This is a true story about my life. I was told to write a letter, a letter I didn’t want to write because I was afraid of dealing with my emotions.
For your information I wasn’t pregnant nor have I ever been pregnant.
I wrote this letter in June of 2012. I wondered if I should post it or not but that if I did, maybe I could help someone else in the same situation… I was asked to write this letter to help the grieving process move forward. I have a mental illness and when I have my good days, I always wonder back to this letter. Did I pay the biggest price anyone can be asked of to be well, in a sort of way, to think clearer.
I was told by my doctor at the time to never have kids, that I wouldn’t be a good mother. That once pregnant I’d have to stop my medications, I’d go crazy and when my child would be born, I wouldn’t be able to touch or see him or her. After the birth, I’d be pumped back full of medications and it would take around two years to be somewhat ‘normal’. I’d probably lose custody, my child could have the same mental illness that I have and what would I do if we were sick at the same time….
My options:
Give up my child and give him or her for adoption.
I was also told I could get an abortion.
Or…have a hysterectomy.
This is a part of my story... and this is my letter.