SoC #92 Stream of Consciousness about Sluts

I don't exactly know what a slut is, but I think it has very little to do with your sexual activity.

If you wear provocative clothing, take seductive pictures, flirt with too many boys, you might be called a slut regardless of what's going on in your bedroom. It seems to have more to do with etiquette than actual sexual behaviour.

If a girl is conservative in her dressing, and discrete about just how busy she is in her bedroom, she doesn't qualify.

My friends and I use the term "slut" for boys and girls alike. And we mostly use it as a joke. We have one Scottish friend who is having the time of his life in Canada. He's not used to getting any girl he wants, so he's taking advantage. Canadians love accents- it's a thing. Anyway, he's already making out with someone random before both his feet are in the club. He's a "slut." Contrast with a "player" who juggles people and knows how to play the field.

I think this world is trying to move away from double standards. I saw a definition for slut recently that got me thinking. It read "a woman with a man's morals." There was a time it was defined as "a woman with loose morals." It's quite nice that people are acknowledging a double standard.

Whatever you wanna call it, there is a very real phenomenon for men and women alike involving sleeping around. In romantic comedies, we have the player that ultimately falls in love. His promiscuity attributed to feelings of confusion/loneliness/emptiness. And of course, commitment issues. So is that what it is? Are all us sluts/players running around with commitment issues?

I know I am.

Personally, I don't care what people do in their bedrooms, and I don't think anyone should. What I find most interesting is the social behaviour we scorn.

Honestly, I hook up with and date tons of guys. Tons. And I get minimal shit for it. Sure, there's gossip about me, but nothing I'll lose sleep over. Overall, I'd say people are pretty good to me. At least to my face. You never know. Meanwhile, I have a housemate who is rarely sexually active, and she gets tons of shit for being slutty.

So why would that be? I actually think the distinction between being "easy" or not is an important one. Sure, our guy acquaintances may know I'm no virgin, but they also know they don't have a chance. On top of that, I'm pretty cool (more well liked). But most importantly, I couldn't care less what people say. I very much follow the motto that 'people are going to judge you no matter what you do, so you may as well do what you want.'

So two things to carry with you in this world:
1) Nobody's nose belongs in your bedroom. Whether you are gay, straight, queer, polygamous, asexual, whatever. Do you.
2) Do what you want without fear of being judged. It's your one life. If you have good friends that listen to your stories and laugh at your jokes, who cares what other people are talking about. They're usually just jealous, anyway.

SoC #93 A First Date

So I'm home for the holidays, and I have been since Sunday. It is now Wednesday and Christmas Eve.

There's something lovely about home, isn't there? No matter where you move and how broken your home, there is a je ne c'est quoi about coming home to see your family, whoever that may be.

Reminds me. Merry Christmas Eve! It's about 8 degrees Celcius in the city of my humble abode here in Canada. Outside is a dark grey. Dark grey skies, conifer trees, fallen brown leaves. Unheard of. We've always had a White Christmas here. In fact, last year, the whole city was frozen, and we were left without electricity for five days.

When I got back home, I matched with a ton of new people on Tinder. One guy turned out to be kind of interesting. And great on paper. 25 years old, 6"1, fancy marketing job at a huge company, graduated from one of Canada's finest business programs, has an identical twin. Oh, and he's ginger. Let's call him Ginger. Not usually my thing, but it works here. It's kind of charming.

So him and I text a bit back and forth, and he asks me if I'd like to go for drinks. The answer was a resounding yes. I was so bored, I would've texted him all night anyway. I ask for half an hour, so I can get ready.

I straighten my long, black hair. Then mascara, black eyeliner, and smokey eyeshadow to complement my big, brown eyes. That's usually all I do. I wore black jeans and a flowy black tank top that flatters all the right places. Ready. Oh and my black hipster glasses. Hate glasses, so I take them off during one and one conversations.

Ginger picks me up at 10pm. I walk over to his car, and open the door.

"Hey. So I wear glasses. Hope that's okay" Just trying to break the ice.
"Oh wow, get out. I've been deceived."
I joke about leaving, but instead, I go for a hug.

