Another Door Opens

55 - Single use plastic sticks

I’m sure there are many people who would say he needs to know. That I need to tell him. But I don’t especially care what they think. This is my body, and therefore my choice, and no one will ever convince me otherwise.

But I can't have his baby. I don't want to be tied to him in that way for the rest of my days, especially seeing as I know it wouldn't be as partners. I don't know him anywhere near well enough to know what co-parenting with him would be like. I can't imagine it would be easy as there are clearly some ideological differences between us which I'm sure would get in the way of decision making on key, important issues in its life. 

Running was my first instinct. To run both physically away from everything, and to cognitively escape this dilemma by running away from my feelings, of which there are more than I can count and make sense of. I’m fairly sure there’s a storm forecast and despite being only six p.m., the dark rain clouds made it seem a lot closer to midnight. I was going to get drenched, but I didn't really care. I just don’t want to be at home to dwell and sit still with my thoughts about all this. 

And so I threw on my sneakers, grabbed my bag and ran, not conscious of where I was running or how far I’d gone, just that I needed to escape, which worked okay for a while until I pushed myself so hard that I ended up hurling in a lavender bush, or dry heaving rather considering there can’t be anything left in my stomach except a bunch of bloody cells forming themselves into a future foetus.

I know the more practical approach to running would be to talk to someone about this.

Someone who knows me well, but most of those people are a little off-limits when it comes to this particular topic. Luna and Wolfe have enough to worry about when it comes to pregnancy right now. Nella and Mason are clearly not the right people to talk to for very obvious reasons. I'm not speaking with my sister who has had a child, not only because we're not talking in general, but also in this circumstance due to the fact that I don't necessarily agree with many of her parenting choices, and therefore don't know that I'd value her opinion weighing in on my situation too much.

Same goes for my mother and most of my family for that matter, which just made me even more upset and disappointed because I should be able to seek out support and guidance from my own mother about this dilemma at the very least. It is something that she, as the woman who was pregnant with me, should be able to connect with me on, but I hold no desire to approach and open up this conversation with her.

After the last major life decision I made in leaving Trey, I have no faith in any of my family---except Penn, of course---to respond encouragingly to this situation, which I suppose is a lot more complex than ending a relationship.

But does it need to be? People get pregnant every day. Our bodies are genetically designed for this exact purpose for our survival as a species, just as pregnancies have been ended, willingly and unfortunately involuntarily, for a plethora of very different and valid reasons for centuries. Probably longer, I haven't done the research. But given my knowledge of women and how they've been treated throughout history, particularly when it comes to consent, abuse, and reproductive controls and demands, I know I can't be the first one to be devastated to learn I'm pregnant and wanting to know more about my options to not be.

The person I really want to talk to is my father, but seeing as he's dead, I don't really get that privilege, but went to see him all the same, buried in the Byron Bay Cemetery. 

“Hey, Daddio,” I said, trying my darndest not to start crying instantly as soon as I read his name etched into the headstone. “Long time, no see.”

I should have come to see him before now. Maybe then I wouldn’t have been a weeping mess with such a backlog of grief. Then again, I guess I have hormones to blame for this now too.