Status: Growing
My Life Unplanned
I'm Pregnant
“Why are you cast down, oh my soul, and why are you quieted within me?” (Psalms 42:5)
I spent nearly two weeks in the bland room with only myself, my thoughts, and the Holy Bible. Every day at seven in the morning my mother would bring up a tray of food, sliding it in through the door, leaving it there for me to pick up whenever I pleased.
She said nothing as she did it; she didn’t even show herself to me. All I saw of any human that too weeks was a limp and tired hand.
Usually I wouldn’t eat until ten and when I did I would snatch up the stray and eat the food quickly, wanting to savor the taste before throwing it up once more. I guessed all the nausea was from the stomach bruises and an injury to the organ, but I knew that wasn’t the only reason. I just didn’t know what else would make me throw-up.
I kept a constant fever while I was on “bed-rest” as well. My head always hurt and I was freezing cold in the sixty degree whether because I was so much hotter than the temperature around me.
Several times I was tempted to ask my mother for help, but then once she would come to the door I would lose my hope and she would leave again not knowing my condition.
My bruises were fading now, most of them were yellow and some were even just slightly red. My face had two scars, one across my brow and another on my cheek. My stomach had another scar that was five inches long. But I was healing, slowly, I was healing.
i'm fading
i'm broken inside
i've wasted the time of my life
i'm losing it
with every move i die
I heard a quiet knock and the door opened to my room abruptly. I buried myself in my sheets and my mother shoved a tray under the door then pushed it open. I gasped, staring at her with my eyes wide and red.
She didn’t look at me, but kept her eyes on the floor, a grimace set on her lips. “I’m going out with your Father today. You will be home alone.” She raised her eyes briefly, watching me, and then she lowered them again. “Don’t leave this room.” She growled sternly and she left, clicking the door shut behind her.
I cleared my throat, staring at the scratch marks all down the wood where I had peeled off the purple paint with my bare fingernails. She was leaving for the day.
My heart leapt into my throat and I felt something of relief overcome me as I sighed. I let my greasy head fall back onto the pillows and I closed my eyes, breathing slowly then I leapt out of the bed with all the energy I could muster from deep inside my deprived and darkened soul.
all alone it's dark and cold
with every move i die
here i go
this is my confession
a lost cause, nobody can save my soul
i am so delusional
with every move i die
I turned on the shower, cleaned myself up and in two hours I was ready at last. My hair was dry and curled at the ends; my lashes were painted with a light layer of mascara, my face barely brushed with powder. I glossed my lips and grabbed the cash hidden in my Bible and stuffed it into my jean pocket before grabbing the doorknob to my door.
I hesitated and regretfully glanced toward the calendar on the wall beside the door. I stared at the emptiness of the days 15, 16, 17, 18, and 19. There was nothing there…I frowned and flipped the calendar like I had so many times these past few days, staring angrily at the last month where the other x’s were on those same day, to the month before and the month before the x’s were always the same. I have never had an irregular period…until this week.
I felt a lump form in my throat and I cleared it nervously, clutching the money between my fingers. I was going to the gas station to buy cold medicine but maybe that wasn’t the only thing I needed.
I dismissed the thought nervously, remembering my mother’s words. What happened that day was in the past, it would never be brought up again. It was healed, only a brief fog on my otherwise perfect life.
I stomped out the door with a new kind of energy, the energy brought about that I needed to refuse the obvious and undeniable. I knew deep down in my heart I knew that I was only lying to myself, but I still played my little games pretending.
The bell rang loudly, racketing my skull and I rubbed my head, moaning quietly as the man working at the gas station stared at the cuts on my faces, the bruises on my arms. I clenched my jacket tighter around myself and walked down the aisles of Wal-Greens, searching for cough medicine.
I grabbed a box that said Head Ache relief and was about to check out when I saw the condom section and unfortunately along with it was the pregnancy tests. I bit my lip, tears welling and I closed my eyes breathing out softly.
“Take one” I jumped, whipping my head around to stare at the audacious woman behind me, holding a little boy on her hip. She smiled brightly as she handed me a tiny pink box. “A child is a gift, not a curse, no matter how old you are.” She cooed and I stared at that little pink box in my fingers, clenching it too tightly. I could just feel the lump grow larger and larger at the absence of those little x’s on my calendar.
I looked back up at her and couldn’t even smile as I growled, “It is a punishment if it was forced.” My voice was coarse and raspy and the woman was very surprised by my words. She laughed nervously and grabbed another box, shoving it into my hands as she secured her little boy who was now crying.
“It’s best to try two.” She whispered before carrying her kid away from the dangers of creepy fifteen year old girls holding pregnancy tests.