He drives us downtown, and we go to a small pub. It was mostly dark, with some dim lighting, and surprisingly packed. I ordered a fancy girl drink, and he got a cider. And we talked for hours. Definitely had chemistry, and tons in common. He even let me rant about the biological basis for the differences between males and females. I let him talk about the marketing of polysporin's new eczema brand. It was really fun. After a round of tequila shots and another round of drinks, we took a walk. The city was lit with colourful christmas lights, so it was lovely. He held my hand after a minute, and so we were holding hands.

In the middle of this busy, downtown street, there was this small area with about a dozen benches facing each other. There were blue christmas lights lighting up the square such that all the benches were blanketed in blue light. We sat there for a minute. We sort of cuddled, and then we walked back, holding hands.

Then he drove me home. It was lovely.

As much as I love my college campus life, and I do, there is definitely something to the adult dating world.

SoC #94 Thank Goodness for a Plan B

If the universe has ever given me a sign, it had to have been last night. 

I don't know whether to laugh or cry over the irony. This honestly couldn't get more ridiculous if I had made it up.

So last night was Friday December 19th, 2014. That's two weeks and one day since my abortion, and exactly two years since I had sex for the first time with someone other than my ex-boyfriend.

Let's start there. It's December 19th, 2012. I had just written my last exam, officially putting an end to the fall semester of second year university. It was statistics for biologists. God, that was a helluva course. The line up to see the professor during office hours was so long that it went down the hall, and half the people never got to see him at all. You'd think professors would figure out they're not doing a good job when their students are unanimously confused. They don't though. Not usually.

Anyway, I was newly single. Well, it had been four months. We had broken up right before frosh week. My ex took my virginity, and he was the only person I had ever been with. In fact, I was with him for years before we had sex. Sex meant a lot to me. I wasn't about to have sex with anyone I didn't love, so I was eager to see my ex over the holidays. I knew we were going to hook up when we got back home from college. I just knew it. And after abstaining for four months, I could not wait. I straightened my hair, and shaved, and whatever other maintenance in anticipation of that next day.

But in the meantime, it's 9PM, and I need to go out to celebrate the end of exams. I had been texting this one guy all semester. We met at a party during frosh week. He only had eyes for me, which made me laugh because when he finally saw me, he really saw me. Let's call him Tal. He's the douchebag type for sure. He had blonde hair, bug eyes and one of those valley guy voices- the kind that suggests that he's athletic and cool and he always has been. And he is mad athletic, and get this, he is a cheerleader. So he does backflips, and carries girls that do backflips, and all that only adds to the cockiness that is Tal. I first saw him in lab class in 1st year university. I had a boyfriend though, and moderate depression, so I was invisible (because boyfriend + depression = not your most attractive). He's not conventionally handsome or anything, but he has a hot-douchey look, and I hated him. Or perhaps I just hated that he always looked past me.

That night, we decided to meet up at a party. But of course, I got way too drunk, and I blacked out by 10pm. I woke up in the morning in Tal's bed. We kissed, talked and cuddled. We started talking about sex or something when I mentioned that I had never been on top before.

"Well, you have now. 3 times last night."
"Hm?"
"You were on top last night."
"What?"
"When we had sex last night."
"We didn't have sex last night."
"Yes, we did. After the shower."
I feel my hair. It's not straight. It's fallen into medium sized ringlets. We had showered last night. Fuck.
"We couldn't have had sex. I'm on my period." But I can't feel the tampon. "Where is my tampon?"
"I don't know. Maybe it fell somewhere. You're on birth control right?"
"No."
"Fuck."

Cue tears from a very innocent, confused and heartbroken 19 year old girl.

So we had sex. I had sex with someone other than my ex-boyfriend. And I was going to see my ex later that day. I was heartbroken. Who am I? How could this happen? What is happening to me? My tampon was gone. We did not use a condom. It was all too much.

Tal and I walked over to Shopper's Drug Mart. He bought me Plan B, and I took it when I got home. Then my housemate, Spencer, and I went to the hospital. Spencer has been one of my best friends since first year university. Her room was right beside mine in first year. She was my very first friend. She's a beautiful Chinese girl with an eye for fashion. She's kinda youtube famous for it. So we go to the hospital, and they removed my tampon from somewhere within me. Then I left my college campus to go home for the holidays. Of course, I liked Tal after this incident, but he kind of let us fade away after the holidays.

