She sat in her room staring at the wall. They had no idea of the things that she had done in her past. They had no idea of who she really was. They were all so perfect – they could never have done as she did – and she couldn't let them find out.
She had tried internet support groups – she couldn't bring herself to admit what she had done out loud – to see the faces of people that were supposed to care about her when they found out how much she had failed in her life – and saw how far away she was from who she could be.
Someone had once told her that it wasn't a big deal – that it happened every day. But she was supposed to be different. She had these dreams when she was a kid. She was going to help people. She was going to make a difference. She was going to succeed. She hadn't done any of that – actually she had given up – and she couldn't forgive herself for that.
She would never let her family find out about her pregnancy or that she had given her son to someone else. She would find peace with it someday – on her own – and no one would have to know.
She knew that she had made some progress in the past three years. She had talked to people on the internet and then pushed them away when they got too close. She had found poems and songs and stories that helped her to think that adoption was a good/responsible choice and she knew in her head that it was – but her heart – her heart was a different story. She had wanted so badly to raise that baby – but she couldn't. She didn't feel like she could love him – she didn't have the energy – she just couldn't. And she had failed.
If anyone knew the thoughts that she had had when she was pregnant and after he was first born, she would have been locked away forever. The final straw was when she considered smothering the child – she knew that he needed to be elsewhere – that she should be alone.
Then her sisters had come along and she couldn't tell them. She couldn't tell them that she hated a child. She couldn't tell them that she hated herself. She resented what everything that happened had made her become. It was killing her to be her.
She had bought a journal today, she thought that it might help her to move forward. "I, Paige Matthews, don't think I can take it anymore."