When I was thirteen years old, I got pregnant. My mother got me an abortion. I got pregnant every year for the next two decades, but got my own abortions. I hated myself. I was on a suicide mission.
I’ve only had two kids, two beautiful daughters: Lucretia and Bernice. Last month was the one-year anniversary of Lucretia’s death from Stage 4 breast cancer.
Bernice just got married on April Fools’ Day. I met the gentleman, he’s a talented tattoo artist and a nice man. I’m very happy for them.
Now I see a psychiatrist, therapist, and my regular doctor. Things are a lot better. I like having people for support. I’ve not touched drugs or alcohol for seven years.I haven’t gotten pregnant since I’ve been in recovery. I’m fifty-four years old now and if I continue my help program, I have a good chance.
