The red velvet curtain has closed, the heavy blood stained material will part no more. I am no longer pregnant. I cramped pretty bad, took a lot of pain pills and now its over. I passed what I assumed (and was later confirmed, thanks Nurse Wretched) to be the actual placenta and fetus. It was a soft yet firm ball of tissue that bounced out of my panties like a rubber toy. I picked it up in my hand and felt that still, wet warmth. At that moment I knew. I knew.
The abortion itself wasn't as bad as I thought. I took the meds, fell asleep, woke to the sound of G knocking at the door, woke to talk with him a little and then shared the delicious Japanese food that he brought. He laughed at how fucked up I was. He cuddled with me some, got me another pain pill when the time came, and then laid with me as I drifted back into the codeine dream. When I woke at around four the lights were all off. I got up and took a shower, brushed my teeth, smoked a bowl and laid back down. At this point the waves of sadness, relief, and longing took over me. I cried. When G opened his eyes he asked me what was wrong, but didn't budge to comfort or hold me. I felt something die inside. I didn't feel that he was there with me.
I called that morning to his work after he left and tried to break up with him. My heart was breaking, I didn't know how to cope. In my haze of hormones and emotions and pharmaceutical opiates it was the right thing to do. He didn't call me back that day. I cried off and on late into the night. I woke early with no notice from him and took his things with me to his house to leave them there. Seeing his things made me feel so sad and lonely that I couldn't bear to have them in my space.
Yes, in retrospect, I feel that I over reacted. The last weeks have been hard on me physically and emotionally. I haven't had the time or energy to really think things through. Well, rationally, that is. Sure, it's a fool that looks for logic in the chambers of the human heart. I have to really look at things with my eyes wide open due to my depression. I tend to inflict my crazy on those I love. I'm working on that.
I got a text later that afternoon from his phone, the one that had been MIA for the last month. We talked. He told me that he loved me and that he didn't want to split. He got sad and got drunk that night and instead of walking home, he walked the mile to the house where his phone was and got it turned on that day. I can see that he is trying. I can see that I have my own set of issues to work through. I can see that we need to take it a day at a time and cross each bridge as it comes, because I see this man as someone I could potentially have a future with. I know that a man is not a plan (thanks to Ms Single Mama) but this one is one I'd like to keep around for a while if I can.
Yay for Easter, our spring time re-appropriated holiday of fertility and rebirth. I affectionately refer to the holiday as Zombie Jesus Day, because really, what else do you call something that has come back from the dead? And why do so many Christians chide me when I tell them that I'm afraid of zombies? After all, their religion is based on it.
