I was 16 then, still a child. But, not in my eyes. I felt like I was grown up. Mature. Responsible. My parents didn't agree, though. And, I didn't see their views, at the time.
I fought with my parents. Sure, every teenager does (especially at that age). But, with me, it was constantly. Every time I was in their presence (or they were in mine) words were thrown all around. Bad words. Harsh words. Uncalled for words. My brothers and sisters heard it, too. Every night of every day.
One night I ran away. My parents and I had a fight. Only this time, my mom slapped my face. So, I pushed her down. Hard. Before my dad could do or say anything, I ran.
I had a boyfriend, who I thought loved me and I thought I loved in return. I had nowhere to go, so I ended up on his doorstep. He was 18 and had moved out of his house to live with a friend.
Lucky for us (or unlucky), his friend was gone. We were alone. And we took advantage of that.
"I love you, Jordan," I remember saying.
"I love you, too, Amy," he told me. And I believed him.
Five weeks later, I found out I was pregnant. I was devastated. I was 16 and I was going to have a child and have to be a mother. Reality check: I wasn't as mature, responsible, or grown up as I thought I was.
I told my parents and my dad freaked. My mom was caught in the middle but I felt like the world had turned on me. Where was I supposed to go?
Jordan took it well. He told me he loved me and would never leave me. So, I moved in with him. Things were great at first. While I was pregnant, he worked and supported me. He never left me, as he said he would.
I was barely 17 when the baby came. A baby boy. Mackenzie Tyler, I named him. He was a beautiful baby. So beautiful.
Then things began to worsen. Jordan was gone all the time "working", he said. But, when he came home drunk, I knew he was lying to me. Every night, he came home late and drunk. I tried to confront him, but, he hit me. Sometimes I didn't even do anything to him, and he would get angry at me and just hit me. He told me he loved me and I made him hit me. It was my fault. He was under a lot of stress and I should know when to keep my mouth shut.
The baby was my whole life. I had no time to get out; I was in all day and all night. He cried all the time. All the time. I got so tired of it.
Jordan hardly came home anymore. He would be gone for days at a time. I thought he was working, so I accepted it and waited for him to get home.
After Jordan was gone for a week, I knew I was alone in all of this. Still, I waited by the phone for hours and sat by the door, expecting him to walk through at any moment.
He was gone for a month, never to return. I became extremely depressed and lost a lot of weight. I never left the house, either. And all the baby did was cry. I couldn't seem to stop it. No matter what I did, he cried.
And one night, I had enough. I was in bed, voices running through my head, when he started crying. He just cried so loudly. I put my hands over my ears, trying to hide it. Still, he cried. I've never heard him cry louder or harder before. With my hands over my ears, I walked to the room, screaming "shut up!" over and over again. He just cried even louder.
I arrived at the crib, crying as well. As tears ran down his face, hot tears streamed down mine. Those voices!
"Shut up!!" I screamed, but not only at the baby. In what seemed like a blur, I reached down and let my hands find the baby's neck.
"Shut up, shut up" I chanted over and over and over again. When the baby stopped crying, I stopped. He was still. So still. I've never seen anything so still.
"Oh, God!" I said. "What have I done?"
With tears still running down my cheeks, I screamed and screamed until I passed out.
Schizophrenia, they called it. I didn't believe I had it. But, by court orders, I had to undergo psychological therapy.
I'm 40 now, faced with nightmares of the past. You ask, how do I feel now? Pain? Horror? Remorse? Guilt? Yes, all of these things. But, mostly pity. Pity for the young 16 year old girl who knew nothing. Who seemed to have the mentality and sense of a 5 year old.
I have no husband, nor children. I sill have voices and a therapist. I'm alone and always will be.