That incident changed me. I would no longer need to be in love to have sex. I do what I want to do. Or, more accurately, I do who I want to do.

Fast-forward exactly two years. It's December 19th, 2014. I had just gone in for my abortion check-up the day before. The nurse was great.
"So we checked the tissue, and everything came back to normal. You're also negative for chlamydia and gonorrhoea. Everything looks great on our end."
"Awesome!"
"How have you been? How has the recovery been- emotionally, physically?"
"Well, I was severely depressed during the pregnancy, but the recovery went really well. I'm just happy to be feeling normal again. I had some light spotting then heavier bleeding then spotting and all that ended yesterday."
"Great, that all sounds normal. Is there anything you'd like to discuss?"
"Can I have sex now?"
She laughs. "Yes, you can have sex now."
Good. I had sex two hours ago. Oh, with tinder-fella Phil. You know him. I'll tell you about that later.

The nurse leaves, and the doctor comes in. She insists that I stop using condoms, and start using a new birth control method. Dear reader, condoms are 80-85% effective. This 97% bullshit does not take in the very real possibility of the condom breaking. I've used condoms my whole life though, and only had a problem that one time, so I was not feeling the urgency of the doctor. I asked her for IUD prescriptions, and I planned on looking more into it.

So I told my other best friend Kate about my last two weeks (sorry, still have to catch you up), and her response was, "Get the IUD ASAP. As in today." And I should have.

I ended up seeing Tal at 2am that night. He has been trying to hook up with me again since third year. I have not been down, but I woke up that morning hurt and slightly drunk (because of my Australian guy Axel- he'll be in a future SoC), and Tal was the only person who hadn't gone home for the holidays yet. We made plans to hang out later, and I regretted it as soon as he came over. We put on the movie Hitch. He waits about 5 seconds before he kissed me. He tasted like alcohol and food. It was tolerable, I guess. I put away my laptop. He started feeling me up, and taking off my clothes. He played with my boobs, which you know drives me crazy. I have DDs. They're as perfect as natural DDs can be, if I'm being honest. Guys love them. The hook up gets heated, and next thing I know, he's putting on a condom. First I'm on top. God that was good. I finished in that position, actually. He kept saying, "you're so goddamn sexy." He's always thought that. And "you feel so good." Then missionary. He finishes eventually. Falls to my side. Looks down at his penis.

"Omg where is the condom? No. No. No No No No No."

I was just silent.

Turns out the condom broke. Slit right down the middle.

I told him it was fine. It is what it is, and there's nothing we can do. He appreciated how "chill" I am. I am not chill. I'm freaking out, and I'm fcking paranoid. But we did all that we could do. It was 3 am at this point. He left my house at 8am, right when the store opens, and came back at 8:30 am with Plan B. I took it. I took it for the second time with the same guy, on the same date, two years later. And the odds that the condom would break again right after the abortion are so tiny. But the doctor was right. I need that damn IUD.

I know the pill is going to work. It's very effective. I'm already spotting and feeling like dizzy/weak shit. But to be honest, it has to work. I can't go through that again. Being pregnant. I'm honestly afraid I would hurt myself, because I really can't go through any of it again. Needless to say, I'm getting an IUD as soon as I can.

Fcking Tal. I've taken plan B twice in my life (both times on a Dec.20th), and I've had sex with Tal twice in my life (both times on a Dec.19th). If signs exist, this one could not be more clear.

SoC #95 I Hate Him Until He Texts Back

So tinderfella Phil hasn't responded to my last text. It's been like 22 hours. I posed a question in it too, so not responding wasnt optional, but intentional.

I'm hurt. I'm trying not to care, but what the hell! If you like someone, you respond. that's not over analyzing, is it? If someone likes you, they respond! If they don't like you, they may forget or intentionally ignore you. Either way, on your end, the end result is the same: no response.

So I hate him. And I'm checking my phone pretty often to see if he's going to goddamn reply. And i hate that im doing that more than I hate him!

