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    Posted October 4, 2013 by
    Eugene, Oregon
    This iReport is part of an assignment:
    First Person: Your essays

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    What is the complete importance? The importance of a woman. The importance of a woman crushing, crushing so completely she has no existence, crushing to others where this brings actions and decisions of life and death.
    I can remember running, running through the past. Through the past with a life of my own, always my own. I remember living in the dark, living outside of everyone else. I remember my pains and fears always being my own. I remember the embarrassment always being my own.
    The houses and buildings were always so lined straight up and the streets perfectly straightly lined up in rows. I could see them but never relate to myself being in any of them. That would have been another person to me. I sometimes would try to feel relation to these places and would venture but it felt too unfamiliar.
    The times of my life would eventually lead me to such a clear concise decision to this. One day…..
    I remember one day…. One day…. One cold Halloween day, when I lost my daughter, my child, my unborn fetus that moved before its death, that I heard its head, possibly not its head hit the step-up shiny silver garbage bucket that you so often see in the doctors office as it was tumbled into the bucket it contained of the doctors' offices of the 60’s and 70’s. They must have mass produced them for medical buildings and offices. They must have been a cheap price because you would see them everywhere, at least where I went. They left you with this cold feeling, as I describe them, to let out through the space that you were in of the kind of people you were dealing with. Once again, that day I was on my own.
    I had always been on my own though. I didn’t believe I was living in a dream but I was. I started to think I was sick yet it seemed everyone else acted the same way as me. I just felt a little more alone and closed in about it. You didn’t talk about those things in those days, you just acted on it. Whether you were going to kill yourself, drink or do drugs, or just possibly act out. I was just quiet. I always decided I would handle mine that way. We all must have made a choice. I guess that was mine.
    I think that was wrong, even though sometimes when you act out there are repercussions to this. You could be put away. You could be labeled. They could even take you to court and force you to take some kinds of medications. I didn’t want that. I knew the repercussions of that, especially in my neighborhood, or state or area of upbringing. I had been told of it.
    I wanted a man instead, a boy, at first, in my life to take this all away. Not an education, not a future revolving around my wants and needs, just a man to help shield me from all these horrible decisions and this horrible life I felt placed upon me. I felt this was the only way out of a scary life.
    This was important to me. This was my reason for not putting any of the important things for me first. I felt fear to make these decisions to come to this outcome. I didn't feel I could get close to any dreams unless I had a shield from a man or boy to get me there where I needed to be and through my life.
    I tell you now open as I ever can be because it doesn’t matter any more. Anything and everything has already been done that someone can do to me, I just didn't realize it.
    Maybe I can make it matter through you. If it matters it would make sense and come out and have some meaning and not stand alone.
    Standing alone was all I knew. I had so much attention to give me the warm smiles that would carry me through. I thought this was my antidote. I thought the attention was my medication to carry me through my pain. I knew others had pain but mine would not be seen and had by anyone as I didn’t know needed to be to save me from this pain, to save my child, my child that needed me.
    I didn’t know I had pain from losing the child I'm going to tell you about that day and how it happened because I was young and naive. I thought what I had I still could overcome all that I had and might go through in life. These kinds of things just happen and you have to accept them I thought. They happen to everyone. They happened to me even though I thought they never would. It never would be believed or accepted by anyone in my area had I told them that I was pregnant was what I thought. I would have to leave home and I was estranged from my father.
    I had looked and dreamed of having a baby in my life as long as I can remember. I was told I was sick because I would take all the baby pictures I could in clothing catalogues and point out the ones that I thought were the cutest to picture as being mine. I would beg my mom to have another baby as a child. I might have been eight or even younger when this started. People or at least one of my aunts said this was ill. But I didn’t have a good relationship with any of this side anyway because it was thought that I wasn’t my father’s child. A bastard child I was to my mother's troughs of men she would bring in to my father's bed while he would still be at work. So it was hard to see if the feelings from these supposed outsiders of family were honorable towards me.
    I don’t think I ever actually wanted to have those babies myself, at least carry them, but I did want them around in the house to be ours as a family and mostly to be mine to spend most of the time with. My dad had asked my mom one time of this to have another baby when we were older and my face lit up. My moms didn’t. My dad would have even added on to our house which was a huge statement seeing as we never had finished steps but cement to enter the front of the house and no shutters, and doors on our bedrooms up through my early teens, which I would always ignore my house as I would drive by with my friends hoping they wouldn't notice it was my house. I was too embarrassed.
    My mom felt she couldn’t have another baby. The pain was too much to bear and it would wear on her health. My brother was too long and his feet were always hitting her rib cage when she carried her last pregnancy. It was an unbearable pregnancy for her. Her's with me on the other hand was so easy even up to the time of delivery. I was the smallest baby born, I think. Yet she would always mention the dimples and chubbiness of me when I was little, a baby I'm sure because it seemed that we never had any food, or at least myself because I wasn't allowed a lot of the extra's such as lunch money or clothing of mine bought since I was thought of as not being my dad's. My stomach shrunk because of this and I was always underweight.
    I remember seeing one snapshot picture of myself when I was a baby and I looked so miserable and abused. I was so astonished and wanted to hug myself. There were never any baby pictures around the house except one of my sister because my father felt it was too expensive. My sister was the first so this was snuck in forgivingly. That one got through. My mother snuck it in while my dad was at work.
    Later my father would get a film projector instead. We were a bit older and we would watch and cherish these even right after he would take them. We were never bored of them. We would laugh and enjoy them and make fun of each other in them. Those were good moments. They meant the world to us. It was amazing how things could turn around from one extreme in a feeling to the other.
    When I mentioned the feelings of what I saw in the only photo my mom had of me when I was a baby she disposed of it not realizing that it showed any odd signs up until I mentioned how miserable I looked. I said innocently 'Geez, what did you do to me? Did you beat me? I look miserable.' I almost looked abused. BUT my eyes were SO big. That astonished me. I remembered later her always throwing me into a crib with a bottle but never thought anything of it later in life. I wouldn't do that to my children (rest is at http://goo.gl/xdfVSR
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