Chapter 6

.

It was over, or so I thought. Maybe some women can have an abortion, and just move on with their lives. Maybe they can just pretend it was never a real child, but I couldn't. I found myself thinking of her, wondering if I'd made the right decision. My mom was there for me during this time. So was Alex, and Megean. Not my sister Bridget though. We never told her I was pregnant, we said that I was just going to the doctor for a check-up. I think Bridget might have suspected something, but then she had her own issues to work through. Me and mom suspected that Bridget was gay, but mom was clear that it had to be her choice when and if to come out to us. Bridget was about to turn 15, maybe she wasn't ready to come out yet. Anyway I wasn't sure if Alex and/or Megean was dissapointed in me for what I had done, it's possible it was just my own guilt. They really did try to be there for me. They just had one major weakness, they were human.

.

I began looking into the possibility of therapy for my guilt. I did this secretly, not wanting people to know about my depression. There weren't a lot of doctors who specialized in this particular brand of therapy. This guilt, sometimes known as Post Abortion Syndrome, is not currently recognized by the American Psychiatric Association. Ofcourse they didn't recognize Post Traumatic Stress Disorder until 1980, over 140 years and seven wars after the organization was founded. There are some places that help post abortive women, mostly buddhist and christian places. Being an athiest at the time I didn't want to get involved in religious matters. They have also been criticized for trying to make women feel guilty. Take my word for it, they can't make you feel guilty unless you already feel some guilt. Obviously not every woman feels guilt over this decision. Guilt is a pretty subjective thing. Some people will steal a candy bar when they're 6, and feel guilt about it 70 or 80 years later. Other people will commit acts of genocide and never lose an instant of sleep over it. Most people fall in the middle somewhere.

.

One Friday night in April, I was suppossed to work a shift at the movie theatre. But it was slow and they sent me home early. I decided to go to a local party, maybe meet up with Alex. And there I saw him, and Megean, kissing. I know it's cliche, finding your boyfriend with your best friend. It's cliche for a reason. We were teenagers, dealing with hormones and making stupid decisions. Despite what they say in this scene, I'm very skeptical of their claim that this was the first and only time they cheated like this. As you can see by my yelling, I was very angry with them over this. I used words I'd rather not repeat, and broke up with Alex. This was not however the moment I decided to kill myself. Let's not make this into some Romeo and Juliet romance where we couldn't live without each other. We were just teenagers, we could each get over the breakup. But in all honesty I guess it was part of the reason I would eventually blow my brains out.

.

So, not surprisingly, Alex and Megean went to the prom together. I went stag, or whatever it's called when a girl goes without a date. I danced with a few guys, and just tried to avoid my ex-boyfriend and his new girlfriend. It was actually a pretty good night, but I was feeling the stress of college graduation coming up. I had applied to a number of colleges, not sure which one I wanted. Wasn't even sure I wanted to go. Leaving home, the fear that I wasn't smart enough to make it. This was a stressful time. A few weeks before graduation, there was an incident at my job. I'd been working at this theatre for almost two years, and I told them from the beginning that I couldn't work past 11pm. But then they scheduled me to work until 2am. I told my supervisor I had to leave at 11. He tried to force me to work until 2, and he was a jerk about it. In hindsight maybe I could have been calmer, but as it was we got into an argument. Hard to remember if I quit or was fired, but I was done. Mom was pretty understanding about it. She said I'd be in college in a few months, had to leave that job anyway. I could probably get a different part time job in college, but I had no real reason to expect that my next boss would be any better than this Al. It was a fairly stressful time for me.

.

Mom wanted me to go to college, to have a good life. She knew I'd have to leave home at some point, and wanted me to be safe. So she wanted me to know how to use a gun. She's not an NRA nut, I heard her say many times that she wished that guns had never been invented. But the sad fact was that a lat of bad people, a lot of rapists, murderers, and psychopaths had guns, so she wanted me to know how to use one. We went to the shooting range and learned how from a retired police officer. He made us recite all the rules of gun safety before I even held a gun. The first and foremost rule was "Always treat a gun as if it's loaded, even if it's not." Like any other skill it required a fair amount of practice, but over time I got better. Mom kept the gun in a safe, stressed the point that this was not a toy, it was only to be used in an emergency. The instructor noticed that I was a bit nervous around guns, he said it was a good sign. The people who are excited about shooting guns, who don't want to listen to safety lectures, those are the people he worries about. A little fear keeps people alert, prevents them from acting recklessly. This fear was real, a good part of me didn't want to die just yet. Still, I couldn't help but consider the possibilities.

.

I think I know the exact moment I decided to seriously consider suicide. It was a few days before graduation. I was watching an old tv show "That 70s show." I think it might have been the pilot episode. The father of one of the main characters told the kids "Enjoy these years kids, they're the best years of your lives." One of them then responds "So, it's all downhill from here?" The father than admits "Pretty much." I really started thinking about this, maybe he was right. My life at the moment was stressful, the thought of leaving home and starting college along with some new job scared me. I knew that college was like highschool, but harder. And as big a jerk as Al was, maybe my next boss would be even worse. I began to realize that a person gets maybe five years at the beginning where there life is good, were all they have to do is eat, play, and watch television. Then 13 years of school, more if they go to college. Usually there is overlap with some part time job to add more work to your load. Then there's the workforce, whatever job I got would mean a lot of work, and still a lot of stress about paying the bills. Most of my generation had accepted that we would never have it as good as our parents did, that we'd have a difficult time finding something significantly worse. And if I had a family, raising children would be difficult. I did wonder if I would be able to have other children, without remembering the child I had aborted. And if I was lucky I'd have maybe five years at the end where I wouldn't have to work and my children would take care of me. But given my genes, I feared that my last years would be plaqued by ALS, I'd have trouble speaking, swallowing, wouldn't even have control over my own body. The rest of my life was not looking particularly appealing to me. I began to seriously consider suicide.