build your beautiful self

I know there are reality shows about teenage pregnancies, and maybe that somewhat depicts what it is like being a teenage mother. I have not watched one single episode of this show. I do, however, know how reality tv shows are pseudo reality.

I am sharing pieces of my life with you so maybe there is a little understanding about someone else’s life that may have been very different from your own, or for someone experiencing similar situations to know they are not alone. There are many other women like me and you out in the world.

to continue the story…

I did everything in my power to not make mistakes or feel like a bad girlfriend. I spoiled the guy who I “love,” but had no concept of the emotional toll he was taking on my spirit. I had to tell my parents about the pregnancy all by myself. I had to eliminate all my friends so he wouldn’t think I was screwing around on him.

He yelled at me often. Sometimes when he would drink, he would pick fights with me and end up shoving me around.

Sometimes, I fought back, other times I cowered in the corner like a scared puppy. I always was made to feel like I was the one who created the problems. The narcissist in him would make sure I stayed below him and knew my place under his foot. I was 17 and I was taught by my parents to obey, then my boyfriend taught me to obey him. I didn’t know any better.

I went to the hospital alone. I was driven there by my own mother, I think. It was kind of a blur. I do remember calling that guy and telling him I was headed to the hospital and I NEEDED him there. I waited 2 hours before he showed. Did he stay in the room? nope. He stayed in the hallway. I gave birth to my son in 6 hours. I held my little, tiny baby and I was scared to death. This little tiny peanut in my arms made me feel joy and sorrow at the same time. Sorrow that his other parent was a horrible role model and joy because he was finally here! I vowed that if he EVER laid one finger on my little baby, I would absolutely kill him.

We lived at my dads for about a month after my son was born, until we got accepted into subsidized housing. I was learning the “system.” I didn’t have a job or really any lifeskills. I was only able to see my family and didn’t have any experience raising a child. I did the best with what I had at the time. My boyfriend, on the other hand, had grown up milking the system. His mother put him on social security disability for his Bipolar syndrome at 16 and never told him. He found out that she had collected 3 years of checks off her kid and he never saw a dime. My family, on the other hand, was full of entrepreneurs and managers. I never saw my parents use benefits from the government to live life.

We moved out of my dad’s place into this tall (20 story), brick apartment building. The hallways were cinder block walls, with gross asbestos tile on the floor. It was dimly lit with fluorescent lighting that was never working properly. Looked like the scene from any horror film. We had a tiny one bedroom apartment. It had a small closet by the door, a small kitchen, small living room and the bed/bath combo. It should have been a studio. I don’t believe it was more than 500 sq ft.

While we lived there, my boyfriend found neighbors and quickly made friends. He was first introduced to crack and coke there. I believe he was trying to find some pot to buy and ended up getting some that was laced with the crap. We were supposed to have “date night.” My son was at my mom’s for the night. He brought home some “really awesome pot” for us to try. After I smoked it, he told me what it was. Fuck.

The neighbor visits by him got more frequent. He would never bring me with or bring it home after the fight we got in when I sobered up from the laced joint. I told him that he needs to stop for the child we have and he is never, EVER to bring that shit in our house again.

We ended up not being able to pay our subsidized portion of the rent anymore and got kicked out of our apartment. Thank god. We ended up moving into a motel that his mother ran on a lake 30 minutes outside of the city. It was pretty awesome at 18 to live on a lake in an apartment of a motel. It wasn’t a room, it was a studio over the garage at the time, but it was mine and the lake was 75 feet from our door.

That was an interesting time for sure.