The look of disgust was written across your crumpled face and the hurt in your eyes will be something that haunts me forever. I had to let you walk out the door, your black holdall hung heavily on your sunken shoulders and you were defeated.
“Do you want me to go?” you must have asked a hundred times that morning and all I could not was nod.
“I will never forgive you” Is what you told me as you walked out, slamming the patio door shut behind you “You’re going to kill my baby, you fucking disgust me” were your final words.
As I watched the two blue lines appear on the stick, I felt my heart sink. I knew what was coming next and it did.
“You can’t keep it; you can’t look after yourself, let alone another baby”. The voices had begun. Those voices that plague me and are what have controlled my life for as long as I can remember would have the final say.
I felt the sudden urge to punish myself, I should have taken more precautions to prevent this pregnancy from happening and this was all my fault and I had to be taught a lesson. The punishment had been decided for me, I could not keep this baby that would be my punishment for being such a failure once again.
How could I ever have told you that my heart ached for this little baby inside of me? I could not feel it, yet I knew it was there, growing and a part of me and killing it was going to destroy me, but that’s what I do, I destroy everything good in my life.
The need to punish myself stems back to roots from many years ago; still I search for the uncovered truths yet discover none. I have no answers to why I loathe myself in such a force, but punishing myself makes it easier for me to cope.
You did return home three days later, after tormenting yourself, you agreed that terminating our baby was the best thing for us. I knew how much you wanted this baby. A sick twisted part of me got a kick out of watching your pain, because hurting you tore up my insides and spat them back out at me like the vile creature I was. My soul was bore into with every tear you choked back, I needed you to hurt because then I hurt more. I needed to feel that pain. I deserved it.
I went to the appointments alone. I only had to tell them I had bipolar and they agreed and signed the papers, reassuring me I was doing the right thing. The medications had a high risk of causing damage, yet I knew they really meant I was the one causing it damage.