Last night, I deleted our conversation off my phone, and I deleted his number. I do that when I worry that I may like a guy more than he likes me. If they never reply, their number is forever gone. If they do, I just add them back as a contact.

Anyway, this is all very lovely. I feel used. Lovely, just freakin lovely.

SoC #96 Tinderfella

So I'm in love.

Not actually. I say that sometimes when I find a guy that I have instant chemistry with. Swear it's not as uncommon as you'd think.

This guy- let's call him Phil- I matched with him a few days ago. Just less than a week. Usually I'd have to talk to someone for a while before I meet them in person. Clearly not the case here.

In case you don't know- you should know, but in case you don't- Tinder is a smartphone app designed to hook up people based on the distance between them and their physical attractiveness. It's kinda funny when you say it like that. It just shows you picture after picture of people that live close-by. You swipe left if you're not interested, and you swipe right if you are interested. I swear, that's it. If you both swipe right, they can message you. Well you can message them too, I suppose, but girls don't usually do that.

Sorry boys, we just don't. I can barely keep up with all the messages guys send. Not about to start more conversations.

It's wildly common on my university campus. There's lots of disparity in how people use the app, but usually it's just to hook up. Not for me though. I like "seeing" people. I like to be with people who like me, and vice versa. No commitments, just consistency.

Anyway, so this guy Phil and I start talking. God, he's so not a Phil. Too late now. You're used to him being a Phil. He's a philosophy major. We talk a bit, and I knew there was chemistry. He's also fourth year at my school, so we already have all that in common. And he's hella cute. Not to mention he lives about 20 seconds from me. So when he asked if I wanted to hang out later today, I said sure. It was either that or studying, anyway.

So I go over, and he's right at the entranceway. He has a labrador puppy, and it came running up to the door as soon as I got in. Well, he says it's a puppy, anyway. Some puppy- it was about my size. But pretty cute actually - kept jumping up to kiss me. It didn't even miss. It would kiss me right on the lips.

Phil and I talk about the puppy and stuff at the entrance, hug, and walk upstairs to his room. It honestly did not feel like we were just meeting. It felt like I was just coming over for the millionth time. The house was surprisingly nice for the student ghetto. Everything was wooden and spacious. His room was cute too. Just some paintings on the wall, a TV and a very comfy, very large bed.

We put on Love Actually - despite Phil's groans- and then we cuddled. He was fun. He's one of those guys that puts on different voices to make something more ridiculous. Like if someone in the movie said something kind of funny, he'd repeat it in this falsetto voice. Made me laugh. He was also super cuddly. He'd hold my hands, wrap me up in his arms, pet my hair, you name it. I don't know how it sounds, but it was hella loving. Of course, we kissed. But it was one of those drum roll kisses where you just hover for a while before you kiss, and truly live in the moment for a second.

After that, we fooled around periodically during the movie. I stopped him when he was unbuttoning my pants- I told him I was on my period. As you know, I'm not. I can't have sex because I'm on abortion-sex-probation. Man, I really wanted to though. I've been so turned on for like a week straight. And I've essentially hooked up with someone (new) everyday this week. I'll tell you about that later. No sex though. So just going about life next-level horny.

He'd play with my breasts, and it would drive me crazy. I suppose they must be super sensitive, because guys always get me with that. I was so turned on. Had to have him kind of thing. So we fooled around. And it was passionate. Like I-need-you-right-now-but-cant-have-you passionate. Fun. It was fun. Then we'd calm down and watch the movie and start up again. In the end, I ended up going down on him. I never do that. There. I bolded it. Because I seriously never do that. But I liked him, and I just got so into what we were doing.

He finished. Naturally. And asked me if I wanted to spit it out. I said yes, because I didn't hear him. I had already swallowed it. I never do that either. Then he gave me water. Good. Cum is gross.

More cuddles. And when the movie was over, I left. I had to go study. His house is also 5 seconds away from the library.

He walked me down, and I walked up to the door to unlock it. I turned around to say goodbye and he was already giving me a pouty-kiss face. He's silly. I laughed. I kissed him. Then I told him to text me, and I left.

