Not sure why I feel the need to share this story, but its my blog, and I can write what I wish🙂
I had my first big pregnancy scare at 16.
The story is an interesting one, so I shall tell it.
It all started with my first bad boy attraction. He was tall, big and handsome with the best curls you have ever seen. Jet black curls. His name was Mike, and he sat next to me in Spanish class. I had Spanish in first period in my junior year (I took four years of French, then went back to Spanish one to avoid having to take french five). Since it was my first class it was my makeup time period. No I don’t mean makeup like pretty little eyeliner and blush… oh no, I was NEVER one of those girls. Mine was all black, and my mother, determined not to have a dark and depressed daughter, forbade me from wearing it. So in first period on went all the black makeup, the eyeliner, the black lipstick… all that jazz. Out came the black sharpie for my nails. One day Mike asked if he could borrow my sharpie. It was then that I noticed him, and he had the bluest of blue eyes that totally contrasted with his dark hair. Instant attraction.
From there, we met up every morning to smoke on the corner. We would talk, about things, life whatever. We would smoke and walk into school together to go to first period Spanish. He told me that he was attracted to the goth types… and well, I was attracted to the bad, dark, curly haired types. From then on we had a wonderful relationship of skipping school and getting into trouble as is always fun. (I really, really was never a good girl).
He started talking to me about sex, before that, it wasn’t really a thought in my mind. My first response was no, absolutely not. But then I started thinking, well really, why not? I liked him a lot, in those days I thought I loved him. I figured it would be perfect, and after all, if I had sex with him he would stick around longer.
Prom night came, we never actually considered ourselves a ‘couple’ he wasn’t my boyfriend, I wasn’t his girlfriend. I really wanted to be his girlfriend. We ended up going with a bunch of friends, none of us ‘couples’… all of us doing more than just holding hands. Even the girls were comfortable enough with each other to allow ourselves to explore.
We left from my house, and my mother wanted us back by 1:00 am. Enough time to go to the prom, stay there till it ended and then go out for Ice cream or something. I swear my mother still lived in the fifties or something, Ice cream?
She even sewed me into my prom dress… she told me it was “just in case the zipper came loose” I wasn’t stupid, I knew better.
We stayed at the prom for about an hour, enough time to get our pictures taken and dance a little. Then we all left. We were three not dating couples, all of us good friends, and all of us really, really comfortable with each other. We had our limo drive us to the local grocery store where we picked up strawberries, whipped cream, and chocolate syrup… sans the ice cream. After a ride around in the limo we settled down at the beach. Where I managed to rip myself out of my sewn in prom dress and give the one last good girl thing I had to my then not quite boyfriend. (My mother actually believe the bs about how I ripped my dress, totally ignoring the fact I was wearing my dates undershirt. My dad on the other hand, wasn’t so stupid, especially when I was found on my hammock with a red headed curly haired boy named Jay who wasn’t my date! Not doing the deed btw… I wasn’t THAT bad!)
After that sex was a weapon. I used it to get the love and attention I thought I wanted. All of a sudden, these boys that have been around me, now REALLY wanted to be around me. I was happy that I didn’t have that ‘boyfriend’ thing with Mike… because it left me free to be around Jay too.
Two weeks later, I realized that there was a minor detail to all this fun and enjoyment. I should have gotten my period, and I hadn’t.
All I could think of was shit. Shit shit shit Jessie. Did you not think? Did you not think about the fact that the woman who gave birth to you did the exact same thing?
Like I have said before, adoption was never (I thought) a big issue for me, but it was still there. All I could think about was, oh god, this is how it happened. This is how I happened!
Of course I was also thinking… well this could be a good thing, Mike will have to stick around if I have a baby! I was determined I loved him, I was also determined that we were going to fall in love and get married and raise this baby together.
I was however, smart enough to know life didn’t work that way. Plus if it came out a red head, I would be screwed… Jay was a redhead, not Mike.
What the hell did I get myself into.
All I could remember thinking was what I would do if I were pregnant.
I knew adoption was not an option. I couldn’t do it, I wouldn’t do it. I wouldn’t as an adoptee who had no clue where I came from, then give up my child to have no clue where they came from. I couldn’t imagine looking out at the stars at night and wondering where my mother, and my child, were. Couldn’t do it.
I couldn’t have an abortion, even though thats what Mike insisted I would be doing if I were pregnant.
I also knew, in my heart, I couldn’t keep it. I was in no way, and no how ready to be a mother at 16… 17 by the time the child was born. No way with all the constant fighting in my house, the constant depression and self distruction I was in, no way could I keep that child. In my daydream land, Mike and I would have gotten married, we would have had that perfect life, I would have been his, and he would have been mine, the baby would have been ours.
If only the world were perfect.
What a freaking decision to make. I had plenty of sleepless nights about it.
Two negative pregnancy tests later, I got my period. I don’t think I was ever happier in my life. I ran into school and hugged Mike, told him the news… and he asked if we could go use a friends hot tub to… ya know… oh the mentality of teenagers!
I don’t know what I would have decided, but I know it would have been a hell of a hard choice. I hopeI would have been stong enough to make a decision in the best interest of the child.
I forgot about those thoughts and feelings, and the many more times after (you would think I would have learned). Until just recently when I started thinking about my life, and where I have come. How easy it is to make decisions that affect everything. Whats even scarier is the fact that I wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for a decision that affected everything.
How easy it is to judge. However, its not so easy to walk in the shoes of those we are judging.