It was May 19, 1973. I was pregnant from a date rape. I had tried to hide it from my parents but of course they found out. Then the pressure started. “How are you going to go to college with a baby?” “How are you going to support it?” “It is only a blob of blood. It’s not a baby yet.” Before I had time to think about what I wanted, the abortion was over.
Looking back and knowing what I know now, I realize that I was going through almost classic Post-Abortion Syndrome. I became a tramp and slept with anyone and everyone. I engaged in unprotected sex and each month when I wasn’t pregnant I would go into a deep depression. I was rebellious. I wanted my parents to see what I had become. I dropped out of college. I tried suicide, but I didn’t have the guts to slit my wrists or blow my brains out. I couldn’t get my hands on sleeping pills, so I resorted to over the counter sleep aids and booze.
The hardest thing of all is trying to forgive myself. It is a daily struggle to accept the forgiveness I know the Lord has given me. And I will never forget it. Only now I don’t want to forget it, because it keeps me from getting complacent.
Not a day goes by that the abortion doesn’t cross my mind. It is a constant struggle trying to overcome my guilt and depression, even knowing I have been forgiven. I dread the day when I have to come face to face with my little child and explain to her why mamma took her life. But I also think I am a softer, more caring person than I might have been.
*Posted with permission of Elliot Institute