He did text. Shortly after. With a "good luck studying!" Ah, reminds me. I need to go study.

SoC #97 The Homeless

I'm writing this, because I hope someone as ignorant as me will read it and change their mind about how they treat homeless people.

I just came back from lunch with my lab. I'm a Biology major, if you didn't know. And I'm doing my honours thesis with a genetics lab.

Anyway, I went to this lunch, but on my way there, I saw a homeless man. He was sitting down on the snowy curb, with a sign that read "Vet with P.T.S.D." followed by some other stuff. Don't know if I forgot the rest or if I never properly read it at all. The sign was made out of cardboard. Pretty typical. And he himself was appropriately dressed for winter- scarf, hat, jacket. He had deep creases on his face and a mole on his left cheek. He looked kind of bummed, but I suppose there's no other way to look when you're sitting on a snowy curb with a cardboard sign.

I usually walk past the homeless, to be honest. I've never been fond of them. I know society- our society- frowns upon that point of view, but it was how I felt nonetheless. I've always been a care-for-yourself kind of girl. It's not that I don't let other people care for me; I do, but because that's our society's mentality. As a server, I'm supposed to monitor your drinking. If you get drunk and do something stupid at any point in that state, even if it's the next morning, you can sue me, because I shouldn't have let you get that drunk. So that's our society, and I follow it. But something about people asking other people for money and goods always struck me as ignoble to the highest degree.

I tried to learn more about poverty, and I did. I have a friend who used to be homeless, and he always just spoke of doing drugs and engaging in violence. So it only shaped my point of view further.

To be honest, he's not my friend. He's my best friend's boyfriend. ex-best friend? She was my best friend in high school. She found this guy last year. He was abusive and awful, and I hated him. She isolated herself from everyone to be with him. Including me. Especially me. At the time, I was so mad at her. I couldn't fathom how she'd pick a guy over me. I didn't even ask her to do that. I would've been there for her. SHe kind of just did it. I realized later that she's not herself. She's developed so much anxiety, she can't even take the subway. She dropped out of school. She has no friends left. She has HPV- from him, of course. Anyway, I figured it all out too late. By the time I reached out, she wanted nothing to do with me. I think she thinks my messages were condescending. I'm president of a bunch of things here, and I have the highest grade point average at my university. She knows all that, so when I commented on her leaving school, she just pictured I was being pretentious. I wasn't though. The messages were coming from the bottom of my heart, not a high horse. Anyway, she doesn't want anything to do with me.

Sorry, the homeless. Not usually a fan, as I said. But that sign today. It screamed "I shouldn't be here, but I am. And this is how I got here." And of course, there is nothing dishonourable about a vet with PTSD.

I had $15 with me, so I put 5 in his jar. I've never done that before. And then I sat down on the curb beside him. We talked for a while, and I ended up being 20 minutes late to lunch.

His whole life was the military. When he was a kid, in high school, and then finally when he joined the service himself. He was in the infantry at some point, and he said that's where all the "damage" happened. I think it was 1976 when he joined. He also mentioned later that he bought Pink Floyd tickets right before his service. He wasn't supposed to leave base, but he did anyway. They were his favourite band. When he got back, he had to spend a night in military jail. It sounded awful, but after that, they were pretty easy on him.
His supervisors or whoever, they would bother everyone else, and then they'd go to him and say, "Roy, you did what you were supposed to do? Don't wanna go back to jail right?"
"No sir."
And then they'd move on. He thought that was hella funny. It is, really. I'm happy he went to the concert anyway. I bet it was fun. I don't think I would have, if it were me, but I'm happy he did.

He's been downtown since 1993. That's my whole lifetime. He wasn't homeless the whole time though. He worked at a bakery. He was a chef. An executive chef? Is that a thing? I think that's what he said.

Ugh, I can hear my housemates using the washroom. Only con to having your room right beside the washroom.

Anyway, he was a chef when he was out of the service. But then he beat someone up or something. That's what might happen when you have PTSD from the war. Things trigger it. Different things. And you're reacting before you can even process it. And then a sorry is too late. That's what John said, anyway. John's his first name.

