I am 16.
I am pregnant.
I am now living with a cousin I have never met. I have decided to keep the baby. C, the father, not exactly thrilled about this decision, we’ve only known each other a few months, he’s 19, not ready to be a father. I am not ready to be a mother. I have no real home, no money, no completed education, no job.
I have nothing.
I am constantly sick, only this time not at my own hand. I am losing more and more weight. I don’t feel like eating. I am completely lost.
In that house, living with my cousin, is a man renting a room from her named Bruce. He is 28. He doesn’t know how old I am or what my story is but he’s working, going to school and living there. Out of proximity, we strike up conversations, stay up late at night talking, watch TV together, after all there is a common living room and kitchen.
I reveal that I am pregnant. He reveals that he is going through hard times. And this is where details become sketchy. C drops from the picture for a little while, unable to handle the prospect of becoming a father to a child from a girl he met in a mall a few months before. My cousin calls my family in Florida and tells them she believes I am not pregnant, that I have had an abortion. It’s because I am so thin, not showing, just throwing up.
She thinks it’s guilt.
My family commissions me to move back to Florida.
I am no longer welcome in the cousins home. She thinks I am lying. (if the truth is ugly enough, people will simply pretend it doesn’t exist).
I have begun a romantic relationship with Bruce. I don’t want to leave but I have no choice. I have nowhere to go. I am put on a train back to Florida three years after I left.
I am coming back pregnant, with an eating disorder and leaving behind the elusive C and a 28 year old lover…yea that seems about right. Right on par with my life.