(...a confessional)

There was a time in my life when I could have been made made happy. I could have had a purpose. I could have had a baby. A baby to grow gently inside of me. To make me healthy, happy, pure, and full of life. My baby barely lasted seven weeks. Hardly definition, bones, a heart, brain waves, thoughts, or a soul.

Now people try to calm my bleeding heart by explaining to me the circumstances that would have arrived had I actually had that child. A child, they say, would have ruined my life. would have ruined my family, would have put an unimaginable strain on both the lives of me, the mommy, and the daddy who shall permanently remain nameless. These people try to convince me that life is not life until months and months after conception. They say a child has no soul until just a few weeks prior to birth, "It's been proven," is all I hear. But proven by who nobody knows.

These people are not me. They never felt the breath of my life, of my child. They never experienced the sickness and pain induced by this accidental conception. These people have no idea how alone you become when those "accidents" happen. The pit that digs deeper and deeper inside of my stomach from regret of wrong decisions and despair. The blood that runs through my veins is poisoned and foul. My heart is hardly beating and my soul is numb.

Those people told me my baby had no life, no soul, no purpose, no hope. Well I can feel that soul haunting me through guilt. I could feel that life beating inside of my body. I know that life had purpose. Had I not been so scared, so ignorant, so young, having that baby would have saved me from myself.

Now I try to live minute to minute, thought to thought with no one to love, with no one to fill my heart. No one to allow me to repent, to take away my sins. I live with poisoned blood. I walk through the halls faking smiles and ambition, knowing that out of all of these people that I am the worst of the worst. I denied a life, a love, my only hope.

I stared at that sonogram. I swallowed the pills I was handed. I laid down on that table. I closed my eyes as my baby, my baby Andrew, was taken from me. I never bothered to cry, couldn't let the others see through.

Introduction | A Faint Remembrance (december 5, 1996, 2:10pm) | Gallery | E-Mail Daisy at daiz1537@aol.com