They say confession is good for the soul…
First on the agenda today is a sincere apology to those of you that clicked the little follow icon on my blog thinking that it was going to be a fun read about the life of a single gal in Portland sexing her way through the city. In the six months that have elapsed since I started on this adventure I have met an awesome but unattainable guy, fallen head over heels, gotten knocked up, and then made the heartbreaking decision not to have the baby.
Life has certainly taken me down some dark passageways as of late. I love that show Girls on HBO, it’s terrible, but I can’t look away. I thought to myself if Lena Dunham can write about the dumb shit that happens in her life I should be able to write about the dumb shit that happens in mine.
People will love it!
Sure, my writing isn’t great, but I thought the weekly task of sitting down to write it all out would start flexing those muscles. Maybe it has, who can tell. All I know is that in the past month, writing this blog has been incredibly cathartic. I have so many different and conflicting thoughts all of the time. I need to just sit down sometimes and tell the empty void what I’m thinking. I don’t even care about the writing, just getting it out of my head is all that matters.
That being said, I’ve been thinking a lot about assisted suicide and religion lately, and before you freak out about the fate of some random internet stranger, don’t worry I’m not going to kill myself. It’s just something I think about when the heartbreak is too much to bear.
Why is it that we can euthanize an animal that we love to put it out of its misery, but we can’t do it for a human?
I have, for as long as I can remember, been miserable. I have tried and tried to put a meaningful life together, but have failed. I am completely alone now and have lost all hope for a brighter future. Every day is worse than the last. My day is work, then I come home to an empty apartment, drink and read reddit until I pass out in a Benadryl induced haze. It’s been this way since my business closed and my relationship with Drew dissolved three years ago. I can not seem to put the pieces back together and I don’t even care anymore. I keep hoping each night when I drift off to sleep, that it will be my last.
I think having a baby would have saved my life.
It’s an unfair burden to put on a child, and I’m glad I didn’t, but because I didn’t, I have doomed myself to a painful, meaningless existence.
That kid would have been the best thing that happened to me, and now I know my mother more intimately than I ever could have imagined because I know I get this depression from her.
I saved her life at one point.
I loved my baby too much to force it to save mine.
Posted on May 5, 2014, in I've got the feels..., Word Diarreah... and tagged abortion, abortion pill, depression, Drew, grief, Justin, love, sadness, suicide, writing. Bookmark the permalink. 2 Comments.