3691

March 6, 1991 at 11:53 am I terminated my eight week pregnancy. It is now 2:33 pm and I am at home resting in bed. These are my feelings right now.

I feel sore. The abortion procedure has left me weak and uncomfortable. I woke up at 6:45 am. Joe and I got in the car and drove up to the Akron Women’s Clinic. We had to be checked in by 8 am. There were about forty people in the small waiting room. Twenty-three for abortions. Seventeen were waiting for those twenty-three. Some people looked calm. Others looked confused. Still others looked like

I felt, empty, scared, uncertain. We filled out medical charts and Joe had to run to Dairy Mart convenience store up the street to get a money order for $325 since the clinic doesn’t take cash.

One by one they called our names out and we left the waiting area and departed into the rooms behind the reception area. When my name was called Joe and I were separated. When I stepped behind the partition our pregnancy experience ended. I was “in there” and Joe was in the waiting room with 20 other people that were wondering was happening behind the door.

The first station in the assembly line was where they got paid. They took your money order and verified your picture ID. They made sure all your medical forms were filled out properly, gave you a receipt (is this tax deductible?) and sent you off to station 2.

Blood test. A prick in the finger “Hand you don’t write with please” and a few drops of blood into some very thin glass tubes.

They determine your blood type. If you are RH negative it is another $20 for medication. The medication is to prevent a reaction that could occur when the fetus is broken up during the abortion. The positive RH blood of the fetus could cause a severe reaction if mingled with the negative RH blood of the mother.

“Down the hall, up the stairs, on your right. Have a seat.”

Station three. Blood pressure. Temperature check. The aides are talking about buying shoes for their toddlers. They laugh and joke with each other while those who are waiting, wait in an uncomfortable silence.

Station 4 is the waiting room. In this room are 22 other women ranging in age from about 16-40. Some casually talking to the stranger next to them whom which, in a few hours, they will share a similar experience. Some silent. Alone and afraid of all the things that are waiting behind those doors. Others talk about their pregnancy and their decisions that brought them here. I think about Joe and what might be going through his mind as he waits alone in the reception area.

There are magazines in this room for us to read. “Better Homes and Gardens,” “Redbook,” “Woman’s World.” The magazines all seem to be filled with articles on raising families, adopting beautiful children, and parenting. Poor choice of reading material for this type of place.

One by one we were called by a too-pleasant woman with red hair to station 5. “Counseling.” In our personal counseling sessions the red-haired woman looked over my medical history and the release form consenting to the termination of my pregnancy and the risks assigned with that. She made sure I signed in the right spot, in the right ink, in the right way. She asked it I had read the papers and understood the procedure and the problems that might occur. She asked if “you felt that abortion was the best decision for you right now.” I said yes. Right, but not best. That was the end of counseling. She had decided with one question that I was mentally prepared for my
abortion. I expected a bit more. I still had hesitations. I still was confused. I didn’t know why I was here. I wanted to talk to someone who was concerned about how I felt, but it was over. I was sent back to the waiting room and the next women was called in for her question.

It took almost an hour for everyone to go through counseling . After we were all back in the waiting room and our forms were certain to be correct, they took us as a group to another room. It was in this room that the red-haired woman explained the abortion procedure and what our bodies might feel during it. She showed us the instruments used and how they worked. She explained to us the medicine that would be given to us and the care and precautions needed to be taken after the procedure to prevent complications.

He were shuffled back into the waiting room. Then they separated us into groups based on our choice of anesthesia. “General, Valium, Gas, Awake.” They handed us hospital gowns that we would wear and then we waited.

They took the group going under into the back. When I first consented to the abortion I had wanted this. I told Joe that if I was going to have an abortion that I wanted to be out solid. I wanted to be out for a week, a month, hell, thinking about the abortion made me
want to never wake up. However, the more I thought and accepted the decision, the more I needed to be awake and alert through it. I wanted to feel whatever was going to be done to my body. I wanted to remember, I wanted to feel and to be able to know why I was crying after the procedure. I wanted to cry with the memory of going through it.

The first group went into the back to the anesthesiologist. They went with their gowns and their empty faces filled with uncertainty and fear. Next they took those going for Valium. They came back after receiving their pill or injection. They waited for the drug to take effect.

The faces in the room now were much more tense. As if we all knew that we were here for an abortion. To terminate our pregnancies. We now were fully aware what that meant. Some people teared up, some rocked back and forth, but most of the faces were blank. We were inside ourselves with only our thoughts as company.

