"...Next came three years of uncompromising, pre-meditated rebellion. I drank alcohol and smoked weed. It was liberating to have something to place the blame on. When raped, I no longer felt as if the responsibility was mine. “I was high and/or drunk,” seemed to be an acceptable explanation. When molestation found me again, it was no fault of my own. I became adept at deflecting blame, and lived as one who would not be held responsible for things done while under the influence of intoxicating beverages and an illicit drug. Rarely did Mommy and Daddy give me a curfew. When they did, I purposely ignored their request that I return home at a given time, daring them to enforce consequences. Mommy said to me one time that my attitude made her want to vomit. I yielded to no one’s restraint. Respect for my family, other adults, and myself was a foreign concept. Boys used my body as their private playground per my admittance. The entrance gate did not display a sign of rules.
I acquired my first job and real boyfriend, (who I later married), during this time as well. Foolishly, I thought telling him that I was a virgin would keep him in interested in me as a person, not just in having sex with me. He let me think that he believed me. Shortly after turning 17 and at the beginning of my senior year of high school, we found out that I was pregnant. In spite of the value that I placed on the new human being developing in my young womb, a decision to abort the innocent baby was made for us. Reasons given included the following: “You’re both too young.” “He’s about to leave for basic training, (implying that there was no guarantee that we’d stay together).” “I don’t want you to end up like me,” explained my mother (who had me at age 17). Lastly, “It just wouldn’t be right if you have to walk across the stage with a big belly to receive your diploma, or worse, miss your graduation ceremony altogether because you’re in labor!” I voiced my displeasure about the decision to end my pregnancy to my boyfriend, but he replied, “You’re being a baby about it. It ain’t that big a deal.” At 7 weeks and 3 days, my baby was murdered. Afterwards, no one talked about it, E-V-E-R, and my boyfriend left for basic training..."
Taken from Section 1, "Let Me Introduce Myself"