So John took two weeks off. He tried to go back to work after, but he couldn't. He didn't know how to be a citizen in our society. It must be hard. Being a citizen of war and all, and then expecting to be a part of "normal" life right after.

He couldn't do it though. I don't think he knew how to do it. I think he tried, but he really couldn't. So he got some supplies, and lived in the woods for 5 years. Now he's on the streets. He's getting help at the mental hospital. He says he has a few people in his life. Six, actually. Six people that make sure he's doing what he's supposed to be doing. They remind him about appointments. They come looking for him if he hasn't been around for a while. So on.

He mentioned that he had to learn how to be an adult. He knew he was an adult, but he had to learn how to be one, he said. "Okay I've got to shower. If not everyday, then every other day." He said that, as an example. I thought that was kind of funny. Because you don't think of it, but it's true. If you never had to shower that often, you wouldn't think to shower that often. You really would have to remind yourself.

Anyway, it all became very clear to me.

I didn't used to have sympathy for homeless Canadians. I went to Kenya once. There were tons of people there who were robbed of their lives. Sometimes for political reasons, but not always. They had no help. Not like here anyway. They couldn't just sign up for welfare. Well, this Canadian vet I spoke with. How in the world is he supposed to be on top of all the welfare deadlines when he doesn't know how to live in this world? Such a capable man with his incapabilities carved out by his military experience.

I don't know. It makes you think. Sure, some people with PTSD got a real life together. My dad has it, and he copes. But some didn't, and they need help. And that's okay too.

SoC #98 Pro-Choice

I want to tell you about the abortion now. It was a few days ago. Today is Sunday. No, Monday. Okay, so it was... 4 days ago. It was four days ago.

I actually had lots of choices for who I could take with me. The clinic allowed me one relative/friend. The boy really wanted to come, but he had an exam in the afternoon, so I insisted that he shouldn't. A few good friends wanted to come. All of them would have to leave just before the ordeal was over (for exams), so I asked my sister. I didn't want it to be her, to be honest. We are close, but we fight a lot. She had said to me, a week prior, that I should "chill out for a while." We were talking about my pregnancy, and she meant sexually. It was the most irrelevant and offensive thing anyone has ever said to me, when context is taken into account. I told her that, hung up, and ignored her for hours. She apologized repeatedly, and I accepted the apology, but it never felt right that she should be my accompaniment.

To be honest, I wanted the boy to come. I still don't completely understand why. I've never even liked him all that much. As soon as I was pregnant though, he was the only boy I cared about. I stopped talking to other guys - really unlike me- and kind of paused some other relationships I had. I craved only his support.

So we get to the hospital at about 9am, and as we are waiting in the clinic, we do some reading. I comment out loud about how the brochure says I can get pregnant again in two weeks. She makes another comment about "chilling out" for a while, and that was the end of any sense of trust or understanding that I have ever felt with her.

I go into the doctor's office by myself. I no longer wanted her to be there. They spoke about birth control options- the furthest thing on my mind at the time. They were all so nice- the nurse and the doctors. They gave me two pills - a gravol and some other pill to dilate my cervix. Then I was allowed to leave for an hour.

I went home, by myself. The boy came over. We laid down in my bed. I kind of just laid on him, and he had his arm around me. We talked about the whole thing, and then about a lot of random stuff. It was really nice. He stopped doing that stranger thing, and I couldn't have been more grateful.

When my hour was up, I went back to the hospital. They gave me lots of pills: morphine, antibiotics, whatever else. I got in a hospital wardrobe, and then into the hospital bed. I was supposed to fall asleep, but I spent a long time just being drowsy. It was nice though- I felt comfortable and taken care of. A part of me thinks I could have stayed in that state all day if they let me.

They woke me up a few hours later. My sister came to the bedside. I didn't ask her too, but I was too drowsy to resist it. She should be there anyway. Even considering that stupid comment.

They took me to the exam room again. I put my legs up. Usually that's awkward or something, but it wasn't that day. They'd wrap each of my legs in thick blankets before they asked me to put them up. So I was quite warm and covered, ironically enough. They gave me a mask for laughing gas. I'm not actually sure if that helped, but who knows.

