I am Responsible

I am sure to some readers the writing of my abortion experience may seem as though I am bragging about it. Or maybe that I am not taking responsibility for my part. Maybe I am placing blame on others.

It is a delicate balancing act for me. I do take responsibility for my part. But that is just it, my part. I was the one who was pregnant. I was the last in line to choose to have my children sucked out of me. I should have stood up for the sake of my daughters. The blame for the second abortion lies more on part than the first. That is a hard reality to take, but I take it. In the middle of the night I find myself saying aloud "I killed my children." Completely audible.

Am I the only one to blame? No. When the first pregnancy was confirmed I may not have been elated, but abortion sure as hell didn't come across my mind! There were others who led, maybe even manipulated me into relenting to the abortion. "Matt" for his non committal attitude. My mother for the turn around in support. My grandmother for the deception.

The common consensus is that people need to take the blame for their own actions. Yes, that is true. While the woman is the ultimate decider in whether to have the abortion; those who influence, coerce, or even at times force her, should accept their culpability in the death of the woman's child.
A few days ago I did a Google search about the statistics regarding the percentage of women who are coerced into abortion. Many websites and pro-life books state around 64%. Personally, I would believe the statistics to be at a much higher rate. From a website, The UnChoice, is this;

 Up to 64 percent of abortions involve feelings of being pressured to have an abortion, and other factors, such as rushed, deceptive, negligent or conflicted or profit-driven counseling, can also have a significant and often synergistic coercive effect.⁴ Furthermore, based on even the most minimal standards of care and human rights, such assembly-line care is exploitative at best and a recognized human rights abuse, even under liberal abortion laws.

Full article of How Common is Coercion, here.

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.)

Sewing the Seams of Healing

Way back in April of this year I wrote about my teddy bear with the seam rip in the neck. He's been fixed! Probably about a couple weeks ago. I hand stitched the seams together. It was rather bittersweet while I was sewing. There was a feeling of happiness that he would be all fixed up and better. Yet, I couldn't help but feel a bit of sadness. I couldn't pinpoint the cause or why.

Teddy bear all fixed and better!

Perhaps my bittersweet feelings are due to my own broken seams. My broken and busted seams. Yes, after 20 years I have finally pinpointed the hurt and despair caused by the abortions. And really, knowing the cause is not only the first step in healing, but it is also three quarters or more of the healing. Once the cause of deep seated old hurt is located, the healing can be begin.

Not saying it is sunshine, lollipops, rainbows, roses, and pink unicorns flying out my butt. In fact more like a Generation X kid scraping their knee and grandpa putting Mercurochrome on it. All the while telling you "it won't hurt. I used this as a kid, fought in World War II and I'm still alive. You'll survive." Yeah, no. It stings. It stings like hell.
Back to the healing. That first moment of realizing what has been "wrong with you" for all those years is a definite sting. You could be in the middle of the most mundane household chore or running errands and bam! out of nowhere the memory hits. Smacks you up like you have been smacked in the face by an anvil. Or at least that's how it happened for me.

As you can see from the photo above of the teddy bear (still no name for him). He still has a few places that need some more repairs. Those are his scars. Those scars give him character. They show the many years of love. I too have scars. Perhaps my scars give me character too. But those scars sure as hell ain't from love. Lust, maybe, but most definitely not love.

I have more thoughts on my healing process, but I can't really bring them to focus and arrange in a cohesive manner. Plus it might run off to be a bit off topic from this post. I will add a part two or three or four or more to this. Let the healing begin!

Dreams of my Daughters

In dreams I walk with you
In dreams I talk to you
In dreams you're mine
All of the time
We're together, in dreams, in dreams... 
...In beautiful dreams of you

In Dreams ~ Roy Orbison

I have been singing this song in my head for the past couple days.  This is the chorus to the Roy Orbison song In Dreams.  I am a huge fan of Roy Orbison.  I love his music.  So passionate, so melancholy, so deep.  Most of his songs can be sad, full of lovelorn, unrequited love and love lost.  But recently I have been attaching the melancholy of his music to the grief over the loss of my daughters, especially this song.

Listen to the full song;

See, the thing is, I may have only started writing of my experiences just less than a year ago.  I had my breakdown in February of 2014.  But even before that, was when I think the lead up to my grief, I was confronted with the memories of the abortion deaths of Anastasia and Hanelore.
About 7 or 8 years ago I had a dream.  I was in the waiting room of a doctor's office, health clinic or hospital or somewhere.  There were two preteen girls.  I think the modern word now is tween.  The taller one who looked like she may have been older spoke to me.  I am not sure why, or how the conversation started.  She told me they were waiting for their mother.  She left them there and hasn't come back for them.  I couldn't imagine why a mother would leave her children at a doctor's office, or anywhere for that matter.  The girls never told me how long they had been waiting.
The older taller girl had long dark brown wavy hair.  Wasn't too big or too small body wise.  Had somewhat of a curvy shape of a young lady developing.  She had beautiful clear blue eyes.  I couldn't completely make out her face.  Her younger sister had long straight light auburn hair with a slight strawberry blonde tint.  She was very slender and wispy.  As if a bit of a medieval look to her.  She too, though I could not make out her facial features, had beautiful clear blue eyes.
I woke up, trying to figure out who those girls were and why I would dream about them.  Then it dawned on me.  They were my daughters!  The daughters I ordered the killing of.  I hadn't thought about the abortions since then.  I had slightly remembered.  But I had so put everything out of my mind that it was almost to the point of forgetting about them.

I still do dream about them.  Sometimes they are very young girls. Sometimes they are the ages they would be had they been allowed to live.  But mostly I wake up knowing I dreamt about them without recalling the details.  All I have are dreams...

Straight Talk

Still writing from the sick bed today.  Drinking hot tea with honey.  And that is fine.  It is already known I have a Twitter account.  As Twitter only allows up to 140 characters sometimes I have thoughts that are more than 140 characters, yet those thoughts are rather short for a blog post.  So I may just start a series of  "Daily Twitter Thoughts."  Just a running rambling of thoughts on my mind. 

I want to be able to do this so as it doesn't come of boring.  I also don't want to come off as a "crazy cat lady."  I need to be careful with my words.  As has been stated, I hope and pray for the ongoing story of my journey to be a help to others who have gone through the same things as me; along with preventing someone else to be in the position I currently am in.  Or those who know someone who has had an abortion or possibly may have.
If I look crazy to those in the past experience camp, they may think they are crazy for their feelings.  If I look crazy to those in the considering camp they will just assume my situation is an anomaly and they could never be weird like me.  Anyways, I am going to try to figure out how to do this. 

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?