It’s been two years since my world stopped.
I hadn’t even known it had started. I was such a naive teenager then, believing that things like this didn’t happen to girls like me. Good girls. Good girls didn’t get pregnant in high school by guys who break up with them. Good girls know when they are pregnant. Good girls don’t mess something that’s so simple for so many women up.
For two years it’s been on my mind. The person I didn’t get to know until it was far too late. How you said it was a lie. How the person who should have known what I was feeling just wanted to hurt me more. How useless I am. How I fear if I ever give birth to a child I will be a terrible mother, I’ve already failed once.
There are days when I only think of her a little. There are days it doesn’t hurt to get up and start another day. There are days I don’t think of everything you said about me in the aftermath. It’s just been two long years of not enough good days and too many bad ones. It’s that time of year again, in case you forgot. Not like you’ll read this. However, it’s been two full years now.
Two years since it happened. Almost two years since I finally saw the world as it really is. A year since I realised that I wasn’t ready for anyone to love me. A few months since I saw your face. Two days since I woke up in tears.
How long has it been since you have thought of the child you will never get to see?
She would be about a year and 8 months now.
I’ll always love her, and always hate you.