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Abortion. Even the word is hard to say now. The first time I ever heard of an abortion, I was 14, and a girl at school was doing a paper on the topic. We were asked our opinion and I don’t think I even thought twice before saying it was wrong. I’m Catholic, but that wasn’t the issue; the issue was that it was killing babies, and even though I got where people were coming from, I said I could never do that. I became close friends with the girl that was writing that paper over the course of high school, and when we were 17, she had an abortion. I looked at her differently; I worried about her dying and going to hell. I loved her. she was and still is a good friend, but I didn’t know if I liked her anymore. Over the next couple years, my views on abortion didn’t change. I knew it was wrong. I knew several girls that had abortions and each time, I felt differently about them as people. Sometimes, I understood why they thought it was a good choice, but I still said I could never do that. When I was 19, I got pregnant for the first time. The guy and I had been on and off for years. We were currently really broken up because I found out he was cheating, but we were trying to work it out. I lost the baby at ten weeks and was devastated. I had never been so heartbroken in all my life, and that was the day I knew I wanted to be a mother. When I was 21, I got pregnant again. As soon as I found out, I knew I would lose it. It was something I was afraid of, but ready for and I made an effort not to get attached. I lost that one at five weeks. Both times I had gotten pregnant, it was scary and I really wasn’t sure how I was going to make it work, but one thing was for sure—abortion was not an option.

When I was 25, I got pregnant again. This time I was using birth control and was surprised I got pregnant, but it was my fault. There were a couple times I screwed up the birth control, and that’s when babies happen. I owned my responsibility and was getting ready for the nine months of pregnancy, when I again lost it. At 27, I got pregnant for the fourth time, and I had given up hope at this point. I went to the doctor and had blood drawn as soon as I felt pregnant because I wanted them to keep track of my HCG levels so that if anything was wrong, I would know right away. My second visit there showed my levels had dropped when they should have been doubling every week. The doctor told me I could go home and wait it out and eventually my body would abort the pregnancy on its own, or he could remove it for me. I thought about it and decided I didn’t want to go through another miscarriage in my bathroom, and I got it all taken out that day. I felt badly because I wanted every baby I carried, but I wasn’t able to keep them. I had given up, but secretly was hanging on to the fantasy of being a mother some day.

One day when I was 29, I was driving with my boyfriend, and I just got a feeling I was pregnant again. We used birth control every time so I thought I must have been wrong, but I really felt it. I went home and took a test—two lines. I thought this one felt different, it’s hard to explain, but I thought this one was my chance! Every time but the first, I had pretty much just waited for the blood; I knew they weren’t staying. This one I felt confident about. I went to my boyfriend's to tell him and was so nervous. We were a new couple, I had lost my job the day before I found out I was pregnant, he wasn’t working either, and to top it off, my family was very disapproving of our relationship because he was black. I’m Hispanic and Sicilian; old country has a way of showing up and being ugly. Anyway, I knew he wouldn’t be thrilled, I wasn’t either, but it was a baby, and abortion still wasn’t an option in my world. When I told him, he did not react the way any woman would want the man she loves to react. He told me to get rid of it. He said he would leave me, and that we were too new for a baby. He said that his other children wouldn’t understand (he had three from a previous relationship). He told me flat out he didn’t want it, it was a mistake, and that he wouldn’t have anything to do with it. I was crushed, but I told him that was his choice, and that I wouldn’t kill my baby. I told him I had lost them before and there was no chance I could do it voluntarily. We fought for hours, and I finally decided to just go home. I went to my mom's and told her. I figured she was going to tell me everything would be OK and that I didn’t need him. We are Catholic. I KNEW she wouldn’t tell me to abort it. I was wrong. She told me that I had to go if I was going to have his baby because it would cause problems with my dad. She said that I couldn’t have a baby when I just lost my job, and that she didn’t know where I was going to go if my boyfriend didn’t want us either. She said, “You know what you have to do.” I told her I didn’t want to and that I couldn’t do that, and she just shrugged her shoulders and said she didn’t know what to tell me. She walked out of my room and that was the last we spoke of it. I talked to a few family members about me staying there for a while to get things figured out, and everyone pretty much said they didn’t have room. I talked to my boyfriend about it a few times, and he didn’t bend even a little. I was stuck. I was essentially homeless, I had no job, money, health insurance, family, and now my boyfriend was high tailing it. I felt like I had lost everyone and I couldn’t lose him too. I didn’t think he was wrong in his reasoning, but logic didn’t matter to me—emotion did, my heart did, the fact that I knew this baby was inside of me and that I loved it mattered to me. I was still stuck, and I knew every day that passed my pregnancy was at risk because of my history and that the bay was becoming more and more of a baby. I thought I was ten weeks, I went to the doctor and found out I was five. Looking back I don’t know what I was thinking. I was stupid and scared. I was alone and afraid of having it, afraid of losing it, afraid of losing the roof over my head, afraid of losing my boyfriend. I made the appointment knowing I was wrong. I knew I didn’t want to do this, I knew I was killing my baby, even if at only five weeks, it wasn’t a whole lot to speak of to the doctors and to my boyfriend (or anyone else for that matter). To me, it was my baby and I just wanted him so badly. I didn’t know how I could explain to this little person that no one wanted him, his dad didn’t, his grandparents called him a monster because he was mixed. How do I explain why we live in my car? How could I keep him safe with no roof or food? How could I even stay safe during my pregnancy in my car? I couldn’t believe everyone had turned their backs. I was a coward, and I went into that appointment crying and praying for forgiveness, praying for something to happen to keep me from being able to have it done. Nothing happened and I lied down and let a “doctor” suck my baby out of me.

