Sunday, January 15, 2012

Scars, or Open Wounds?

On January 12th, a man that I once loved deeply had a baby with his fiance. A beautiful baby girl. He and this fiance have had an incredible relationship, from what I have observed from afar..... this man learned how to love someone besides himself, somehow.

This man ruined me.
He was the first real life-threatening, knife-to-the-heart wound that I ever really received. It made Sophia's sperm donor bailing on us pale in comparison.

Somehow, even after all the ways he tore me apart, I put myself back together, taped and glued and patchworked into someone I only sort-of recognized, and I even put he and I back together, as friends. I forgave. 

And somewhere in there, hope crept in. The sneaky little bastard.

You see, he and I were the best of friends. SO close that I moved in with him for a short while at one point (as friends). I spent a lot of evenings laying on the floor in his condo, listening to Wilco or Brandon Flowers or whatever his music choice was for the night. It was always his choice.
Drinking expensive wine his ex girlfriend gave him, or Sam Adams beer.
Basking in the presence of a human being who I thought truly understood me... and his children, who are the most pure, beautiful expression of happiness and love i've ever seen. Despite everything.... they have turned out amazing.

And the one day he told me... because I couldn't be happy for him, finding happiness after he had broken me beyond repair, that we could not be friends.
And we haven't been.

But I am friends with his oldest daughter.
And I just looked at 12 pictures of a beautiful baby, and a loving father staring at her like she was a miracle.
And all I can think about.... is the day I told him I was pregnant with his child, and he turned into a demon I had never seen before. Anywhere.
He told me, "I won't let my kids see me 'do this wrong'".... he told me, if I insisted on not aborting, I had to move away and stay away.
He was threatening and scary.. I was more afraid that day than any other day in my entire life (except when Eli got dropped on his face from 6+ feet in the air.... long story).

He told me.. nobody would want to be with me unless they were drunk.
He wouldn't mind having another baby, but not with me. Nobody would want that with me.
I remember his cold stare, and feeling like I had to leave or my heart would simply stop beating.

I remember forgetting to strap my daughter into her booster seat, and driving 3 blocks before the intense, body-wracking sobs took over and I could no longer drive, and then I sat contemplating driivng my car off the nearest cliff.

I remember that look.

The look.... that will be burned into me for the rest of my life. Because it wasn't only him that gave it to me. It's been so many others.
The look that says, if you dare to screw up my perfect PICTURE of a life by making good of the mistake that we BOTH made.... then I swear to god, I will ruin your life, if not take it from you completely.
The look that says, how could you "allow" this to happen to me?  (like I raped you?)
The look that says, "I can't do this right now.."

Oh, you can't?
What about the woman, who has to deal with the emotion and physical repercussions of an abortion?
Or a 40+ week pregnancy that ends with handing a beautiful baby that you grew to know and love over to a stranger "for a better life"?

or.... all that pregnancy, the pain, the discomfort, the loneliness, the excruciatingly long days at work.. and the long nights alone.... and then having that baby
And raising that baby alone.

Men..... you.... fucking don't ever say "I can't do this right now". Because us women, we don't HAVE A CHOICE.
I dont' care about pro-choice, pro-life, pro anything. I don't care. Once your irresponsible semen fertilizes one of our (more or less) irresponsible eggs, it's on US. It's on the woman. It's our whole lives that change.
For you, it's a paycheck...
An inconvenience.

for me...

it's the broken record in my head, reminding me that I will never share that moment of joy with anyone.
Reminding me that not one man has ever been in love with me.
Reminding me that my children, no matter how much love me and my parents give them, it will never be the same as a real father's love...

And.. reminding me that.. it's my fault.

Because if they had wanted me... they would have stuck around for those kids.

It is my fault. All my fault.
I don't know how to fix me.

1 comment:

  1. Oh, honey. Oh, honey. I know I've got months more to read, but I hurt for you reading this. -Gingerish