Oh, what a day. I started off with work, 9-2, part-time
data entry, and not hard at all. All in all, a good time to gather my thoughts as I mindlessly plug numbers into a computer. At 2, I left, and sped to the doctor’s office for an appointment with my
gynecologist, and once there, I got my first
ultrasound; even though my appointment was just to talk about
options for pregnant chicks, it’s policy that I get one… and of course, when the doctor asked if I wanted to look, I said yes. I’m a sucker for that sort of thing. So there I was, feet up in the air, staring at the quivering insides of my uterus, seeing for the first time this thing that’s growing inside me. Needless to say, I left the doctor’s office
sobbing hysterically, shaking, unable to breath. I had somewhat of a nervous breakdown in my car… how can I look at that, actually SEE it, and not care if I kill it? Not feel like a murderer, not feel like I’m committing some horrible moral sin? Don’t get me wrong—I’m incredibly
pro-choice, but once I’m actually in the situation for real, it’s hard to go with it.
Finally, I make it home from the doctor in one sane piece, and log online to talk to my best friend (who’s a saint to me; I’m so damn stubborn, sometimes I wonder why she puts up with me, but I love her for it). Instead, I get in a conversation with the
probable father (I think most of us know him on here, but that’s all I’m saying), and seeking some sort of comfort, tell him that I suddenly can’t even fathom going through with my previous choice of abortion. But it turns out that
he’s self-centered, and cares a) not about my well-being, and b) not about the fact that I’m about
96% sure it’s his and not my boyfriend’s (I know, how wrong of me), but about the fact that I may get the urge to keep it and he’ll be stuck paying child support for 18 years. It all comes down to money; how pathetic. I can sort of see how it wouldn’t be fair of me to tell him that I’m going to give it up for adoption and then suddenly decide to keep it and hit him up for money… but… at the same time, I really would have thought that the chance that he’s got a
flesh-and-blood piece of him inside me would motivate him into some sort of caring and concern.
My boyfriend is home from work by now, so I go over there, again, thinking foolishly that maybe he will console me. Of course, he sees that I’m upset, and I tell him that it’s because I got the ultrasound and freaked out… all hell breaks loose, and he starts screaming at me,
cursing, violent. In no uncertain terms, he tells me if I don’t get that damn abortion, I shouldn’t ever talk to him again. I wonder if he even thought that I’m stressed out enough as it is; I don’t need his stupidity and moronic head games to make it worse. Seething with anger, I just left. And he wonders why I’ve suddenly become very
frigid and aloof when I’m around him….
Then I had to sit through three hours of American History. I love the class…. But tonight, my mind was obviously elsewhere. Fittingly enough, I’m now listening to
Ice Cube’s “Today Was a Good Day”.