do not know if I sat in the waiting area or if I was ushered directly into the "procedure" room.  I do not know if there were other people in the waiting area.  I do not remember filling out the paper work.  I do not know if my mother stayed in the waiting room or not.

The only time I was told anything about what would happen was in the "procedure" room.  I was told by someone I assumed was a nurse that they would be applying local anesthesia to my cervix.  Then use a few instruments to dilate the cervix. Then use a vacuum aspirator to pull the baby out.  They made it sound like the baby would be pulled out in one piece.  Not that that makes it any better, just less gory than the reality of it being pulled out in pieces.  That seems about right.  I don't think I was really listening.  My body was on the exam table, but I have no clue where the hell my mind was. I do not recall actually seeing the instruments or given many details.
I do not recall when the doctor was in the room.  He may have been there as soon as I arrived in the room or later after the anesthesia.  Or not there at all.  I really don't know. 
They told me it wouldn't hurt a bit and it would just be a pinch.  LIARS!  It freakin hurt like hell!!!  I literally felt like every damn organ was being sucked out!  It was at that moment that I decided there is no God.  The moment of my rejection of God is only a revelation I have only realized until now. 

I must have gotten up off the table.  That or I floated to the doorway.  Either option is a possibility.  The nurse type lady told me that I would need to sit in a recovery room.  I had horrible cramping in my abdomen, bowels and rectal area.  The best way to describe it was like my butthole was getting ready to release an atomic fart, but something was obstructing it.  I recall making a dumb joke that I wasn't sure if I wanted to puke or take a dump.  That is the last thing I remember.  Perhaps I used the restroom, perhaps I didn't.  I do not even remembering being in the recovery room.  I do not know if I slept, read a magazine, watched TV or stared at a wall until my mother picked me up.  I do not remember her taking me from the clinic.

I do not recall how long I was at my mother's apartment.  I don't know if I slept or what I did during that time.  The only thing I clearly remember after that was going to a Wal-Mart with my mother.  We were in line waiting to purchase our items.  Behind us was a couple about my age.  They had a baby in a stroller with them.  The baby was crying.  Basic fussing, like babies do, not causing too much of a scene.  I was about ready to burst into tears.  I asked my mother for the car keys to wait in the car.
I bolted out of that store so fast.  The moment I got in the car I bawled like never before.  Tears streaming down my face and hyperventilating in my breathing.  My mother got in the car.  Asked me what was wrong.  Really?  She couldn't put the two together?  I said something to the effect of "I killed my baby" or "I will never see my baby" or both of those things.  Her response?  Oh, that's all. I thought maybe the baby was annoying you and something about I did the right thing, it was no big deal, I would get over it, etc.  Then and there I decided that the only thing to do was to be numb about the situation.

The aftermath...To be continued...