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He told me I was being selfish. He threw things. He screamed at me. He threatened me. He held me against the wall by my throat...

Abortion Story:

Submitted to Abort73 by a 20-year-old woman on June 25, 2012.

Dear Baby, Just thinking of you brings tears to my eyes. First, I want to say how sorry I am. I'm so sorry I wasn't stronger for you. I'm so sorry I didn't fight harder for you. I'm so, so sorry I let the man who was supposed to be your father convince me not to have you. I'm sorry I ever told him about you. It was the end of March this past year. I was 19 years old, in college and in an on-again-off-again, four year relationship with the only guy I'd ever had sex with. We had a lot of passion and love for each other, but he had a temper that he had trouble controlling. I got off birth control because I thought I was completely done being with him, but old habits die hard.I wanted so badly to make things work, so one night we made love, and we made you. I spent the next week on spring break with all my sorority sisters. After I got back I felt exhausted, but I assumed it was from barely sleeping and going out with the girls for a week straight. Then one night at home lying in bed something felt different. The next day at lunch I finished a bite of food and felt sick swallowing. My heart skipped a beat as a thought lingered in my mind, you. I don't know how, but I felt you already. I wasn't even late for my period, but I went and bought two tests. I waited a few days to take them. The first one took no time at all: little blue plus sign. The second one showed up even brighter. I sunk to my bathroom floor, shaking. This isn't how I wanted to become a mother. I had hoped and prayed since I could remember for God to bless me with motherhood, someday. But things were not right. Your Daddy and I weren't speaking because a few days before he had lost his temper again. I didn't know what to do, so I prayed. Please God, don't let this be happening. Please. Not yet. Against my better judgement, I called your Daddy. He came over and comforted me as best he could; he knew I didn't believe in abortion, but he gently told me that he thought it was the best thing. I told him that I would consider it. I'm sorry for that too. I'm sorry that I wanted to please him and that I had a brief moment where I wanted to not have you. It would be the last time I felt that way, because for the next two weeks all I felt was wanting, longing for you. I went to see a doctor to confirm I was pregnant at the health clinic on my college campus. A nurse there told me that I should give you up for adoption; she asked if I was a christian, and told me to think about what God would think of all of this. She judged me, and to this day the thought of that woman's eyes on my face still makes me cry. Your father eventually put more pressure on me; we went back and forth for over two hours. I told him that I could do it, raise you, love you. He told me it would be too hard; he got angry. He told me I was being selfish. He threw things. He screamed at me. He threatened me. He held me against the wall by my throat. But I screamed back. I told him that I would tell people you weren't his, that he didn't have to be in your life. I told him I could do it by myself. I left his house crying, sobbing, and holding my tummy, cradling you as best I could, saying over and over how sorry I was for how he acted. Trying to protect you from life already. That was when it hit me, I couldn't have you come into this world, not like that. Not with a father who didn't want you, or would hurt you, or hurt me and have you around to witness it. No, baby. That was not the life I wanted for you. That was the life I had grown up with, and though my mother chose to have me, my life was surrounded with heartache because of my father who never wanted me, and how he punished my mother every chance he had for keeping me. I never grew up witnessing a loving relationship. I never felt that I truly had a father figure, and I felt unwanted by him—like I was a burden. I cried and cried and held my hand over where I knew you were growing inside me and I apologized, just as I am now. I asked God to help me make peace with my decision, and I went a few towns over where the nearest clinic was. I was only five weeks, six days. The woman who did my ultrasound must have thought I was crazy when I asked to keep the pictures of you, but I didn't care. I love you so much, and I didn't want to just forget about you. I could never just forget about you. I didn't want the (medical) procedure, though it was the easier way recovery wise; they sent me home with pills and after hours and hours of crying and bleeding, there you were. I held what little bit of you I had, and I hated myself for what I had done. I wrapped you in tissue paper and let you go. I think about you constantly. I cry every day. And I pray, baby. I pray that you and God forgive me. I don't think I will ever forgive myself. I would have been 18 weeks today, far enough along to know if you were a boy or girl, far enough to feel you moving inside me. Now I am empty. I feel empty. I feel regret. But most of all, I feel so sorry that the only comfort I could ever offer you as your mother was through my hand pressed against my stomach and cradling you after I aborted you. I wish so badly that I could have held you, and kissed you, and spoiled you. But I will always love you, baby. Always and forever. Please know that. Please know that as your mommy I did what I felt was best at that time, I did what I thought would protect you the most. I read on another one of these sites where a woman prayed for her baby to come back later, I'm not sure how that works, or Gods plan—but if you could come back, someday, when I am with a man who truly loves me, and doesn't hurt me, and who will love you just as much as I do—please baby, come back to Mama. I will continue to pray for you every day, and continue to love you. Always and forever.

Age: 20
Date: June 25, 2012

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