I have hated myself since that moment:10/9/2012 at 1:15 pm. I say now that I lost my life that day too, but it’s just taking me longer to die. It’s a slow and painful death, and I deserve it. I’ve prayed and begged for forgiveness, I’ve apologized to my baby so many times I can’t count, but none of that matters. It was the biggest mistake of my life, and I made it because I was backed into a corner. I made the biggest decision of my life for other people to be happy. Since then, my boyfriend ended up leaving me because I needed him, and he said he couldn’t be there for me. My grandpa died three months to the day after I killed my baby; my grandpa raised me and was my dad in every way that counts. My world was in pieces because of the abortion and losing my grandpa and my boyfriend just threw his hands up and walked away from me. He just said I was too much now, and that he missed the fun girl I used to be. I needed him because he was the only thing I had left. I didn’t think I was wrong for needing my boyfriend during these times. I talked a lot about the baby, and he knew I was a wreck over it, but he had been clear that he was relieved and even told me he wanted me to feel like I didn’t have a choice. To him, our baby was just a problem and he was happy it was gone. With all this loss and guilt, I lost myself. I had thought about suicide after the abortion because I couldn’t live with myself. I told my boyfriend I wanted to kill myself and that I hated myself. I told my mom too. No one cared, no one understood. When my grandpa died and then my boyfriend left, depression didn’t even begin to cover where I was. I know without having had the abortion, I could have handled the breakup. I loved him very, very much, and I would have been sad to lose him, but I could have taken it better. I think I could have even handled my grandpa leaving me better without still being in a place where I cried everyday over my baby. It got to where I was crying every single day, and sometimes I didn’t even know what about.

When I was younger, I used to cut myself. I know that doesn’t make sense to a lot of people, but for cutters it makes perfect sense. I won’t get into all that here, but since the abortion, I relapsed and cut again for the first time in almost ten years. I started taking pills and drinking, I have pills and booze hidden away at all times. I’m still thinking about suicide every day because I don’t think I deserve to live anymore and because I’m just so very tired of hurting. I don’t know if I’m Catholic anymore because I don’t see how they could want me. I know it goes against the Bible, but I don’t see how God could ever want me back. How could I ever be forgiven? Having the abortion tore apart my foundation, damaged my soul and broke my heart permanently. I would literally give anything to have it to do over again.

I think it’s worth mentioning that no one at the clinic bothered to tell me anything about the abortion (how it would go and the devastation afterwards), they didn’t show me the video that I hear so much about now detailing abortion, they didn’t give me any information about options, they didn’t even tell me it was ‘a bunch of cells’ or just ‘a product of conception’ ( I hear they tell this lie to girls all the time). They just referred to it as ‘the pregnancy.’ They said almost nothing to me at all, just asked if my boyfriend was forcing me to do it. I didn’t respond right away, I looked down and away. I needed her to press the issue, but I just said no. They asked me if I had anyone to help me, and I said no. They knew I had no job and that I didn’t really have a place to live, and still they didn’t offer any help. I was crying the whole time. One lady came over to me and said, “You don’t want to do this do you?” I said, “No I don’t, but I have to.” She just walked away. They did tell me it wasn’t going to hurt, which was a lie. It hurt very much, and I’m not talking about me hurting now; I’m talking about it hurting when it was actually being done. I was flinching in pain and felt everything. It was terrible. The entire thing was and still is terrible.  I hope that sharing my story saves someone, the life of one poor innocent baby or one mothers because when you carry regret and shame this deeply, and when you hate yourself as much as I hate myself, you are dead too.

Age: 30
Location: San Jose, CA
Date: June 27, 2013