will you listen to me now?
I want to tell you a story that I know you’ll never hear. But let me tell you anyway.
Let me tell you of the fog that filled my head that day as I sat in a classroom full of kids listening to a teacher drone on about something someone did back in 100 AD.
We were just kids. I was just a kid.
Let me tell you of the way the cold from the screws in our decades-old desk chairs was the only thing that kept me from passing out. The only thing that kept me present on a day where I was anywhere but.
Every time I closed my eyes I heard my own voice saying “no”. Every time I tried to rest my heart, I thought of the decisions that led me here. The pieces of sand that built up this castle the waves washed away in a moment.
It was just a moment. I was just a kid.
Let me tell you of the taste of shame. Of the way it coats your tongue and weighs you down. I still have its marks on my shoulders. Branded for life. You can’t escape it, no matter how far you run.
Trust me, I’ve tried.
Let me tell you of the million scenarios I ran through in my mind. The ones in which the outcome was always the same. An inevitable ending to a movie I never wanted to star in. A reminder of the blood on those sheets he washed away.
Let me tell you of the only test I prayed to fail. The only test I got what I wanted on. The way those minutes stretched into lifetimes before I got my results. The way they managed to break me so many times I’m still not healed.
Let me tell you of the ways that failure has defined me. Has stuck to the walls of my mind. How the guilt of having those thoughts, of looking up where I would go if I didn’t fail, led to the scars on my hands that have now only started to fade.
Let me tell you of how the dirt never washes out, no matter how many times I shower. No matter how hot I make the water. No matter how many layers of skin I burn.
Let me tell you of how that young girl, not even two decades old, would not have lived to thirty had the laws you killed today were killed back then. If I passed that test instead of failed and you had your way, these words wouldn’t exist. You would have forced my hand. My blood spilled on yours.
Let me tell you of the ways I still hate myself for all of this. For things I never wanted.
Let me tell you of the things you’ll never hear.
—
On a day as tragic as today, I wanted to add my voice, my story to the chorus of us yelling and screaming; sharing our stories in a desperate plea. Hoping this will do something, change something. Releasing this anger in the hopes of letting in a strength that will propel us forward into a battle for our lives.
Below are only a few resources in the continuous fight for abortion rights:
https://www.prochoiceamerica.org/
www.thecut.com/article/donate-abortion-fund-roe-v-wade-how-to-help.html