My name was about half-way down the call list. I watched approximately 11 people before me leave that room and disappear out of this experience. I noticed that after their names were called they took their gowns, their belongings and shuffled out of the room as a inmate might go to the death chamber.

When my name was called I took my gown and my personal belongings and shuffled out of the room, following the pleasant young woman who was leading me and my baby to its death chamber. I left another 11 women in that room to wait their turns. I, too, never looked back.

I was lead into a doctor’s room where the procedure would take place. The too-pleasant consoler explained to me to undress from the waist down. “You can keep your socks on.” After I was stripped, she assisted me to the table and covered me with a thin blue sheet. She then instructed me to place my feet in the stirrups. She then left the room and said she would return in a few moments with the doctor.

I looked around the room. I saw KY lubricating jelly, a 9 inch long needle that would inject Novocaine into both sides of my cervix, boxes of latex gloves, swabs, cotton balls, and forceps. In the corner was the vacuum aspirator. The boxy beige machine that looked much like a typing stand except for the two large glass jars on top of it. The jars were wrapped in the same thin blue plastic that I was wearing and had clear plastic tubing out the tops that went to a curate that would suck the eight week, 1 inch long baby out of me.

I breathed deeply, verging on tears. I was naked on a table with my feet in stirrups waiting for a doctor I’ve never met to take the baby Joe and I created out of me forever. This was ending my pregnancy. This was abortion. This is the most monumental thing I’ve done and undone. Joe was alone in reception area and I was alone in here.

Being pregnant has affected all areas of my life. No matter what decision we arrived at, all would change us forever. I wanted to run. I wanted to go to Joe and have him take me home. I wanted to lie in his arms forever, not thinking. But that wasn’t realistic. I knew that a decision was made and we knew that this was for the best. I knew why I was here and why I had come this far. I knew I would never come back so I held back the tears and the feelings and the hurt and waited for the doctor.

They walked in. Consoler, Doctor and Nurse. They asked how I was. I said that I had been better. They asked if I was ready. I said I guessed.

They gave me gas to inhale and the doctor set to his work between my legs. He preformed a bi-manual exam by inserting two fingers in my vagina and feeling the position of my uterus to determine the length of my pregnancy. This would indicate the size my cervix needed to be dilated for the fetal tissue to be able to go through the vacuum tube. He then inserted the speculum and expanded it. My vagina was swabbed with Bacitracin and forceps were clamped to hold my cervix in place.

There was pressure. He told me I might feel a pinch. The needle. Novocain injected into my cervix. No pain but intense discomfort. My eyes clenched and my mind visualized what my lower half must look like; legs spread, black socks on, speculum inserted and a syringe and a pair of forceps protruding from me.

Then the dilation began. A series of cramping. The feeling reminded me of a manual can opener. I felt like I was being opened in a very unnatural way. 6mm, 7mm, 8mm, 9mm. Dilated. Then the vacuum turned on and I knew from my handy reading material that I was 90% through the procedure. The suction began.

There was pressure. Unbelievable pressure. Not pain but phenomenal discomfort. I felt the sides of my uterus being pulled to the machine. I heard the machine grind as it caught the first of the fetal material. Tears welled up in my eyes but none fell.

Although the suction lasted probably less that 30 seconds it felt like forever. It felt at times like that 9mm tube was not only going to suck my baby into the jar, but my whole being into it as well.

The doctor then re-swabbed my uterus to see it was empty and re-suctioned to make sure it was clean. As soon as the machine was turned off the nurse grabbed the jar off the table and left the room.

I guess they didn’t want us to see what remained of our babies.

He apologized for my discomfort and asked how I felt. I was in a daze. I just wanted to lie there for a few moments but in seconds they were helping me sit up. The nurse was tearing the paper off the table I rested on not more than 5 seconds ago and was cleaning it with antiseptic. In less than a minute the room was again prepped for the next patient. I got up off the table and dressed. The consoler lead me to the recovery area.

I felt so different. I felt weak, dazed, crampy and strangely empty.

Recovery was filled with 6 girls in reclining brown leather chairs. Their faces pale and blank. Some were wrapped in cotton blankets. All looked traumatized. I curled up in my chair and thought. At thymes I would catch someone’s gaze and our eyes would lock with the knowledge we all had undergone the same thing less that 15 minutes ago. We each had made the choice to terminate our pregnancies. No matter what reasons we might have had, and no matter what attitude we entered this clinic with, we were now reduced and introspective with our experience.

