When I was twenty-one, I attended a party at a relatives house along with several mutual friends. It was a safe environment – we were young and looking for a good time. While most of us were raised in church with a strict list of what will send you to hell, we thought we’d explore for ourselves. And people think it’s just the preacher’s kids that rebel.
We’d been playing cards, like many of us had grown up watching our parents play, all while sipping on wine coolers, wild turkey, royal crown, and whatever other liquor was popular at the time. Our card game soon turned into a game of quarters – something I had never played before and never played again.
I remember making my way to the living room and passing out on the couch. I faintly remember a relative changing my shirt, as I had vomited all over myself, and putting me back to rest on the couch.
When I woke, I wasn’t bright eyed and bushy tailed, I wasn’t even groggy – I was in an in-and-out type of wake. All was black and quite… except for the faint breathing I could hear as I bobbed up and down with my back flat to the floor. I remember trying to figure out why I was on the floor as I remembered being on the couch, all the while feeling this touch between my legs that felt good – odd, but good. I lay there… bobbing – hearing myself moan.
Slowly, I became increasingly more awake and it hit me… I felt my pants at my ankles and heard the sound of steady heavy breathing. I tried to rise only for a hand to push me back to the floor… and I screamed.
Later that day, nearly night again, I was whisked away by mother to the hospital where they ran special test, gave me a pill to swallow, and brought in the police. I was naked and ashamed, with complete strangers wanting to know about every detail… and all I could think about was that my father was mortified and couldn’t speak to me. A daddy’s girl I had always been… now everything was lost, stolen, in a moment.
A few days later I had a detective show up at my work, where he proceeded to take me to his car in the parking lot and drill me about the incident of that dreaded night. I sat in his car, embarrassed as all of work could see – visitors coming and going could see – it was if the whole world could see and hear every horrifying detail of what had just happened. I listened to this detective no longer drill me but accuse me of “asking for it”… word had gotten around in the town I liked to drink, and since my engagement had been called off, I also liked to sleep around. My bad choices in a two year span had left a detective feeling entitled to belittle me – the victim, whose name had already been listed in the small town newspaper with all the horrific details of my reported attack. I was made to be the bad person.
For reasons I won’t disclose, I was the girl that had no self-esteem. And in that moment, this detective convinced me that I was the one at fault and this would be best left alone… and I believed him. Without a trial – justice is served.
Only a handful of people know this about me – it’s not something you share publicly. Of course, there was a time when I shared with another that was too a victim of rape – healing is found in testimony. But it’s not something you broadcast to the world.
So why do I share now?
I read an article today that stirred anger within me – honestly, it’s been stirring since all the Bill Cosby garbage has been taking place, but today I go a different direction with it. The direction…
“New York Assembly Passes Bill Allowing Shooting Babies Through the Heart With Poison to Kill Them”
They have now stated that you may kill a child in a mother’s womb in the third trimester, no more for simply the mother’s life being at risk, but for whatever reason deemed fit… including but not limited to, physical well-being, emotional well-being, family issues, and the mother’s age. Weeks, days, and even minutes before birth, you may now kill your baby.
What kind of society do we live in when it is acceptable to murder an infant? I am literally sick to my stomach thinking of such perverseness.
I didn’t realize until some years later the pill given me in the hospital that night was something to prevent pregnancy. I remember months passing and me sweating at nights thinking I could be a mother at twenty-one to a kid I didn’t want… I didn’t want the reminder in my face day in and day out of what had occurred that night. I didn’t want to look in the face of that child and see the face of that guy. But I knew, even at twenty-one, if there were a kid, it was innocent. Someone would love that child, want that child, not ever knowing how he/she had come into this world and would fully embrace all that child had to offer.
My “story” had already been published. People already knew. I rarely showed my face to people out of shame and embarrassment. What would nine more months be to me in something I already knew, something I was already living? The shame of a bad choice which landed me publicly humiliated and my life altered, forever – hell on earth.
Yes, I would have carried a child I didn’t want because it was innocent.
I understand the morning after pill. After time it became obvious I took it, and I now carry mixed emotion, which tends to lean more for it than against it. Perhaps that sounds hypocritical while I rant on about the killing of a third trimester baby. I’m all for woman’s rights, yet I cannot stand with them on this matter. Women’s Rights came about in order that women may have equal rights as men. I’ve never know a man to be pregnant and therefore cannot call this equality in any shape or fashion. It is murder. Nothing more, nothing less – the slaughter of the defenseless. I pray God have mercy on our souls.
To those whom have had abortions, I say this – I know you carry a burden of shame and unforgiveness toward yourselves but I believe God’s mercy offers us a new beginning while His grace provides us an opportunity to heal others. We overcome our own burdens, our shame, and our fears by sharing our story with others – redemption given to you exuding to others.
To those who were victims of rape, I say this – it is never your fault. Whatever mistakes you’ve made in your life never warrant you becoming the accused. Do not be intimidated by people’s words or fearful of judgment by bullies who have their own secrets to keep. Demand justice and make your voice heard. You are not defenseless.
We all have things we keep secret – wrongs we struggle with, shameful choices taunting us, wounds too fragile to ever expose. These things keep us from being loved wholly and from loving wholly. But to all that pain, that guilt, that shame, I say this… there is mercy, there is grace, there is redemption.
“Every choice you’ve made… Every good thing… Every bad thing… Every regret… Every risk… Every gain and every loss… Every moment in your life has led you to this moment of your life. Lessons learned, celebrations earned. Your past has made your present and your present will give way to your future – never does it define you but always is refining you. Embrace you – the good, the bad, the past, the present – love and be loved. Life is too short to hide behind walls. You – you are beautiful in every way… a work of art, a treasure – you are valuable… because of your past, your present, and your future. You’re a story worth telling yet still unwritten.” ~ Pj 02/2014