What do I care!

When the ‘boyfriend’ turned up after school, I wasn’t too bothered. The relationship hadn’t really ended as such, just drifted as I hadn’t seen him for a month or so. I’d never actually told him about being pregnant, but he had been spoken to by the police. His family made choices for him and those hurt him somehow, and he took me and I was back to being his sex on tap. As I was in a smallish town it wasn’t exactly easy to avoid him and I never really thought to try if I’m honest. I went to school, went home. If I had sport training after school I had to take the bus from town, or walk the 3 miles, by the same route, he often found me at the bus stop, or he’d step out from the houses on the route home. To take me by the arm and I’d go with him. No resistance on my part. There never was resistance. Perhaps I’d had a learning felt deep inside that resistance was futile. Just like the Borg say in Startrek! Reflecting back it’s easy to say that I dissociated and compartmentalised. I didn’t consciously do it, it’s just the way I was. He wasn’t brutal as such but certainly not gentle. He didn’t need to threaten or keep hold, I was acquiescent to his wants. Even when he invited his friends to have sex with me. Yes, that’s abuse, some of it I recall some I don’t.

The inevitable happened again quite quickly. This time I didn’t see a doctor. I couldn’t do that again, yet what was I to do. Sort of didn’t care enough to ‘do’ anything! He stopped seeing me and at that time I didn’t know why but that was a relief. Now it was pregnant me, on my own. Me, hiding sanitary products so my dad didn’t know. I didn’t want to be a disappointment to him! Going about my life but not really engaging with school work. The usual reports of ‘could do better’. Not confiding in my best friend. Summer came and I took casual work with my dad. Working in the fields where I was happiest. Getting fatter, dad not seemingly concerned, probably thinking it’s that female, laying down fat stores or something! I was a brides maid at my brother’s wedding that summer. Him, 19, his wife to be in her 30’s with 3 kids. The dress I’d had a fitting for too tight! Almost the last time I saw my brother!

Heading for 16 and the exam year, finally a teacher sat me down and expressed concern. My skipping classes especially sport. I told her. So that began the process, I saw a doctor, my dad was told and I was determined that the choice was for the child to be adopted. Altruism perhaps, as it would give someone a chance to be a parent. The child would have better chances, I hoped, of not having a poor start in its own life, to be wanted and chosen and cherished. Selfish, self preservation, in that there was no way I was going to be able to give it the financial and nurturing support needed, and that was important to me. I had no support network, none was offered either. I recall no discussions with social workers or other support agencies. I made my choice and that was it. So that was me, home schooling ‘til the child was born in December. Appointments at the doctors, until the time came for the hospital admission to induce me. All vague as I had a Caesarian due to foetal distress. In a room of my own, dad visiting and telling me he’d been to see that boy child I’d had delivered. I never went to see him. I signed the paperwork. My scar healed and life went on. Back to school, no questions no follow ups. Which, on my surface, was ok.

My year of being 16. I never gave much thought then about how that could have, or even should have, changed my life. It happened, it was dealt with and that was it. Never brought up again. Did it make me shy from relationships? Not really. The only difference was that I started using contraceptives. Did I change in behaviour? Only in that I started skipping school more. Took to climbing out my bedroom window at night to take a walk and stand on the bridge over the main dual carriage way near my home. Watching the traffic, wondering where they were going. If a car or truck stopped and offered a lift for a drink or chat I’d usually get in. See! No sense of personal safety. I didn’t care for me, it seemed that those drivers cared more than I did.

Different times then perhaps, though the people who do horrendous things have always been around. With the instancy of media at our fingertips now we just hear about it more often. Yet, I met some nice people, non threatening, gentle, lonely people looking for something too, however transient! I was always willing to have sex if that came about, but it wasn’t always the case. And it was sex, a commodity of reciprocation. Even if I wasn’t in the mood it was doable, as I could sink into the sensations. A whisper of breath over bare skin, a tease of tongue on nipple or elsewhere. The wish of some to rub their member on full breasts. Nothing kinky or truly bizarre, just fleeting connections of contact. Some even became ‘friends with benefits’. No strings, just companionship.

The next few years were of a similar vein. Didn’t do great at those exams but I stayed on to do ‘A’ levels. A new friendship at school, her mother caring more than my own had ever done. Caring enough to express concern over my ‘careless’ behaviour. No career in mind though knowing Uni or art college not an option. I wanted to make a living, earn money and have a husband and family. Make more of life than I had.