The aids made rounds checking blood pressure and heart rates. After 15 minutes I was told that my vitals were normal and I could leave. I left as fast as my tender body could go. Joe was in the reception area and he hugged me. Just like he did when he first found out I was pregnant. With the same warmth, compassion and love that he always has.

Joe drove me home. Joe and I have the rest of our lives to make what we choose of ourselves and our lives. To educate ourselves and make choices that will allow us to prepare for a child in the future. A planned pregnancy and a good life. The choice we made today allows us the freedom to make better choices for our lives. Unlike 23 other
small beings that for many reasons, today were denied that chance. It is fair? No, not at all, but for Joe and I, at this thyme in our lives this was the best and most rational decision available.

3691

March 6, 1991 at 11:53 am I terminated my eight week pregnancy. It is now 2:33 pm and I am at home resting in bed. These are my feelings right now.

I feel sore. The abortion procedure has left me weak and uncomfortable. I woke up at 6:45 am. Joe and I got in the car and drove up to the Akron Women’s Clinic. We had to be checked in by 8 am. There were about forty people in the small waiting room. Twenty-three for abortions. Seventeen were waiting for those twenty-three. Some people looked calm. Others looked confused. Still others looked like

I felt, empty, scared, uncertain. We filled out medical charts and Joe had to run to Dairy Mart convenience store up the street to get a money order for $325 since the clinic doesn’t take cash.

One by one they called our names out and we left the waiting area and departed into the rooms behind the reception area. When my name was called Joe and I were separated. When I stepped behind the partition our pregnancy experience ended. I was “in there” and Joe was in the waiting room with 20 other people that were wondering was happening behind the door.

The first station in the assembly line was where they got paid. They took your money order and verified your picture ID. They made sure all your medical forms were filled out properly, gave you a receipt (is this tax deductible?) and sent you off to station 2.

Blood test. A prick in the finger “Hand you don’t write with please” and a few drops of blood into some very thin glass tubes.

They determine your blood type. If you are RH negative it is another $20 for medication. The medication is to prevent a reaction that could occur when the fetus is broken up during the abortion. The positive RH blood of the fetus could cause a severe reaction if mingled with the negative RH blood of the mother.

“Down the hall, up the stairs, on your right. Have a seat.”

Station three. Blood pressure. Temperature check. The aides are talking about buying shoes for their toddlers. They laugh and joke with each other while those who are waiting, wait in an uncomfortable silence.

Station 4 is the waiting room. In this room are 22 other women ranging in age from about 16-40. Some casually talking to the stranger next to them whom which, in a few hours, they will share a similar experience. Some silent. Alone and afraid of all the things that are waiting behind those doors. Others talk about their pregnancy and their decisions that brought them here. I think about Joe and what might be going through his mind as he waits alone in the reception area.

There are magazines in this room for us to read. “Better Homes and Gardens,” “Redbook,” “Woman’s World.” The magazines all seem to be filled with articles on raising families, adopting beautiful children, and parenting. Poor choice of reading material for this type of place.

One by one we were called by a too-pleasant woman with red hair to station 5. “Counseling.” In our personal counseling sessions the red-haired woman looked over my medical history and the release form consenting to the termination of my pregnancy and the risks assigned with that. She made sure I signed in the right spot, in the right ink, in the right way. She asked it I had read the papers and understood the procedure and the problems that might occur. She asked if “you felt that abortion was the best decision for you right now.” I said yes. Right, but not best. That was the end of counseling. She had decided with one question that I was mentally prepared for my
abortion. I expected a bit more. I still had hesitations. I still was confused. I didn’t know why I was here. I wanted to talk to someone who was concerned about how I felt, but it was over. I was sent back to the waiting room and the next women was called in for her question.

It took almost an hour for everyone to go through counseling . After we were all back in the waiting room and our forms were certain to be correct, they took us as a group to another room. It was in this room that the red-haired woman explained the abortion procedure and what our bodies might feel during it. She showed us the instruments used and how they worked. She explained to us the medicine that would be given to us and the care and precautions needed to be taken after the procedure to prevent complications.

He were shuffled back into the waiting room. Then they separated us into groups based on our choice of anesthesia. “General, Valium, Gas, Awake.” They handed us hospital gowns that we would wear and then we waited.

