I wrote this in October of 2002 about my first son’s bio dad. I had a lot of residual resentment for my son’s bio dad. Therapy would have helped with processing processing the trauma but at least I had poetry.
my truth, my trauma
The thought of you never escapes my mind not even for just one night Your little game has caused me a lifetime of hurt, resentment, and pain Now I’ll never be the same And I will forever ask myself Why is it me and our innocent child the ones to suffer for your thoughtless actions? Him, without someone to call dad and me,taken away from my youth Forced to grow up too fast
I wrote this in 2002 about my first son’s bio dad. It kind of sucks that this situation happened BUT at least I got some salty poetry out of it. Lol.
triggered
Hey Mr.Donor man How does it feel to have your son Learn you never wanted to come That you talked big shit and never meant any of it That no matter how hard I tried for him you never wanted to be a daddy to him That you were so fucking lame You couldn’t even give him your last name That to you, his mom was just good fun That you’re a fucking coward you never dared to be his father Don’t worry though He’ll always have my love And without you, he’ll be just fine One day I’ll meet a man who is kind Who will love him and I and will want us in his life Who’ll be glad to take the place of The man who couldn’t give us love Who will come to his defense when things get tense Who will stick around And won’t bring him down Who will finally be The dad you never wanted to be
I wrote this poem about my oldest son’s bio dad in February of 2002. A lot of residual resentment I had towards him was because he wouldn’t step up. My empathy button for him was really broken for him and in this case maybe it needed to be.
it be like that sometimes
Three years too late You’ve decided to embrace your fate You’ve decided to recognize your mistake And fill my ears with apologies For not accepting mine and his existence
So now you feel like playing dad And expect me to forgive and forget about the misery you left us in The years of being a fucking deadbeat to him Please do what you do best Walk away and put this situation to rest For he doesn’t need A false wannabe daddy Who will cause him harm in the long run
I wrote this in 1998 about my pregnancy. I wrote this after telling my traditional and catholic parents I was pregnant. I was six months along and went into a deep depression afterwards that lasted maybe a year after the birth of my first child. Yes, I was a teen mom with post partum depression and there wasn’t much anyone could do at the time. I still got up to go to school and took care of my child. My life was no longer just about me, I was responsible for another life. Maybe that’s when I learned to mask so well. I learned to show up no matter what. On the upside, I had really supportive parents who were for me when they could have abandoned me. On the downside, some of my closest friends did. Sometimes I wonder if going through something this traumatic did stunted my maturity in some areas.
me at 17 around the time I wrote this poem
No more fun No more just “lying in the sun” Dirty diapers and Barney Will sum up the next few years for me No more hanging out with friends No more having tons of boyfriends Strollers and snotty noses Will be how my adolescence closes
I wrote this in 1998 when I was pregnant. I was kind of denial at the time but also knew what was happening. It was a weird and traumatic time in my life. I was barely 17 and coming to grips to how drastically my life would change. I will say that after 23 years, my son’s birth was definitely a trauma turned into triumph. I don’t think I knew what real love was until I had him.
me on my 17th birthday around the time I wrote this poem
I can’t concentrate knowing my fate I’d rather die Than having to keep up this lie I’m gaining weight And my period’s 3 months late I’m having cravings Pretty soon everyone is going to be staring I don’t know how to cope I’m starting to lose all hope I don’t wanna live anymore I feel like I have nothing to live for What am I to do? Where or whom do I go to? My life is ruined All this, just by letting him in
On July 27th, 2010 I was in the room with the ultrasound tech and she put the gel on my belly. I was there to hear the sound of my baby’s heartbeat for the first time. I had waited a whole two weeks to hear it since I had booked the appointment. My boyfriend had dropped me off at the doctor. I was alone and the anticipation was killing me. The ultrasound tech was moving the wand every which way and had this weird look on her face. I asked her if everything was okay. She told me, “I really need to get the doctor”. I pleaded with her to tell me what was wrong. And she said, “I can’t find the heartbeat” I was in shock and numb. Then she told me to go out to the waiting room and the Dr would come get me. I remember how the waiting room was full of pregnant women and I started to sob hysterically. Thankfully a receptionist took pity on me and took me to another sparsely populated area. The Dr came and got me and told me the embryo stopped growing at 8 weeks and I was supposed to be 10 weeks along. She showed me the ultrasound. She also gave me a choice -either a D&C or let the miscarriage come naturally. I had just started a job in June and hadn’t accumulated much sick leave so I opted to have the D&C. I had all of these feelings of shame and guilt because I had seriously thought about terminating the pregnancy and I wondered if I had wished it true. I felt guilty because I had gotten blackout drunk a day before finding out I was pregnant. Also, I felt like a failure because my body had not done what it was supposed to do. I felt like somehow I deserved all of this pain and that God was punishing me. Getting through the rest of that day and putting up my facade of strength and having to tell my 2 kids along with other family members and friends was horrible.
The next morning I went to have a D&C and I woke up crying from the procedure. The nurse that was next to me told me that everything happens for a reason and to trust God. “Everything happens for a reason” and “Trust in GOD” and “It wasn’t the right time” would be among the few sayings that I would get from well meaning friends, family, and co-workers. I buried my grief in exercising and eating healthy irrationally believing that it was my body’s fault that I had the miscarriage. It didn’t help that my boyfriend was kind of blaming me as well because of that whole blackout drunk incident early in the pregnancy. Even though the logic in my head told me that pregnancy loss is a common occurrence that happens to 1 in 4 women with no real rhyme or reason for most of those pregnancies;my irrational thoughts took over for a bit. What helped me through the grief other than exercising was joining a support group and being able to process that grief and feel validated in my feelings with other people that had experienced the same thing. An experience like this changes you in a way that you remember who you were before the experience and after it. Obviously I’ve healed from that experience but I still experience some sadness on that day. One interesting thing that happened 3 years ago when I came to work on July 27 was that there was a random “Happy Birthday” balloon by the entrance of my office building. I took it as a positive sign from the universe.
I share this story because it is important to fight the stigma associated with pregnancy loss. It is also important for others to feel like they can share their stories without being judged.
Life on the BPD 