Everything Feels Wrong

empty

I use the word 'empty' a lot, to describe how I'm feeling.

But I'd never before felt this kind of empty.

This empty was like, something had been taken away from me. But not just anything. A piece of me.

Her.

Since the day I found out, I'd called her she or her. I wasn't going to call her 'it', because she was more than an object.

She was a little bit of me, a little bit of the boy I'd once known, and a lot of undefined that I'll never know the potential of.

People tried to pressure me to keep her.

"You'll regret it."

"Abortion is murder."

The angry men outside of Planned Parenthood with their signs.

The problem here was that part of me wanted to.

Part of me wanted to be her parent.

Part of me wanted to feel good about the bond I was forming with her, not the terrible guilty feeling I had associated with her, knowing what I had to do.

The sensible part of me knew that I'd be disowned and stripped of health insurance and financial stability the minute I told my mother.

Part of me also knew,

that every time I saw her,

I'd see him.

I'll never forget the shame I felt walking out of that building.

I'll never forget the regret, the sadness, or the longing.

But I'll also never forget the relief.

Let me tell you, right here, right now, that the day you pay two grand to have your unborn child torn from you, is going to be, quite possibly, the most conflicting the day of your life.

You will feel scared. And wrong. Graceless, gross, disgusting, and selfish. But you'll probably also be relieved, and like a weight has been lifted from your shoulders. But that weight will have been replaced with a shadow of a weight that once was.

Oh, but most of all, if your experience is anything like mine, you'll feel

empty.