After

It's been a week and three days since I aborted my baby. I thought I was coping decently. Today, stupidly, I watched a video explaining the life stages from conception to birth with accurate and fascinating pictures. I stared at the seven week picture out of curiosity and the need to feel reconnected. I watched this in the last hour of my workday.

On the way home, driving 60 mph on the thruway, I could feel that tight hot ball of grief-guilt-anger-sadness forming in the pit of my stomach. A tear slid out, my face hardened, enough crying, dammit just drive. Another tear. An escaped sob to assuage the poisonous emotions wrestling to release. I made it home through blurred vision. My cheeks hurt from frowning and holding back tears. My arms, my heart hurts.

My baby is gone. I killed it. No Sarah, you didn't kill anyone. You made a choice to end a life. Ok that sounds a lot like killing.

I need D. Well sorry, he's out of the country. There's no one else you can really talk to. Not family. Friends don't understand.

I killed my baby. Stop. Just fucking stop goddammit.

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It's been a week and three days since I aborted my baby. Life has gone on. I recovered, physically, quick. I took my antibiotics and ibuprofen. I hung out with my boyfriend, the only person who has any inkling of knowledge of what I'm going through. He's gone now, away for another month. I've survived a week without him. We've chatted over facebook every day, thank god. I need him so bad right now.

Work has been a decent distraction but it's been too slow with all the snow and the time to think is getting to me. Time is crawling by.

Last week I drank. This week? Hell, maybe I'll write.

Thanks for listening.
xx
~S