This doesn't make it better
I just killed my fourth. Some sort of poison this time. It was as easy as pie, felt almost like a bad period through all the Vicodin.
But I cried the night before, thought I was gonna lose my s*** and went walking out the front door as fast as I could, no destination. I ended up at the African Methodist Episcopal church. I’d never been inside in my life, but the Episcopal part seemed a teensy bit familiar, so those were the steps I settled on. I cried there, feelin real bad, and feelin like my life had just amounted to nothing. There was a homeless woman sleeping by the entrance. She didn’t notice me, nor did m(any?) of the cars driving by on the street. To be fair, I didn't ask after her affairs either.
Instead, I felt suddenly old, washed up, and empty. Killing (aborting sounds to clean and clinical for the facts of it all) this baby seemed just one more confirmation of the fact. Oh, I'd thought about keeping it. I'd had visions of neonates and sugarplums dancing all through my head, through my dreams for a few weeks prior. They wenr something like this: I’d keep my job. I'd miraculously get hired for next year despite my "condition." The boss would be surprisingly and pleasingly non-judgemental, and even I’d get a little paid maternity leave as a bonus.
*He* would count his lucky stars and gladly agree to moving in with me. (He said he loved me, right? Wasn't beeing supportive the logical conclusion of love?) He’d take care of the baby while I worked, and I’d leave plenty of freshly pumped breast milk in the freezer. Beautiful. It wouldn't matter that we couldn't sleep. We'd be tired, but happy. He could be as ambitionless as he pleased, because at the end of the day he’d still be a good, loving dad- the best he could. I knew and know that much to be true, regardless of the outcome. There would be laughter, and I would love that baby more than life itself. What’s a job? What’s money? What’s shame?
Apparently all I’m driven by…
I wanted that baby, but not enough. So weak, so driven by fear, always! Maybe she will be (would have been…) a lovely little girl. Smart, if a little neurotic. Nobody’s perfect. She would eclipse all the loss, all the meaninglessness, irresponsibility.
And yet, here I am. With nothing and no one. With a vague sense of drowning, no more.