So I was sending text messages to try and gather friends together to watch Captain America: Civil War and found out that many didn't have my new number. Since I became homeless... I was soon phoneless, and it was a serious rough patch in my life. Even before that though, I realized that friends older than me were already moving in together, getting married and such.. If I went back to contact friends I had growing up I would bet 90% of them have children, planned or unplanned.
I was too afraid to ask, but a friend slightly younger than me (I think younger) I found out is married and has a baby. I was stunned. The last that I'd spoken to her, she was still throwing wild parties that the police would come and shut down.. She'd get drunk and make out with another girl... Hearing that this friend had a husband and a child there was a huge unspoken question weighing in my mind. She mentioned that she didn't have time to even see Deadpool, one of her favorite characters... So, was her baby an accident?
Growing up I was always the responsible one. Ever since 12 actually. It's been a while since I've had to use the pregnancy test in my first aid kit, but I still keep one there, cause while it's never for my use, it always seems to be for a friend... And the box of condoms I shove in their face and insist they should use.
I was speaking with a friend who has no idea who this person is, and who any of my past friends are, and will likely never meet them and I was struck with a question that tore at my soul, but made a good point. "You're lucky that you never did get pregnant. You ever use a test?"
I've never used a pregnancy test for myself, which is true, I haven't ever. I've never really had any suspicion that I was pregnant... or at least, since years ago. I've never told a soul about the horrible torture that went beyond the abuse I endured with my first boyfriend.
People speak ill of exes all the time, but my first boyfriend was a sadist in the truest definition of the word. I honestly, even to this day, don't know if he planned out what he wanted to do with me, or his actions were those of a sick person acting out in mental anguish. From his behavior I know he must have some mental issues of some sort, perhaps split personality disorder or schizophrenia... he believed in wild and crazy delusions. He was a compulsive liar and his home life was ridden with issues starting back with molestation by an uncle as a child, or so I was told.
I recall his house being so filthy that I was shocked at how dirty it was. I felt as if you took a paint scraper you might be able to remove some of the thick, dark, greasy residue that coated the floors, walls, tables, chairs, sofa, stairs, banisters, sinks, tub, and everything else. The tub was broken and had disgusting black filth in it, I had no idea what was in the sink, and the entire house stank of cat urine. I wanted to leave there after arriving, so I would show up there if we were going to be driven some place by his mom and aunt.
It was the evening that he got me to stay and chill in his room that he began to abuse me sexually to add on to his physical abuse. My apartment wasn't safe, he knew how to jimmy the lock open, though it was pretty easy it was broken. I was underage, I couldn't go to the cops, and my dad wouldn't help me... so I felt stuck. I begged him to at least not get me pregnant, to at least use protection. Of course he didn't. He insisted that his incessant use of tobacco and alcohol would drive his sperm count to such low numbers that he could use me however he wished. He was pretty unabashed about it, too. My roommate later confronted him in front of some people about things she witnessed him doing to me. He had us both afraid, he had access to guns and weapons, gang ties-whom I met, and the marks he left on me, some have scarred... My cervix is scarred so even if my back were uninjured I might not be able to carry a baby to term correctly.
Every month around my period's due date I would freak out... all because I was an object to be used and thrown away by a crazy delusional boy, and my father wouldn't help me get away or contact police. My friend I think made the comment to try to shame me... suggest that I had actually willingly dated this guy, and willfully had sex, and super enjoyed it... and the cysts on my cervix, too I suppose.
My second boyfriend at least was better because it was verbally stated he would use protection and he told me that he would get what he wanted. Years later when I finally tried to kill myself because I couldn't take it any more he claimed that he didn't realize that I hadn't been consenting to sex... Despite often I would say things like "no" and "stop", and there would be verbal threats or physical threats onto objects to show violence. He has such selective memory, too. Another compulsive liar.
If I had just managed to start sleeping around when I was 12, but used condoms, like my friends, maybe things would have turned out happy for me. heh.... but no I had to get myself drugged and raped by the neighbor.
