Fantasies and figuring it out [part 2 of 3]

I never ended up going to the Eating Disorder Clinic.

It was too costly and I had used nearly all of my insurance allotment at the first center, which cost over $1000 per day.

I would have been able to go for only a week before the money ran out and my parents certainly didn’t have that type of cash.

I went back to school, nervous, with very few tools to handle what I had already been dealing with and now I was pregnant. (no one knew)

I moved from all my AP and advanced classes to “regular” classes and for the first time in my life had very “average” (read: IDGAF) grades.

At 4 months along, I found out I was having a little girl and I called to let Sarah know, she answered crying,

“We can’t adopt your baby!”

“What? Why?”

“It costs $50,000 for a private adoption and we don’t have it!”

I was terrified.

Now what?

The thought of having a baby and having to live with my parents until I was 25 made me want to kill myself all over again.

I wanted freedom and my child certainly didn’t ask to be born into such a tumultuous family, it wasn’t fair to her.

When we (her father and I) mentioned that we might want to look into adoption; we were met with more blood thirstiness than we had ever seen.

I felt like I had a piece of steak in front of a bunch of angry and starving wolves.

“I know someone who can’t have a baby! You should give it them”

“My neighbors would love to take your baby”

“I know someone who will give you money for your baby”



I couldn’t. I just… wow.

We weren’t just GIVING AWAY some FREE FOOD!

This was a CHILD.

We found an agency where we could choose from a group of applicants, who her family would be.

After being shamed at school for mentioning even thinking about adoption, I never mentioned it again.

The assumption was that I was keeping her and going on welfare.


Giving birth was nothing like I expected.

Everyone told me:

“Don’t hold your baby, you’ll get too attached and you will want to keep her”

but I always knew, she wasn’t “mine” to keep.

The thing I knew (from my own mother trying to control me and my experiences) was that SHE was her own person, and SHE did not ask to be brought into this situation and I could not control whether she moved or kicked in my stomach, therefore, she was not mine to “own”

I was given a huge responsibility to make sure that SHE was given the best chances.

What I didn’t expect, was the realization of how PERFECT…. absolutely PERFECT she was.

Not in the “OMG look at her cheeks and toes” kind-of-way..

but in the “She came straight from the divine and has LIMITLESS potential and magic” kind-of-way

The kind of perfect that made me think,

“We must all show up like this… so how do we get so fucked up?”

This was the first time I KNEW there was a source greater, orchestrating this whole ordeal, and I remember saying to her father,

“Even if I’ve never done anything right or ever will, I know that we did this right”

Her birth gave me a resolve… a resolve to be a better person.

I needed to be WORTHY of her to meet me someday.

I also knew without a shadow of a doubt, I couldn’t kill myself.

What if she found out she was adopted and learned her birth mom committed suicide and she thought it was her fault?! 

I knew I had 18 years to get my shit together and I had NO idea where to start.

All I knew was, when she met me, I wanted her to be PROUD OF ME.

If you’ve ever watched TV (LOL) you’ve seen reunion stories.

You’ve seen soldiers coming home from wars and the families with balloons and signs, waiting for their loved one.

Those were my fantasies.

I had two pictures of her in my head:

My daughter as a beautiful infant that I never wanted to forget.

My daughter as a grown adult, coming off a plane, recognizing the signs with her name and balloons and running into my arms with screaming and tears and all the joys of “returning home”.

I would imagine being introduced to her parents, having her show me her bedroom where she grew up, taking me to her school and showing me her favorite places to hang out.

I would imagine her telling me how amazing her life was and that she was so grateful that she had the best parents in the world.

She would take out picture albums and tell me about her holidays and friends and sleepovers and school dances.

Her parents would have me for dinner and they would tell embarrassing stories that she wouldn’t share and we would all laugh and smile and be grateful for each other.

Even though I knew this wasn’t necessarily how things might look, it was a beautiful scene that I would cling to, especially the hard days and nights, where I wanted to go back to just ending it all.

Life after she left for awhile was much like a death.

I grieved, but I wasn’t really “allowed” to grieve, because,

“it was for the best”

“this was your choice”

but a loss of a child (or anyone) is a loss.

So I suffered that loss quite alone.

I remember at one point writing in my journal:

“Life isn’t so bad. You just have to find something to do”

So I set out, looking for “shit to do”

How can I pass the time and stay alive? >>> My two major goals at 16.

Stay tuned for our reunion story tomorrow….
AND the greatest lesson I learned from it.

PS again if you need help, reach out! Find a professional



Leave A Response

* Denotes Required Field