My period was two weeks late. The thought of it made me afraid but I brushed it away. “It was never regular anyway,” I told myself. Then another week passed, and another. I finally gathered up my courage to buy a pregnancy test from the nearest supermarket. Deep inside, I already know how many lines there was gonna be but I cried anyway when I saw it. I was trembling with fear. I knew what I had to do, what I wanted to do.
Being the coward that I am, I asked my boyfriend to find me Cytotec. It was hard to find but he managed to find a pharmacy that was willing to sell him the pills for $10 for each. Expensive for an 18 years old, so I bought only four pills. Two was taken orally while the other two were taken vaginally. About half an hour later, the pain was becoming unbearable. He was with me that time – he made it bearable. I took a flight the next morning to the other side of the country where I was studying that time. I still remember the guilt in his face when he sent me off to the airport. Little did I know, that will be the last time I ever saw him again.
Fast-forward a few days: the bleeding stopped earlier than it should have. I knew something was wrong, so I took another test. I felt like the whole world was collapsing when it showed two lines. I was still pregnant. I immediately asked my boyfriend to buy another 10 pills. It needed 12, but I didn’t have enough money. I started to think if that was a sign that I should keep him, my child. I talked with my boyfriend about this, but he told me off and told me to be done with it. He bought it and shipped it off to my college.
This time I was alone. I bought a lot of foods for me to get through the night. My ex-boyfriend was on the phone during the first 2 hours of this. He listened to me crying in pain. I couldn’t sleep. My body was shivering from the cold (one of the side effects of taking the pills.) My body was in pain, but I wasn’t crying for the pain. If I felt that terrible pain, how painful will my baby feel? This will kill him! I felt shitty. This happened three years ago, but one thing I can’t ever forget. When I stood up and blood started flowing down through my knees. In seconds, I was standing on my own pool of blood. I was shocked. I cannot move. I keep crying. I cried and I cried, but I know this was all my fault.
The morning after that, I called my ex-boyfriend to share my guilt. He picked up the phone at first. He stopped picking up after a few days. I felt guilty. Even more than when I was alone facing all the pain and stress, alone. I thought he was bored at me because all I did was cry whenever I called him. I didn’t have anyone. I couldn’t talk to anyone about that. He eventually ignored me for months after that. I assumed we broke up. I still try to call him once in a while, but he never picked up. I cried myself to sleep every night for at least 8 months. I eventually got over the break up.
It wasn’t long until I found myself in another relationship. I got a serious trauma from the abortion so I always declined when my current boyfriend wanted sex. But being a guy that he is, he will persuade me and just put his dick inside me even when I refused to. He never wear condom. He didn’t like it. He will give the morning after pill on the next morning. This goes on for a few months. I was then faced with another terrifying truth: I was pregnant, again. I did abortion, again. But this time I wasn’t alone. He didn’t leave me. He said sorry, he said he’ll never do it again. But the cycle repeats itself again just a few months after my second abortion.
He kept asking me to do my third abortion. I kept postponing because I wanted to keep this one. I ran away every time he asked me to take the pills. I read about what food not to eat, what sleeping position will benefit my child. I even read about places I can send her later after she is born. It doesn’t matter if I am not the one that watched her grow, but I wanted her to live. I didn’t want to kill my children anymore. On my thirteenth week, my boyfriend sat me down and he asked me to take the pills. I begged him to let her live, but he said we cannot afford a baby. After hours of crying, I finally took the pill.
This time it was different. I saw my child. She got hands, and legs. I held her in my hands while I cried my lungs out. What have I done? I took my child’s life away, again. I saw her perfectly formed body and held her close to my body. My boyfriend saw her too. We cried. We buried her near our house. We visited her everyday, when we can. I cried every night thinking of my great sins.
It was my choice to do the three abortions. I am now suffering from genophobia. It is probably for the best.