Text message from my server friend. Wants to go to dinner. I'll be ready soon. I should tell her that.

So anyway, legs up. Then they started doing things. One thing going in me after another. I don't think it actually was painful, looking back. Probably mostly just weird. But at the time, I didn't like it, and I wanted it to end. I was quite upset actually. I just wanted it to end. Then the suction vacuum thing. It's a funny thing. I knew there'd be a suction, vacuum part, but I didn't really realize what that meant. That meant a few minutes of sucking my uterine lining out. Literally just a few minutes of feeling your insides get sucked out. In hindsight, that wasn't particularly painful or anything either. But again, I remember thinking it was awful and just wanted it to stop.

Oh, and my sister was there the whole time. She held my shoulder. I think she thought it helped. I suppose it did.

The whole thing was over in no time at all. They told me I did great. I don't really know what that means. I was crying a little bit, I think. and I just asked, "did it go okay?" THe crazy thing is that what I was actually about to ask was, "Is she okay?" As if they gently removed my embryo, and let it rest somewhere else. I stopped myself though, and just asked if everything went okay. It did. No complications. It was quite smooth. And I knew that.

After all that, they put me back in bed. They gave me a snack: english muffin with butter and orange juice. It was the greatest snack I have ever had. They let me lay for a while, and then they said I could go. I kind of wanted to stay again.

My sister and I went to a restaurant on the way home. I realized part-way that I was too drowsy, so I skipped out on eating, and slept for hours.

When the drugs and tiredness and everything wore off, I was really happy to be just me.

The only really negative feeling I have had since the thing was when the boy and I said our last words to each other. Sweet nothings. And I knew I wouldn't talk to him again. I was sad after that, but I blame it mostly on the hormones and just sharing an experience. Not real feelings towards him. Not feelings he deserves, anyway. Other that that, I was essentially myself right away. Not depressed anymore, not isolated anymore, and not confused anymore. I'm pretty sexual, to be honest, and even that came back right away. No sex for two weeks after the procedure. Four days has already been tough. I've already met a few new guys, and I went on a date with that guy I was seeing before.

I'm different though, of course, but grateful that I can still recognize myself. I genuinely didn't think I'd ever feel like myself again. I'm also really shocked that my grieving period wasn't as intense as I expected. I have to say that I loved that embryo, and I still do, but I couldn't do it. Not physically, not emotionally. And I'm just grateful that I have life back. It turns out that the abortion was a really comfortable experience- it was the right thing for me. To be honest, it was the cure, with the pregnancy being this parasitic disease. I'm sorry, but that's how I feel if I'm being honest.

I've been reading about a lot of other people's stories though, and if this is something you're interested in, I definitely recommend www.afterabortion.com. Aside from stories, it has lots of supportive resources and helpful tips.

SoC #99 A Secret Heartbeat

I've been through a lot in this life. I'm not saying that as something to be proud of. Actually, maybe I am. I am proud of myself for getting through hell and high waters. Is that the expression? Hope so. But that's not the point. I've been through a lot, but nothing like this.

It was the strangest experience, and it's been so hard placing my emotions, which has made it harder.

I don't know.

So I told you about finding out I was pregnant. At the time, I didn't think it was a huge deal. I think I was even happy about it. I don't know why. Maybe because I've always had this fear that I couldn't bear children. Maybe because I have some issues. I'm not sure. But it was surreal and not awful.

I woke up balling my eyes out. The next day, I mean. I think I was thinking "I can feel her." Im not sure what I meant. I think I meant that I could feel that I was pregnant. I went to my school's walk-in clinic, and the receptionist looked like she wanted to jump over the desk and hug me when I told her why I was there. I'm in my last year of university, by the way. I graduate in May. They couldn't really help though, so I went to a... clinic. I was going to call it a termination clinic, but I don't like that term. It's a women's clinic first and foremost. Anyway, I thought I could just walk in and ask for an abortion pill. I could have the medical abortion right then. 2 weeks pregnant, but 1 day aware, and the nightmare would be over before it started.

They wouldn't let me do that. Their policy is 6 weeks. An ultrasound at 6 weeks to see if there is a viable embryo then options. No doctor until then. The clinic was strictly a termination clinic. I was crying before the secretary finished explaining it all.

