This all started a little over three years ago with a positive pregnancy test!
I was sixteen, a virgin, and – quite frankly – sick of it. I was always the party girl who was labeled as a “cock tease” and I constantly “led lads on”. Well, one day I decided that I wanted to have sex…and I did. In my mum’s bed, I have to add. It was a lot less than romantic, not that I expected it to be in the first place. Who can say that a one-night stand is romantic in any way, shape, or form? That night, I opened the floodgates. A week later, I was in bed with a different lad and in very different circumstances. It was a party atmosphere; alcohol had been consumed, drugs had been done (not by me), and inhibitions had been lost…by everyone. By the time everyone was “tired,” it had become obvious that I was going to sleep with someone. I wasn’t on the pill. He didn’t have a condom. We were unprepared, but we did it anyway. Three weeks later, my period didn’t come – weird. I put it down to exam stress and told myself I would take a test in a couple of days. A couple of days came and went, so I wandered down to the store, flinging a test on the counter and practically running out of the store as soon as I had paid. This might sound weird, but as I hid the test in my bag, it felt like it was burning a hole through the material, and everyone could see my dirty little secret. I took the test the next morning – negative. Again, I put it down to the stress of end-of-year exams. I pushed the thoughts aside even though I had a little niggle at the back of my mind. Four days later, I was still late. I decided to go buy another test. This time it was easier to do. I wasn’t nervous; I wasn’t embarrassed; I simply felt as if I was disconnected from my body. This couldn’t possibly be happening to me. I took the test the next morning – positive. That was when my world shattered.
I sat there staring at the test for five minutes, convinced that the second line was wrong, that it was an evaporation line, and that the test was faulty. Anything but the blindingly obvious truth. The first thought – and many afterward – was please make this go away. That was a chant that ran through my mind for several days. Almost a week, in fact.
Turns out, someone was listening. They made it go away. No one told me about the pain, though. Not just physically but mentally, emotionally, spiritually. I had a miscarriage on the 25th November 2010. I thought my world had shattered when I found out I was pregnant, but that was nothing compared to this.
Still in denial that anything was wrong, I didn’t go to the doctor that day; that week; that month. I simply didn’t go. I hoped and prayed that everything would be okay without having to tell my family or my friends. It took a while but it looked (and felt) like everything eventually went back to normal.
Now I just feel like there’s a piece of me missing – lost out in the universe somewhere. There isn’t a day that passes by when I don’t think of what could be right now. What should have been? I blame myself for what happened. It was like I wished that baby away with the power of my thoughts. Who knew they could be so powerful?
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