(no subject)
sitting here with a glass of wine, alone again in a house that isn't mine. guess I'd better get used to the feeling.
the way I feel about him now has lost the innocence of an adolescent summer fling. it's lost the naivete of the nights we spent wrestling, climbing trees, chasing intoxication and adventures in the heat that grew more and more oppressive as the months wore on.
he'll barely look at me now, but the reason I'm up tonight at 435am doesn't have much to do with that.
I've been loath to give the situation I'm in the words that will make it real for some time now, but it seems there's little hope of denying it any longer. that night... the night we finally seemed to get on some kind of a level... the night where he laid his head on my chest and wrapped his arms around me and whispered confidences in my ringing ears...
...the night we spent talking, finally opening up in a way that neither of us had dared to since the beginning of whatever was between us...
...the night we stumbled back to my room, conspiratorially sliding under the covers, clumsily overlapping lips and clashing teeth and fumbling with buttons and zippers and socks...
...the night I barely remember.
well, that night seems to have spawned some consequences the likes of which I haven't had to deal with since they destroyed the only relationship that ever made me happy.
I. might. be... pregnant.
it's not really a "might" at this point really... I mean, it's been a long time. too long to harbor any sort of significant hopeful doubts. there is a very real chance that at this moment there is a fertilized egg attached to the wall of my uterus, drawing meager sustenance from the food I barely eat and growing into something that may someday resemble a human child.
a child I've seen in my dreams for weeks.
a little girl with my hair and his eyes, smiling up at me from a shopping cart, a car seat, a stroller. looking at me with eyes that are doomed to haunt me for the rest of my life if I allow them to develop past the red pinpricks they likely resemble at this stage. if I allow those eyes to draw their amber brown color from the dna he contributed I have no doubt that my dreams, my goals, my hopes and plans for my future that seems so distant and far off at this point... will be changed into something unrecognizable.
it's unreasonable to even entertain such a preposterous idea, but somehow the thought of consciously willing my... baby... to die... it seems abysmal. horrible. blasphemous even.
but to give it a life like the one I had? filled with struggle and poverty and alcoholism and all the things that forced my childhood to end so soon?
maybe that's even worse.
I wish with everything in me that I could just walk to his house now. curl up beside him and cry the tears that I haven't shed for the baby I can't keep. the baby that would have his eyes. the baby that would be part of him, and part of me.
I haven't shed those tears because I feel like to mourn would be a decision made. an acknowledgment of the hopelessness and futility of the situation. those tears are too important to be shed alone. but there will be no shoulder to catch them, not from him, and so I remain silent. so silent that I'm beginning to attract attention for my uncharacteristic behavior. so quiet that I sometimes feel like I'm losing myself to the entity inside me that realistically at this point would be smaller than my pinky fingernail.
has it really come to this?
I can't do this. I can't fucking do this. not alone, not without a partner that can at least look me in the eye...
I can't have a baby, alone. I can't bring myself to say the words that have a less than 1% chance of garnering enough sympathy from him to promote the urge to help me through this. but can I kill it alone? can I go through the heartwrenching trauma of killing a living thing? a living thing that carries half of me?
eskjkdfngm;lZsdgnjdlxbmfsz;dflkjgmdxgn.
jesus christ, when did life get so complicated?
the way I feel about him now has lost the innocence of an adolescent summer fling. it's lost the naivete of the nights we spent wrestling, climbing trees, chasing intoxication and adventures in the heat that grew more and more oppressive as the months wore on.
he'll barely look at me now, but the reason I'm up tonight at 435am doesn't have much to do with that.
I've been loath to give the situation I'm in the words that will make it real for some time now, but it seems there's little hope of denying it any longer. that night... the night we finally seemed to get on some kind of a level... the night where he laid his head on my chest and wrapped his arms around me and whispered confidences in my ringing ears...
...the night we spent talking, finally opening up in a way that neither of us had dared to since the beginning of whatever was between us...
...the night we stumbled back to my room, conspiratorially sliding under the covers, clumsily overlapping lips and clashing teeth and fumbling with buttons and zippers and socks...
...the night I barely remember.
well, that night seems to have spawned some consequences the likes of which I haven't had to deal with since they destroyed the only relationship that ever made me happy.
I. might. be... pregnant.
it's not really a "might" at this point really... I mean, it's been a long time. too long to harbor any sort of significant hopeful doubts. there is a very real chance that at this moment there is a fertilized egg attached to the wall of my uterus, drawing meager sustenance from the food I barely eat and growing into something that may someday resemble a human child.
a child I've seen in my dreams for weeks.
a little girl with my hair and his eyes, smiling up at me from a shopping cart, a car seat, a stroller. looking at me with eyes that are doomed to haunt me for the rest of my life if I allow them to develop past the red pinpricks they likely resemble at this stage. if I allow those eyes to draw their amber brown color from the dna he contributed I have no doubt that my dreams, my goals, my hopes and plans for my future that seems so distant and far off at this point... will be changed into something unrecognizable.
it's unreasonable to even entertain such a preposterous idea, but somehow the thought of consciously willing my... baby... to die... it seems abysmal. horrible. blasphemous even.
but to give it a life like the one I had? filled with struggle and poverty and alcoholism and all the things that forced my childhood to end so soon?
maybe that's even worse.
I wish with everything in me that I could just walk to his house now. curl up beside him and cry the tears that I haven't shed for the baby I can't keep. the baby that would have his eyes. the baby that would be part of him, and part of me.
I haven't shed those tears because I feel like to mourn would be a decision made. an acknowledgment of the hopelessness and futility of the situation. those tears are too important to be shed alone. but there will be no shoulder to catch them, not from him, and so I remain silent. so silent that I'm beginning to attract attention for my uncharacteristic behavior. so quiet that I sometimes feel like I'm losing myself to the entity inside me that realistically at this point would be smaller than my pinky fingernail.
has it really come to this?
I can't do this. I can't fucking do this. not alone, not without a partner that can at least look me in the eye...
I can't have a baby, alone. I can't bring myself to say the words that have a less than 1% chance of garnering enough sympathy from him to promote the urge to help me through this. but can I kill it alone? can I go through the heartwrenching trauma of killing a living thing? a living thing that carries half of me?
eskjkdfngm;lZsdgnjdlxbmfsz;dflkjgmdxgn.
jesus christ, when did life get so complicated?