They took the group going under into the back. When I first consented to the abortion I had wanted this. I told Joe that if I was going to have an abortion that I wanted to be out solid. I wanted to be out for a week, a month, hell, thinking about the abortion made me
want to never wake up. However, the more I thought and accepted the decision, the more I needed to be awake and alert through it. I wanted to feel whatever was going to be done to my body. I wanted to remember, I wanted to feel and to be able to know why I was crying after the procedure. I wanted to cry with the memory of going through it.

The first group went into the back to the anesthesiologist. They went with their gowns and their empty faces filled with uncertainty and fear. Next they took those going for Valium. They came back after receiving their pill or injection. They waited for the drug to take effect.

The faces in the room now were much more tense. As if we all knew that we were here for an abortion. To terminate our pregnancies. We now were fully aware what that meant. Some people teared up, some rocked back and forth, but most of the faces were blank. We were inside ourselves with only our thoughts as company.

My name was about half-way down the call list. I watched approximately 11 people before me leave that room and disappear out of this experience. I noticed that after their names were called they took their gowns, their belongings and shuffled out of the room as a inmate might go to the death chamber.

When my name was called I took my gown and my personal belongings and shuffled out of the room, following the pleasant young woman who was leading me and my baby to its death chamber. I left another 11 women in that room to wait their turns. I, too, never looked back.

I was lead into a doctor’s room where the procedure would take place. The too-pleasant consoler explained to me to undress from the waist down. “You can keep your socks on.” After I was stripped, she assisted me to the table and covered me with a thin blue sheet. She then instructed me to place my feet in the stirrups. She then left the room and said she would return in a few moments with the doctor.

I looked around the room. I saw KY lubricating jelly, a 9 inch long needle that would inject Novocaine into both sides of my cervix, boxes of latex gloves, swabs, cotton balls, and forceps. In the corner was the vacuum aspirator. The boxy beige machine that looked much like a typing stand except for the two large glass jars on top of it. The jars were wrapped in the same thin blue plastic that I was wearing and had clear plastic tubing out the tops that went to a curate that would suck the eight week, 1 inch long baby out of me.

I breathed deeply, verging on tears. I was naked on a table with my feet in stirrups waiting for a doctor I’ve never met to take the baby Joe and I created out of me forever. This was ending my pregnancy. This was abortion. This is the most monumental thing I’ve done and undone. Joe was alone in reception area and I was alone in here.

Being pregnant has affected all areas of my life. No matter what decision we arrived at, all would change us forever. I wanted to run. I wanted to go to Joe and have him take me home. I wanted to lie in his arms forever, not thinking. But that wasn’t realistic. I knew that a decision was made and we knew that this was for the best. I knew why I was here and why I had come this far. I knew I would never come back so I held back the tears and the feelings and the hurt and waited for the doctor.

They walked in. Consoler, Doctor and Nurse. They asked how I was. I said that I had been better. They asked if I was ready. I said I guessed.

They gave me gas to inhale and the doctor set to his work between my legs. He preformed a bi-manual exam by inserting two fingers in my vagina and feeling the position of my uterus to determine the length of my pregnancy. This would indicate the size my cervix needed to be dilated for the fetal tissue to be able to go through the vacuum tube. He then inserted the speculum and expanded it. My vagina was swabbed with Bacitracin and forceps were clamped to hold my cervix in place.

There was pressure. He told me I might feel a pinch. The needle. Novocain injected into my cervix. No pain but intense discomfort. My eyes clenched and my mind visualized what my lower half must look like; legs spread, black socks on, speculum inserted and a syringe and a pair of forceps protruding from me.

Then the dilation began. A series of cramping. The feeling reminded me of a manual can opener. I felt like I was being opened in a very unnatural way. 6mm, 7mm, 8mm, 9mm. Dilated. Then the vacuum turned on and I knew from my handy reading material that I was 90% through the procedure. The suction began.

There was pressure. Unbelievable pressure. Not pain but phenomenal discomfort. I felt the sides of my uterus being pulled to the machine. I heard the machine grind as it caught the first of the fetal material. Tears welled up in my eyes but none fell.

Although the suction lasted probably less that 30 seconds it felt like forever. It felt at times like that 9mm tube was not only going to suck my baby into the jar, but my whole being into it as well.

The doctor then re-swabbed my uterus to see it was empty and re-suctioned to make sure it was clean. As soon as the machine was turned off the nurse grabbed the jar off the table and left the room.

