"For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels or demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord." Romans 8:38-39
There were several of us sitting in recliner chairs that cold winter morning in February 1975. All around I heard murmurs from others in various stages of recovery from their abortions. Beside me sat a young 20-something woman. "First time?" she asks, "Don't worry. It gets easier with each one." I know that she's talking about abortion even though she doesn't actually say the word. Close by another young girl is sniffling quietly.
"Whatever have I done?" I ask myself. For the first time in my life I feel completely alone and empty inside. No longer do I have the joy of a living being inside my tummy. The thought crosses my mind, then, "I've made a terrible mistake" -- one that will have long-term consequences for me, I think. I grown inwardly and turn onto my side. (Away from God?) I hurt physically and mentally.
Within the hours I am dressed and driving home with my mother in silence.
All day I rest in my bedroom with the shades drawn and door shut. I just want to be left alone. Music is softly playing from my stereo system. Silent tears fall onto my pillow. My younger sister checks in on me. She doesn't understand. Judy only knows that I've had some sort of procedure and am very sad. Soon, though, I resolve to move along with my life. As quickly as turning off water from a faucet, my heart shuts out the pain.
No one talks to me about the abortion on this day -- or in the days that followed. We all carry on as if nothing unusual has happened. My parents sent me to see a counselor. Jerri was youthful, energic and, anorexic. She was helpful, and, more importantly, affirmed my choice to abort.
That night I call the love of my life, the guy who had professed undying love for me and had stood by and silently encouraged my abortion. My boyfriend has gone on a date. "How could he do this to me!" I fume. "After all I've gone through for him!" Crushed, alone, and feeling utterly despondent, I weep bitter tears -- not only for the loss of my baby, but for the loss of life I'd known before my pregnancy. Nothing was the same -- nor would it ever be.
Our relationship struggles for the next several months. We argue, break-up and then reunite every couple of weeks. I begin to diet in an effort to lose the 'baby weight', convinced I am "fat". I lose more than 20 pounds before the end of our junior year in high school. This is the first clue that I am feeling out of control.
By the end the schoolyear I felt betrayed, used and utterly worthless. Something in my heart clicked. No more, I think to myself. I vowed that no one would ever have the chance to hurt me like this ever again. My hardened heart grew bitter as I began to plan for the final break-up.
School ended and so did my relationship. And, that's when my life began to spin out-of-control. Drinking helps to dull my anxieties and feelings of self-worthlessness. Smoking cigarettes helped me control my weight. I didn't feel pretty anymore. The difference in my sophomore and junior school photographs tell the story. My eyes look sad.
Our senior year is a blur. I graduate and plan to attend KU that fall. And when I reach the campus, my life really begins to crumble and fall apart. I found myself spiraling into an eating disorder. My life was completely out-of-control. I ran away to California for three days only to return defeated.
My heart felt wounded and battered. My belief in God was still there, but I no longer pray to Him for support. I reasoned that my abortion and subsequent rebellion had set me apart. There was now a rift between God and me that could never be reconciled -- or so I thought.
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