This isn't going to be an organized typical blog post. It's going to be messy and probably out of order. I just decided to write this after debating if I should or not -- because today, nine years ago, was a day that killed a part of me that I didn't know existed. 

My first pregnancy happened nine years ago and it was very painful, very uncomfortable and very short lived. My boyfriend at the time saw the pregnancy test and the first thing he said when he saw it was "we need to find an abortion clinic." he didn't even ask me what I wanted. And he literally spent the rest of that day sending me links to various abortion clinics telling me to get this done.

I was completely heartbroken at his reaction. And it only got worse. I threw up maybe 3-5 times a day. I couldn't stomach anything. I couldn't even look at food. My motion sickness was insanely rough. Smells made me throw up. I had no energy to do anything. And I was on my own. Every time I threw up, there he was commenting "what a waste of food" or "my aunt was able to do laundry and clean while pregnant, you're just using this as an excuse."

When I started expressing I couldn't do this, I didn't feel right ending a pregnancy, he would get angry and he would literally slam me on the floor saying I needed to stop acting like a child and get this done. I brought it up 3 times and each time I was met with the same anger.

I can't even begin to express how hopeless and helpless I felt. I had no help, I was too far away from anyone I knew. He had me move an hour away from Orlando and anyone who could help me. Being forced to get this done was horrible. I got an ultrasound photo and I have no idea where it went. I wouldn't be surprised if he threw it away. I was told the baby was healthy with a strong heartbeat that I got to see.

My heart broke. Completely. Utterly. Broke. 

When I was sent back to the waiting room, I protested again that I couldn't do this. And he screamed at me in the waiting room telling me if I don't get this done driving out there would had been a waste of time and gas (that he didn't even pay for -- the gas or the abortion fees). 

The actual day of the abortion was Father's Day that year and he left me home alone to deal with this alone to go spend Father's Day with his grandfather. He wasn't home when the symptoms prior to passing the fetus happened. He wasn't home when I passed the fetus. He wasn't home when I sat on the bathroom floor, bleeding and crying. He didn't ask me how I was, didn't check on me all day, and came home acting like it was just another day.

He also had failed to pay the phone bill prior to this so my phone was off. I couldn't call my parents, I couldn't call for help. This is why I only text my mom on Facebook Messenger now. I wish they had the ability to call back then, maybe I wouldn't had felt so helpless and alone.

After all that was said and done, just looking at him disgusted me. I had no idea what postpartum depression was at the time, I had no resources, no help. But looking back at it now, I absolutely fell into a deep dark postpartum. He expected me to keep the house clean, to play some sort of weird ass home keeper now that I was "feeling better". As if I was just getting over a flu or something. 

I ended up leaving my ex, after he wouldn't leave my damn house. With him telling me I was lazy and useless because "I haven't done anything since the abortion". I told him "you feel your baby die inside you and tell me how you'd go on." he replied with "you're so full of shit, you never even wanted kids so I don't know why you're acting like a child right now." 

Triggered is an understatement. Angry, is an understatement. I was so much of both that I didn't even respond. I just blocked him and kept him blocked. For years. He's still blocked, actually. 

The silver lining is that I would meet my future husband in just a few days. Someone who's helped me navigate and allowed me space to mourn. Someone who would end up in the delivery room with me twice. I have two very adorable, smart, loving and compassionate girls. 

If you had told me 9 years ago today that it'll be okay, I wouldn't had believed you. Not at all. Not even a little bit.

I think of the baby I never got to meet. The baby that was taken from me. And while I don't fall into a crying mess as much now than I have before, it's something that is burned into my soul. Something I will carry with me for the rest of my life. 

There is no justice. There is no battle. There is nothing I can do about what happened. As much as I wish there was something I could do, there isn't.