Brick

I went to the clinic yesterday. There were protesters and security checks and nervous looks and a layer of sadness so thick you could scoop it up and serve it over ice cream. There were girls there getting the abortion I got when I was 18. They sat close to their equally young boyfriends and clutched their hands and sniffled quietly, blotting tears with their sleeves. I did fine at the clinic. I was upbeat, even.

I woke yesterday morning at 5:30. I couldn't sleep. I laid in bed, looked at the ceiling, felt the balloon full of pudding occupying my pelvis at the moment. I got up, peed, showered, painted a little, and cried. I cried great big sobs of sadness. I did this so I would feel the pain, feel the hurt, feel it fully and robustly.

When I got home I could feel the flicker fading away. Something just felt different. I threw up and took a long nap. Now I've taken the second dose and am cramping pretty bad. It will all be over soon.