Questions / Answers

Sarah, I've been struggling with telling you something since starting this blog. Anyone who's read your diary knows. You know. It's about the baby. You've probably been waiting on me to tell you what happened. I've been struggling to tell you because I am ashamed Sarah. I hate what I've done. There's so much to tell you. I don't know where to begin?
When I left you that night, I was in a lot of pain. It was my step-father. In all of the years since that last night we were together, I have come to understand all of the pain I was in at that time. I drank and smoked to escape my reality. Even when I got away from him I tried to escape the reality of what had happened to me. It played over and over like a horror movie. The only way I could escape was to block it out. The only way I could look in the mirror was to block it out. I don't know when or how it happened because I would block it out. That's where my black-outs come from. I didn’t want to leave you. Your parents were gone and now, in hindsight, I wish I hadn't left you but I was in so much pain I wouldn't have done you very much good. My heart still stays heavy with burden. I couldn’t tell my mother. I didn't tell my mother until the day I saw that squirrel in the park. I gave my baby up for adoption six months after I left you. The baby was born addicted to drugs. I'm a horrible person for what I did to that child. My child. My unborn child was punished by me and my pain. I hurt my baby, Sarah. I closed my eyes when the nurse took her away. I couldn't look. I left that hospital empty and numb. I had no more tears to cry. That's when my drug habit spiraled out of control.
When I found out I was pregnant I was horrified. I've never had sex with anyone else other than him and I'd been doing it since I was 12-years-old. I never told you. I hated going home. I hated sex. I hated myself. I hated my mother. I hated everything but you, Sarah. You were the first person in a long time to touch my life who was real. When I told him I was pregnant and I didn't know what to do, he slapped me and called me a whore. He accused me of sleeping around. I felt like I'd done something wrong.
The first place I ran was to you. I wanted to stay with you and your family, but when you said your uncle wanted to call my parents I had to leave. I didn't want to risk him finding out where I was.
I don't know why I did it either. I'm sorry for leaving but I had to Cuddlebug. It had to end that night.
Sometimes I wonder what became of my little girl. I wonder what she looks like. I wonder how she's doing. I wonder . . . I'm mad at myself for what I did to this innocent child. I'm mad at myself for how I felt about this child. My child. I hated her, Sarah. I hated my own daughter. I didn’t know. I was a kid. I hated her for what I felt she was. Every day I looked at my growing stomach and hated myself. I felt dirty. I felt slimy. Watching her grow inside me. When she moved I felt sick. I used drugs. Now I realize she didn't deserve that. Back then, I knew she didn't deserve that. It's why I couldn't look at her when she was born. I know she was innocent and she didn't deserve the way I treated her for those brief moments when we were together. I wonder how she's doing 'cause I hope she's in a better place. I hope she's in a place where she's happy. I know she probably wonders about me. I know she wonders why I did what I did. Truthfully, I hope she never has to see me because I'm the worst person she ever could see. I have to go, Cuddlebug. I hope you can forgive me. I'm sorry.