I was raped the first week of May. By a guy who was suppose to be my friend. He was always nice and funny, but he knew I had some trauma from my childhood, and he took advantage of that. It wasn’t the first time I had been sexually assaulted. I was molested when I was 6 and a few times after that. I tried to forget about being raped and it was taking a toll on me. I was doing drugs and cutting myself more frequently. I wanted and was going to kill myself. Then I found out I was pregnant. What was I going to do? I was only 18 at the time and my mom had kicked me out and I was staying with different members of the church and their families. I couldn’t raise a baby. I could barely take care of myself. I wanted to die, how was I going to live for a baby who came out of me being raped? I wanted nothing to do with the baby’s father. Every time I would go to church and he would be there, it would send me into panic attacks. I talked to a good friend of mine, and she’s older so she is like a mother to me, plus she has been there for me more than my own mom has, and I’ve only known J for a year.
J came to pick up me the day I found out I was pregnant and we just went driving around. She just kept telling me that this wasn’t the baby’s fault, that it was an innocent in all this. That I needed to take care of myself because I was the only one who could take care of the baby for now. That I needed to eat, drink water, and stop doing drugs. That was going to be hard. Stopping the drugs. I wanted to numb the pain of it all, and that’s what drugs did for me. But I grew up with an alcoholic mother, I was not going to be that way to my baby.
I came to realize that this baby was a blessing from God. That from something bad I got something good, my baby. I had wanted to have a purpose in life, and there was my purpose, to be a mother to this baby. I slowly started taking care of myself and eating. I started getting excited about the baby. Started thinking about names and looking for a doctor. Looking up cute ways of how to decorate the baby’s room. Looking at clothes. Everything.
A week before my birthday, (mid June) I had went to my dads house and my cousin was there, he was under the influence and raped me. I didn’t report it or anything because I didn’t see the point of doing so. I talked to J about it and she wanted me to go get checked out, but I couldn’t get myself to do it. I was scared of what would happen. June 13th at 2 o’clock in the morning, I woke up because of really really bad cramps. I also was bleeding. I tried calling J, but she was asleep. So I drove myself to the hospital, where I stayed til 10 o’clock in the morning. I had lost the baby. I was crushed. Still am. I couldn’t believe that I had lost the baby. I know in the beginning I didn’t want the baby, but this baby was part of me. For the short time that I had it, it was mine. We were in it together.
It’s been almost 2 1/2 months since I’ve lost the baby, baby M. And I am still having a hard time with it. Seeing other baby’s, makes me think of what my life would be like… how far along I’d be, if I would know whether the baby was a boy or a girl. I just want my baby back. There’s this empty place that I can’t fill inside, and I’ve been trying. I’ve been continuing to go to church and to hang out with my friends that are good influences, but it is so hard for me. I know God hears my prayers and my cries. I know He is always there for me and He is with me.