I guess they didn’t want us to see what remained of our babies.

He apologized for my discomfort and asked how I felt. I was in a daze. I just wanted to lie there for a few moments but in seconds they were helping me sit up. The nurse was tearing the paper off the table I rested on not more than 5 seconds ago and was cleaning it with antiseptic. In less than a minute the room was again prepped for the next patient. I got up off the table and dressed. The consoler lead me to the recovery area.

I felt so different. I felt weak, dazed, crampy and strangely empty.

Recovery was filled with 6 girls in reclining brown leather chairs. Their faces pale and blank. Some were wrapped in cotton blankets. All looked traumatized. I curled up in my chair and thought. At thymes I would catch someone’s gaze and our eyes would lock with the knowledge we all had undergone the same thing less that 15 minutes ago. We each had made the choice to terminate our pregnancies. No matter what reasons we might have had, and no matter what attitude we entered this clinic with, we were now reduced and introspective with our experience.

The aids made rounds checking blood pressure and heart rates. After 15 minutes I was told that my vitals were normal and I could leave. I left as fast as my tender body could go. Joe was in the reception area and he hugged me. Just like he did when he first found out I was pregnant. With the same warmth, compassion and love that he always has.

Joe drove me home. Joe and I have the rest of our lives to make what we choose of ourselves and our lives. To educate ourselves and make choices that will allow us to prepare for a child in the future. A planned pregnancy and a good life. The choice we made today allows us the freedom to make better choices for our lives. Unlike 23 other
small beings that for many reasons, today were denied that chance. It is fair? No, not at all, but for Joe and I, at this thyme in our lives this was the best and most rational decision available.

“Life is short and love is always over in the morning”
–Sisters of Mercy–

I’m hurting and I wonder if it is in a good way. It is 4pm on Satur­
day, January 4 and I am sitting in my guard chair verging on tears. I
don’t even know why. All I know is that is registered to me that we
were “apart” for 8 weeks. But in that 8 weeks you picked up 3 new
sexual partners. And I don’t know how often or how many thymes you
were with any of these persons but it hit me that you had more new
sexual partners than I had total sexual encounters. I know I “gave”
you the right t to do as you wanted, just as I had that right as well.
I exercises that option, this is true. It is just that with all your
“I only want you” talk it hurts to know how much ( & I don’t know
this) you executed your option. It makes me wonder how it feels for
you to do that. What makes you decide to go through with it. I
thought I was the one who wanted variety and freedom. I knew that you
were with others. But the realization of it hurts.

Breaking apart…

I love you. I know this. I am closer to you than I ever have been to
another. I want our love to persevere the tests and trials of thyme.
help me. It is something that I have never seen. It is all that I am
afraid of. The failure would mean my failure. I don’t know if I
could handle that. I pledge to you that I will give me best effort at
making this go it you do. Acknowledge fear and hurt and have open
discussions with no hidden plot lines. i love you more and more every
day. my love these past 8 weeks never dwindles. I just concealed it.
Why? I didn’t know where to go.. Joe you are my support system. You
are me closest friend and my closes family. When I have problems with
you that we have a difficulty resolving between us. Who can I turn
to? No one. There is no one I can talk to you about. No one to give
me positive reinforcement. No one to tell me to hang in there because
you can work it out. I hate having this fear but I am so afraid of
being trapped. I know I can do it on my own. I know it will be
difficult and hard and tolerable but not very happy. I know that with
you there could be more but up till a few months ago I didn’t know if
that was what I wanted. Now I do. I think our lives are becoming
more parallel and we are assimilating into people that we can live
with. It will be hard, but I love you. I know now that I would marry
you in an instant, anywhere. I would have your baby in a half an
instant. But I know you have to see some stability in me and I have
to see some moral reliability (i.e., work employment) in you. You
have shown me and I am starting to believe in you and your potential.
Keep it going. Don’t get lazy and slack off. Challenge each other
and push us to the limits of loving ambition. Now I would like you to
watch me to show you that I can be there for you. Three months I will
show you because I want to. Because I want you. I ask you to change
nothing. You could see whoever you want (if you choose) I just want
you to see that I can do this because I want to. After that then we
can talk and you can decide it we want to be together forever. But
help me Joe. You know how scared I am, but I love you. Help me make
it work. With honesty, truth and belief. You are a good person and
you are the person I want in my life…forever. I’m not asking any­
thing of you right now. Just love me and help me grow into a strong
person. I am going to try. I want you to be honest with me. I love you.

