I realized I was pregnant in the middle of August in 2012. I was 19, in my second year of undergrad, and living in a filthy, disgusting house with my heroin addicted boyfriend, and I never thought this would be my life. I had no friends, no money, and zero support from my family, which left my feeling stuck in my terrible relationship. His substance abuse seemed to be triggering some sort of psychosis, and I was desperate for him to get better. When I told him I was pregnant, he promised to stop using, get a job, and that he would take care of us. I told him I would keep the baby if he could live up to those promises, because I could not in good conscience deliver a child into a life of poverty and drug addiction, or one in which they would bounce around foster homes, making them vulnerable to all kinds of abuse. I was overwhelmed and felt paralyzed.
A few weeks went by and there were no changes. The pregnancy was making my muscles sore and I was having food cravings, but he couldn’t even help me with my most basic needs and wants because he was buying drugs and becoming more and more mentally ill. I realized how delusional I was to think things would get better.
I called my local planned parenthood to make an appointment after finally talking to my parents after months of no contact. I was kindly guided through the steps I should take by the woman on the phone. The women at the clinic were great, too. Everyone was very gentle with me and frequently asked to make sure I was ok.
I am so grateful that I was able to access abortion safely and easily. To this day, I still think, “thank god for my abortion,” every time something good happens to me, because I know I would still be living in poverty if I carried that child to term. My life is now full of positive relationships and I am on a better path. I feel good knowing I didn’t add one more suffering, sad, hungry child to the world.