I looked back at the tiny box and approached the register, sliding my items across the table. I averted my eyes from the man and he laughed as I heard the tiny beeps of a scanner. I heard him mutter a nasty word and I looked back to him with tear filled eyes, my jaws propped open.
“What did you say?” I squeaked like a five year old and the man’s eyes widened as he slammed his lips shut. He only shook his head. I dropped my chin, demanding the same question and he sighed.
“I called you a slut.” He repeated, slamming the things into the bag. I limply placed the money on the counter and he gave me my change. I said nothing as I crawled out of the store but by the time I was passed the door I had started sobbing again as my ears rang with that nasty name. slut That’s what people would think of me, without even knowing anything about me. Slut.
I shoved open the door to my house, fumbling up the stairs through blurry eyes. The plastic bag swung from my wrist uselessly as I plunged into my room, tearing open the pink box first.
I moaned as my finger slipped, slicing the skin on the edge of the box and I sucked on the cut, removing the tiny plastic stick with shaking hands. I grabbed the box, turning it as I read the instructions carefully before fleeing to the bathroom.
When the deed was done I removed the stick from under me, cringing at the odor and I dropped the stick onto the sink, washing my hands thoroughly. When I was done I finally raised my eyes to look in the mirror of a haunted girl with giant black eyes. I ran my hands through my hair and flashed my teeth at the monster before me, seeing they had gone yellow from tarnish.
I grabbed a toothbrush and applied the needed amount of mint paste before scrubbing away at my pearly whites. I glanced nervously down at the stick and it was still blank. I scrubbed until my hand went numb and then I spit in the sink, rinsing it out thoroughly and drying it before putting up my toothbrush.
My fingers were shaking and I was tempted to look at the stick when suddenly I collapsed, my knees giving way and I slid against the wall, sobs racketing my chest. I sucked in calming breaths and finally managed to lift myself from the floor again with enough energy to grab the test and hold it up in front of my blurry eyes.
There were two lines. What did they mean?
I dropped the stick into the sink, fumbling around in my trashcan clumsily and finally I found the box, flipping it again. I searched the tiny text and finally found the diagram. One line meant…negative…two lines meant…
My stomach twisted and I threw up, dropping the box as I fell to my knees over the toilet, emptying everything I had into the white bowl as I racketing sobs, the tears dripping into the cut on my face.
I’m pregnant.
I spent nearly two weeks in the bland room with only myself, my thoughts, and the Holy Bible. Every day at seven in the morning my mother would bring up a tray of food, sliding it in through the door, leaving it there for me to pick up whenever I pleased.
She said nothing as she did it; she didn’t even show herself to me. All I saw of any human that too weeks was a limp and tired hand.
Usually I wouldn’t eat until ten and when I did I would snatch up the stray and eat the food quickly, wanting to savor the taste before throwing it up once more. I guessed all the nausea was from the stomach bruises and an injury to the organ, but I knew that wasn’t the only reason. I just didn’t know what else would make me throw-up.
I kept a constant fever while I was on “bed-rest” as well. My head always hurt and I was freezing cold in the sixty degree whether because I was so much hotter than the temperature around me.
Several times I was tempted to ask my mother for help, but then once she would come to the door I would lose my hope and she would leave again not knowing my condition.
My bruises were fading now, most of them were yellow and some were even just slightly red. My face had two scars, one across my brow and another on my cheek. My stomach had another scar that was five inches long. But I was healing, slowly, I was healing.
i'm fading
i'm broken inside
i've wasted the time of my life
i'm losing it
with every move i die
I heard a quiet knock and the door opened to my room abruptly. I buried myself in my sheets and my mother shoved a tray under the door then pushed it open. I gasped, staring at her with my eyes wide and red.
She didn’t look at me, but kept her eyes on the floor, a grimace set on her lips. “I’m going out with your Father today. You will be home alone.” She raised her eyes briefly, watching me, and then she lowered them again. “Don’t leave this room.” She growled sternly and she left, clicking the door shut behind her.
I cleared my throat, staring at the scratch marks all down the wood where I had peeled off the purple paint with my bare fingernails. She was leaving for the day.
My heart leapt into my throat and I felt something of relief overcome me as I sighed. I let my greasy head fall back onto the pillows and I closed my eyes, breathing slowly then I leapt out of the bed with all the energy I could muster from deep inside my deprived and darkened soul.
all alone it's dark and cold
with every move i die
here i go
this is my confession
a lost cause, nobody can save my soul
i am so delusional
with every move i die
I turned on the shower, cleaned myself up and in two hours I was ready at last. My hair was dry and curled at the ends; my lashes were painted with a light layer of mascara, my face barely brushed with powder. I glossed my lips and grabbed the cash hidden in my Bible and stuffed it into my jean pocket before grabbing the doorknob to my door.