I went to see the guy who did this to me. That's what it felt like at the time- a guy doing something to me. We were not on great terms anyway. He was a bartender, and I was a server at the local pub. Our relationship was a casual one. Very college. Very "we're-young-and-good-looking-and-just-having-fun." And he is good-looking, bright and "nice," but he has one of those painfully common names. It had gone on for a few months, whatever we were doing, but he ended it the week before all this- at a staff party, no less. Needless to say, he didn't handle it very well, and I suppose I was sort of hurt.

Anyway, we met at the coffee shop, and I sort of cried or something. He'd hug me, but it was one of those awful hugs that come from people that feel like they should be hugging you, Ya know? Like hugging you for you, not for them. Lots of hugs happen that way, but they don't FEEL like they're happening tht way. I don't know. I like hugs, but I hated these ones. I wanted to be one of those people that could handle it by myself- one of those people that don't "need" anyone. I suppose I'm not though, because I asked him to be there for me. He wanted to help. He's one of those guys that thinks he's hella nice, so of course he wanted to help.

Turns out that meant texting me "hey, how's it going?" every so often. At first I thought it was really sweet, because he was texting quite often. I'd answer good or okay or something, because how else are you supposed to answer a text like that? But I wasnt okay. I was severely depressed and utterly confused.

When I first found out I was pregnant, I wanted to tell everyone, but I couldn't tell anyone. It was all I could think about, and people around me were doing all these normal things, and speaking to me, and I wished I could just tell them so that they could stop talking to me and asking me to be a part of normal life. But it's the most deeply personal thing that had ever happened to me. The most deeply personal thing that everyone should, but cant know about. I remember getting ready one Friday night  then just curling up in bed and crying until I fell asleep. That was my life.  Lots of crying. Lots of staring at the wall. Lots of loneliness. So much loneliness. So isolated from everyone- because how could anyone possibly understand? And then there's nausea, severe exhaustion and hot flashes. The physical symptoms hit me pretty early on, and they were completely debilitating. I really felt like I couldn't do it. I was counting down the days until that 6 week mark ultrasound.

I implied to that guy that I didn't want to text how I feel. So we met at a coffee shop. He listened to me be depressed or something- I don't really remember. When I was done though, he asked me when I was working that week. He'd do that. Some sort of awkward small talk thing that made you regret the whole thing in the first place. I hated it, so I did it back. I asked him how girls were treating him. He told me he was seeing someone. While he was talking, I realized that he hooked up with her a few hours after he knocked me up. A few days before he ended it with me, he already had a girlfriend.

By the way, that's where post 100 came from. This guys moving to Europe next semester, and now he has a girlfriend or whatever the hell. What an idiot. Anyway, all that together was too much. I was so hurt, I was numb. That means I'm in too much pain to deal with- it's only happened once before. After that, I blocked his number and ignored him. I couldn't be more mature than that. His sight made me sick to my stomach. He was sorry, naturally. "Nice guys" are always sorry, eh?

Anyway my iPhone must be faulty because I'd get his messages anyway. Finally, I answered back. I said something along the lines of "fuck you and your half-ass messages." But in more words, so less harsh. He sent a pretty thorough apology. He even offered to get me food or let me punch him or stuff. I didn't really need someone to get me groceries. I needed support, but he meant well, so he became involved again.

I went to a counsellor before the ultrasound date. I wasn't sure why at first but I went anyway. I
Suppose I was trying to figure out why I was so damn depressed. She spoke a lot about women having a moral dilemma or feeling like it's the end of the world. I couldn't relate. It wasn't the end of the world, and I've always been pro-choice. I started crying, and the counsellor was shocked. Don't know why- Of course I was going to cry at some point. I realized why I was so depressed as she spoke. I wanted this baby so badly. I couldn't have it. I have dreams and goals. I'm too young, bla bla, there was no way. Yet there it was. A maternal instinct beyond logic,

We went to the ultrasound together. There was a heartbeat. That's what the lady told us. I don't know why she'd tell us that. We walked back to campus after the appointment, and I cried when he left.