Section 2A in the chronology of my entries.
I was an overweight, awkward looking teenager. I’m not even being modest, it’s completely true. Greasy hair, freckles and braces on my teeth. The struggle was real. It’s amusing in hindsight. I’m happy to have improved with age rather than peak in high school. Anyway, it was character building. I was smart, and funny as fuck. By 15 I’d kissed a couple of dudes that I wasn’t especially proud of and let them touch me a bit, but didn’t land myself a proper boyfriend until 16 and in Grade 12.
John was 18, an over confident ego-maniac and became my other half. He’d tell me I was pretty and that he loved me. I’d sneak out on school nights to see him, and spend all my spare time with him when I wasn’t at school or working. I gave him my virginity, not unwillingly, though there was little pleasure in it for me besides the psychological payoff I got for pleasing a man sexually. It hurt. He was huge, actually too big for the condoms we got our hands on. He’d break them, and I had no other contraception. Not surprisingly, I fell pregnant. I wondered why I’d come home after school and had the irresistible need to vomit. I shamefully had a local doctor refer me to an abortion clinic in Townsville. We scraped up barely enough money and we skipped school to take a bus to Townsville. That was a rough day. We couldn’t even afford the antibiotics recommended for after the surgery straight away. I cried at school the next day, all day. I couldn’t even grasp the immensity of what I’d done, but I was miserable. Of course I hadn’t told my parents. I’d covered all bases in my preparation for Termination Day. I’d forged a note for my absence. I became quite adept at that. So crafty of me. Teenage girls can be devious, but so can suspicious mothers. I’d been complacent and left the discarded paperwork for the procedure in my rubbish bin in my bedroom. Mum discovered it and both her and Dad confronted me. They were furious, disgusted and ashamed. Their words just made it worse. They couldn’t believe I’d aborted a foetus. Quite frankly neither could I. I felt filthy, damaged and very low in self esteem. I had let him violate me and they were disgusted.
I officially left home the day I graduated high school. I barely got along with my parents, who were happy to see me go. I was the black sheep. The fuck up. I shifted to Townsville and lived with his family while I started uni. His Mum had taken me under her wing. She was nothing like my Mum. She was feisty and opinionated and unashamedly chainsmoked. She accepted me into her fold immediately. John told her about the terminated pregnancy and she was sympathetic and compassionate. She had been there in her past and understood.
John and I did everything together, even showered together. Conversation was never dull. For all his faults, he really did make me feel valued and loved. My parents hated him for being unemployed and a smoker and mostly for knocking me up. I could see their point, but I felt loved with him. Connected. Secure. We thought we were soul mates.
A few years later, l found out he’d kissed (in retrospect probably fucked but I’m grateful my immature self received the diluted version) our newly-lesbian flat mate. I was properly devastated. I felt so betrayed. He was like an extension of myself. We eventually tried patching it up, but it got messy enough for me to fuck his older brother as my twisted revenge. I’d always been repulsed by Pat and his sleazy attempt to lure women. Revenge is a dish best served cold though, and I was smug enough to boast my misdemeanour to the wrong people. That was the end of my welcome in that family. His Mum rang me to verbally abuse me. I shut my mouth and copped it all. I deserved the sting of every shred her words ripped off me. That conversation wiped all the smugness from my attitude…
(To be continued)