I hesitated and regretfully glanced toward the calendar on the wall beside the door. I stared at the emptiness of the days 15, 16, 17, 18, and 19. There was nothing there…I frowned and flipped the calendar like I had so many times these past few days, staring angrily at the last month where the other x’s were on those same day, to the month before and the month before the x’s were always the same. I have never had an irregular period…until this week.
I felt a lump form in my throat and I cleared it nervously, clutching the money between my fingers. I was going to the gas station to buy cold medicine but maybe that wasn’t the only thing I needed.
I dismissed the thought nervously, remembering my mother’s words. What happened that day was in the past, it would never be brought up again. It was healed, only a brief fog on my otherwise perfect life.
I stomped out the door with a new kind of energy, the energy brought about that I needed to refuse the obvious and undeniable. I knew deep down in my heart I knew that I was only lying to myself, but I still played my little games pretending.
The bell rang loudly, racketing my skull and I rubbed my head, moaning quietly as the man working at the gas station stared at the cuts on my faces, the bruises on my arms. I clenched my jacket tighter around myself and walked down the aisles of Wal-Greens, searching for cough medicine.
I grabbed a box that said Head Ache relief and was about to check out when I saw the condom section and unfortunately along with it was the pregnancy tests. I bit my lip, tears welling and I closed my eyes breathing out softly.
“Take one” I jumped, whipping my head around to stare at the audacious woman behind me, holding a little boy on her hip. She smiled brightly as she handed me a tiny pink box. “A child is a gift, not a curse, no matter how old you are.” She cooed and I stared at that little pink box in my fingers, clenching it too tightly. I could just feel the lump grow larger and larger at the absence of those little x’s on my calendar.
I looked back up at her and couldn’t even smile as I growled, “It is a punishment if it was forced.” My voice was coarse and raspy and the woman was very surprised by my words. She laughed nervously and grabbed another box, shoving it into my hands as she secured her little boy who was now crying.
“It’s best to try two.” She whispered before carrying her kid away from the dangers of creepy fifteen year old girls holding pregnancy tests.
I looked back at the tiny box and approached the register, sliding my items across the table. I averted my eyes from the man and he laughed as I heard the tiny beeps of a scanner. I heard him mutter a nasty word and I looked back to him with tear filled eyes, my jaws propped open.
“What did you say?” I squeaked like a five year old and the man’s eyes widened as he slammed his lips shut. He only shook his head. I dropped my chin, demanding the same question and he sighed.
“I called you a slut.” He repeated, slamming the things into the bag. I limply placed the money on the counter and he gave me my change. I said nothing as I crawled out of the store but by the time I was passed the door I had started sobbing again as my ears rang with that nasty name. slut That’s what people would think of me, without even knowing anything about me. Slut.
I shoved open the door to my house, fumbling up the stairs through blurry eyes. The plastic bag swung from my wrist uselessly as I plunged into my room, tearing open the pink box first.
I moaned as my finger slipped, slicing the skin on the edge of the box and I sucked on the cut, removing the tiny plastic stick with shaking hands. I grabbed the box, turning it as I read the instructions carefully before fleeing to the bathroom.
When the deed was done I removed the stick from under me, cringing at the odor and I dropped the stick onto the sink, washing my hands thoroughly. When I was done I finally raised my eyes to look in the mirror of a haunted girl with giant black eyes. I ran my hands through my hair and flashed my teeth at the monster before me, seeing they had gone yellow from tarnish.
I grabbed a toothbrush and applied the needed amount of mint paste before scrubbing away at my pearly whites. I glanced nervously down at the stick and it was still blank. I scrubbed until my hand went numb and then I spit in the sink, rinsing it out thoroughly and drying it before putting up my toothbrush.
My fingers were shaking and I was tempted to look at the stick when suddenly I collapsed, my knees giving way and I slid against the wall, sobs racketing my chest. I sucked in calming breaths and finally managed to lift myself from the floor again with enough energy to grab the test and hold it up in front of my blurry eyes.
There were two lines. What did they mean?
I dropped the stick into the sink, fumbling around in my trashcan clumsily and finally I found the box, flipping it again. I searched the tiny text and finally found the diagram. One line meant…negative…two lines meant…
My stomach twisted and I threw up, dropping the box as I fell to my knees over the toilet, emptying everything I had into the white bowl as I racketing sobs, the tears dripping into the cut on my face.
I’m pregnant.
♠ ♠ ♠
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