October 2006
Oliver, Ontario
His first name was taken from a graduation ceremony I had attended. They said the name, and I fell in love with it.
Once the baby was born, Patrick regretfully informed me that he had to go back home. It was mandatory for me to stay for 48 hours after giving birth, that night was tough.
I walked the empty halls. Most women and babies were sleeping. I was awake with a sleeping baby glued to my arms. As soon as he was born, the postpartum piled on top of my preexisting depression.
As my son slept cradled in my arms, I paced the halls crying. Everyone was gone. I was all alone. No one cared, no one would help me.
Even with the courses and planning, I was lost. This was a person that I needed to care for.
"I'm only sixteen, I can't do this. What was I thinking? Who's going to love me when I can't do this?" I whispered to myself as my tears poured down.
I covered my little boy partially with a light blanket to prevent the tears from splashing onto his beautiful sleeping face.
I would look down now and again to marvel at the tiny human I had created. I loved him so much. My heart was bursting with love for him.
It was stifled by the severe depression that wouldn't release its grip on my mind. Thoughts of how I wouldn't be a good mother raced in my head. The hospital staff didn't seem to notice the teenaged girl weeping up and down the hallways. If they did see me, they didn't say anything.
When the sun came up the next day, I felt no different. My heart was still tied completely to my son. But my brain was bursting with self-hatred.
YOU ARE READING
You Can't Break Her
Non-FictionThey say it's hard to find yourself after a traumatic experience. What if for the first six years of your life all you knew was traumatic experiences? How do you find yourself then? Amaris is a friendly child born to a mother with no patience for ch...
