The Unborn Problem | Teen Ink

The Unborn Problem

December 4, 2007
By Anonymous

I woke up in a sweat. A dream, an awful dream took over my imagination in the middle of the night. I woke up and told myself it was all over, that it was just a dream and I am awake now. Oh wait. This is not a dream, this is a reality. I roll over to wake up my snoring boyfriend, but he shoos me off and tells me we will talk in the morning. He has no idea. Why is it that I always have to deal with these things alone? I slip into my slippers and throw my matted hair into a ponytail. I stare in the mirror. Who am I? I am a girl with long blonde hair, green eyes, 5’6”. I want to be a marine biologist, and I am a waitress at a local diner. I love my family, friends, and boyfriend. Oh forget it. My whole life is about to change, that is no longer who I am. If I look this awful now I don’t want to imagine myself in the upcoming months. I rub my swollen eyes, and the last tear drop I could possibly cry falls from the corner of my eye. I stumble down the stairs. I can’t concentrate on anything but the news I got today. I go to the refrigerator and look at an empty carton of milk left by my boyfriend, a bottle of ketchup, moldy cheese, and a few eggs cracked down the side oozing onto the tray. How do I live like this? Better yet why do I live like this? We barely have enough money to support ourselves. I remember again. This is not about me. I am responsible for my life turning out like this. But those poor helpless lives that are soon going to depend on me cannot live like this. Three responsibilities that will soon be mine to take care of. I have always looked in from the outside saying that this will never happen to me. And now that it has I don’t know what to do. I am not ready. I am only 22! How should I tell him? Will he stay by my side? What will my family say? Should I stay in school? Will my friends support me? Too many thoughts are whizzing through my head now. I lay my face in my hands. My eyes are dry, so I whimper and blink out imaginary tears. How could this have happened to me? A cold hand touches my shoulder. I tense up. Oh no, it’s him. “Okay,” he says, “let’s talk.” I make a sound but the words won’t come out. I just look into his eyes. I pause and know this is something I have to do. After all it is his right to know.

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