Forever is a long thyme but I hope it will be. I think it can
work better now. One reason is that I don’t live at my mother’s house
any more. I don’t have her comments of the pain you have to have and
the sacrifices involved in a relationship. I don’t have her critical
eye of you. It is my life and my relationship with you is my own.
She needs to butt out of both. Reason #2 is that we are not living
together. Not that this is bad. But it is just that I’m paying my
way and you are paying your own. This is good for both of us. The
thyme we have together has to have an effort behind it. We don’t just
come home at the end of the day and plop into the same bed. Reason #3
is that I really do love you and care about and want help with my
[our] problems. You are beautiful and sensitive and fucked-upped
person and I have tested the hell out of you to see what your made
off. You get a 93%. Good job. I love you.

“Life is short and love is always over in the morning”
–Sisters of Mercy–

I’m hurting and I wonder if it is in a good way. It is 4pm on Satur­
day, January 4 and I am sitting in my guard chair verging on tears. I
don’t even know why. All I know is that is registered to me that we
were “apart” for 8 weeks. But in that 8 weeks you picked up 3 new
sexual partners. And I don’t know how often or how many thymes you
were with any of these persons but it hit me that you had more new
sexual partners than I had total sexual encounters. I know I “gave”
you the right t to do as you wanted, just as I had that right as well.
I exercises that option, this is true. It is just that with all your
“I only want you” talk it hurts to know how much ( & I don’t know
this) you executed your option. It makes me wonder how it feels for
you to do that. What makes you decide to go through with it. I
thought I was the one who wanted variety and freedom. I knew that you
were with others. But the realization of it hurts.

Breaking apart…

I love you. I know this. I am closer to you than I ever have been to
another. I want our love to persevere the tests and trials of thyme.
help me. It is something that I have never seen. It is all that I am
afraid of. The failure would mean my failure. I don’t know if I
could handle that. I pledge to you that I will give me best effort at
making this go it you do. Acknowledge fear and hurt and have open
discussions with no hidden plot lines. i love you more and more every
day. my love these past 8 weeks never dwindles. I just concealed it.
Why? I didn’t know where to go.. Joe you are my support system. You
are me closest friend and my closes family. When I have problems with
you that we have a difficulty resolving between us. Who can I turn
to? No one. There is no one I can talk to you about. No one to give
me positive reinforcement. No one to tell me to hang in there because
you can work it out. I hate having this fear but I am so afraid of
being trapped. I know I can do it on my own. I know it will be
difficult and hard and tolerable but not very happy. I know that with
you there could be more but up till a few months ago I didn’t know if
that was what I wanted. Now I do. I think our lives are becoming
more parallel and we are assimilating into people that we can live
with. It will be hard, but I love you. I know now that I would marry
you in an instant, anywhere. I would have your baby in a half an
instant. But I know you have to see some stability in me and I have
to see some moral reliability (i.e., work employment) in you. You
have shown me and I am starting to believe in you and your potential.
Keep it going. Don’t get lazy and slack off. Challenge each other
and push us to the limits of loving ambition. Now I would like you to
watch me to show you that I can be there for you. Three months I will
show you because I want to. Because I want you. I ask you to change
nothing. You could see whoever you want (if you choose) I just want
you to see that I can do this because I want to. After that then we
can talk and you can decide it we want to be together forever. But
help me Joe. You know how scared I am, but I love you. Help me make
it work. With honesty, truth and belief. You are a good person and
you are the person I want in my life…forever. I’m not asking any­
thing of you right now. Just love me and help me grow into a strong
person. I am going to try. I want you to be honest with me. I love you.

Forever is a long thyme but I hope it will be. I think it can
work better now. One reason is that I don’t live at my mother’s house
any more. I don’t have her comments of the pain you have to have and
the sacrifices involved in a relationship. I don’t have her critical
eye of you. It is my life and my relationship with you is my own.
She needs to butt out of both. Reason #2 is that we are not living
together. Not that this is bad. But it is just that I’m paying my
way and you are paying your own. This is good for both of us. The
thyme we have together has to have an effort behind it. We don’t just
come home at the end of the day and plop into the same bed. Reason #3
is that I really do love you and care about and want help with my
[our] problems. You are beautiful and sensitive and fucked-upped
person and I have tested the hell out of you to see what your made
off. You get a 93%. Good job. I love you.