I wonder what the difference is between writing a private diary that no one will ever see, and writing an anonymous web journal--you can say the same things you'd say in a private diary, but with an audience.
In linking to the following journal entries, I almost feel as if I am violating the privacy of these diarists, and yet, they wrote these diary entries and posted them on the internet. So I assume that the diarists do want people to read what they have to say.
In Sweet Addiction, a young woman in Singapore is attracted to a man whose (other) girlfriend was pregnant:
How do you react to a man who tells you he is a little romantically inclined towards you when his gf is knocked up? I feel a little sorry that Dn really wants the baby. He gets nightmares about it, but honestly.. How can i take him seriously? How can you take on someone who confesses how he feels when he's still attached? I don't think so, but it was nice for a bit. The baby's appt to go is at 9.30am. God. WHat wld i do if i were in her position? I knew the anger from him wld come eventually to rear its head at her. Knew the post abortion tension wld split them apart. And still i was there for him. I knew he wld come for me. And come he did. Why did i do that?This young woman has an excellent street-smart grasp of the emotional aftermath of abortion. I hope she moves on from this fellow, though.
I wonder also about my dream with the baby girl. Was it because i had been talking about the baby with dn?
The Scott Peterson verdict causes Moon Garden to remember how her boyfriend reacted to her pregnancy years ago--with violence and abuse.
Why I'm Losing It is written by a boyfriend who wanted his girlfriend to abort. In his journal, he walks us through how he tried to persuade her.
What did i do? Well, i was scared shitless, but i listened to her, tried to encourage her to rise above this, to see also my point of view, basically taking a softly-softly approach towards an abortion. I told her how much i loved her and how we'd get over this and build a good future to raise a family properly, in time, when we were both ready, happy, stable. She stopped taking my calls at one point and i took a 10 hour bus to see her and reassure her. Basically i didn't want her martyr-ing herself by having the baby, which is just like her to do.Note to young man: If you are going to parent this child, and be a partner to this woman, please, please, please find a way to develop some (any) emotional maturity and moral character.
It didn't work. Then i had no alternative but to be more disagreeable because i was feeling so fucking disagreed. Agrieved, betrayed, trapped, bullied. I outlined every possible reason, and all the inherent logic, for us not to have this kid. I pleaded with her (over email, we couldn't talk on the phone any more), i asked her to have someone else's baby if she wanted one so bad, i even called her names, bitch.
Sparkey writes about abortion, baby dreams, and depression.
I was very depressed in college; Chris (not the Chris you know), the abortion, what I did, what I didn't want. I gained 50 pounds the first year; later, I was depressed about my weight. Going from fit to fat in the span of months, not noticing as it piled on, because I was asleep when I wasn't eating.
I still have minor bouts with depression. It's always the same. I stay busy enough these days to outrun it, mostly. I am happy enough to avoid it, mostly. But it still pops up to say hello, and it has yesterday and today. It's not like true depression now. It doesn't send me to bed for a week, it sends me to bed for a nap. It doesn't have me crying incessantly for days, it has me moping for a day. It's not like fresh grief, more like the recollection of an old loss. Sad, but past.
So, Lila brought this back in me. Lila reminded me, simply by being there. Last night I dreamed I was pregnant, almost three months, and was upset that I couldn't drink diet Coke anymore. My dream self didn't realize, I guess, that smoking and drinking would likely be much more likely to strain my capacity for abstinence. But the dream wasn't about that. The dream was about the dread, about the love, about the fear, about the lack of hope. About my weakness. About the tenderness of that state; the delicacy of growing life; the resentment of it.
I still don't feel worthy. I woke this morning with a gnawing desire to have a baby. In the back of my mind I nurture the idea that doing so will replace all the negative connotations, the self-loathing guilt.
And here I am. I forget sometimes, the things I have done. I really do forget.
They come back though, screaming in my mind. Making me want to retreat back into some safe zone, the only one I have found being my bed, my blanket, long sleep. It's not as real as it was, once. Not as painful or as insistent.