The unborn child

Unthinkable. Unconceived. Unborn.

I used to be worried about being pregnant. How I was going to explain you that the pill didn’t work or maybe that I forgot to take it, because I was at your place that day.

I used to think how painful will be to announce the news to my parents, who never knew you, even if they suspected that I was sharing part of me with someone else. I wasn’t ready, and I still do not feel my body changing, demanding, and opening to give birth.

Incapable, afraid of the pain and of taking responsibility for someone else’s life. I thought about you, disappearing, letting me in an uncomfortable situation. I imagined your words an also in my loneliness being pushed to get rid of the undesired baby. I felt apart just wondering how to explain that the abortion was my idea, because it was my body who didn’t want to carry your child.

I’m not an unfilled woman who had an idea in her mind, i just can’t stand others being unable to get that their ideas didn’t change my judgement.

Probably, I melt my brain asking me every day if I could be a mother, a real one. Someone able to share, to learn and to explain. Someone capable to give without the burden of sacrifice.

Am I someone mature to raise a person? To put aside all my fears, angry, anxiety and avoid blaming him/her for the changes that it will bring to my life? I’m not and I’ll never be.