“My Abortion, My Life, My Decision”: A Diary from a Real Woman

Shayla Smith

Jan 12 2017



Age: 17

Location: Hitchcock, Oklahoma

“It is now 12:30 in the afternoon on this drowsy cloudy Monday. I am sitting on the cold mosaic pattern floor in the girl’s bathroom located on the third floor in the F building. This is my new favorite place to be during lunch time, because the comic book club has invaded my usual spot under the oak tree behind the football arena. “This is our new meeting spot, go find somewhere else weirdo”, rudely hissed Hector, the comic book adminstrator. Turning around and eyes rolling, I began walking away when I hear nerdy cackles from the rest of the club members, followed by the words, “Weird Bitch”. I sat on the floor and got out my new notepad , I was so excited to start a fresh page of my diary.Diary.png

Until I heard a series of footsteps enter through the two wide doors. I took a peek under the stall to get a better glimpse of how many people entered. Three. One of them wearing a pair of open-toed suede Louis Vuitton booties, a pair of Adidas shell-toe classics, and a pair or yellow Crocs. “O-M-G, My eyelashes are falling off..Girl do you have any eyelash glue?” whined one of the girls. Laughing, “Haha, girl you look crazy you need this glue ASAP!”, the other girl responded. “Can both of y’all shut the hell up, so I can spill the tea?!”, the girl with expensive booties scowled. By the tone of the bitchy voice, I already Bathroom.pngknew who it was. Eva Longhorn. Eva, is just like one of the girls on those high school drama TV series. The prettiest, most popular, envies, richest, and boujie girl at Hitchcock High School, the crown holder for heaven’s sake.  Every girl either wanted be her or similar to her. Once upon a time, I did as well. Eva had the best life any seventeen year old girl could even dream of. Expensive clothes. Nicest car. A lot of friends. And most of all, she has the cutest boyfriend in the school, if not the world. De’andre Swanson. They have been dating for about three years now, and I remember because in Ms. Landy’s Biology class during ninth grade, De’andre said his first words to me. “He-y-y-y girls name I forgot….., could you do me a favor and pass this note to the chick in the red skirt, and tell her to open it thanks”, he advised. Although he didn’t remember my name (in which to this day I still don’t think he does), I will never forget how beautiful his brown almond eyes looked me dead in my pupil. Snapping back into reality, I stopped daydreaming about De’andre and continued focusing on their convo. “Okay, tell us what it’s about!”, said Eva’s friends. Remaining quiet as a mouse, I try to hold my breath and movements as still as possible, so they won’t be able to notice my presence.

“So it’s been three years since “D” and I have been together now…”, Eva explains.

“And you know we’ve been really active lately…..like sexually….”, gulping, she hesitates.

“Oh my goodness, have you been using protection??” one of the friends ask. “

“Only for the first few times, when he actually took my virginity…but lately…we haven’t been using any condoms and I haven’t told my mom that I don’t take my birth control pills anymore….and we had sex about two weeks ago and it’s the first of the month and my cycle hasn’t came yet,” she said awkwardly.

“So what are you saying?”

“Are you preggo?”

“Yes…..and I decided to tell him because I was really excited. You know, I’ve always wanted a baby….and although this may not be the best timing for a baby, I think it would be a great milestone in our relationship…so when I told him he got very angry an-”, pausing, Eva’s voice began cackling.

I assumed tears started rolling down.

“And what, don’t cry Eve’s”, said by the comfort of both of her friends.

“He told me that if I have the baby he will break up with me and leave me as a single mother because he has no time to raise a child nor does he want to have a baby right now. He told me my only choice is to abort the baby or he will find a way to get rid of it!”.

Huffing and puffing, I could tell that Eva was really in pain; a pain that I, myself, could feel because I’ve been in a similar situation.

No one knows about my story. I was told to keep quiet about it since it happened; which on the second of this month it will make one year.


Harold Jenkins is his name.

He sometimes goes by Gary.

Or Uncle Gary.bedroom

Ever since my dad went to prison when I was younger, and my mom decided that she couldn’t raise three kids on her own, Grandma Betty decided to step in and help raise us. Poor G’ma Betty. She was so fragile and caring, but didn’t really have that much energy. She passed away two years ago in 2014, and my brothers and I had a choice to go to a group home or stay with an extended family member; in which down the line was my mother’s brother, Uncle Gary. A red-haired, gritty, old-man, in about his late 30s. Single. No kids. No job. Lives in an super run down and dirty 2 bedroom apartment complex on the East side of Hitchcock, the side where all the trailer parks and not-so friendly country folks are. My twin brothers were already nineteen and looking forward to moving out, and me being the youngest of the camp, had no choice but to go to my uncle’s. I didn’t really have that much of a close relationship with my brothers, being that they usually were never home; both had girlfriends so they stayed with them more frequently. I, myself, had my own bedroom in the apartment. About a 7’ x ‘10 sized bedroom, which I wasn’t quite used to compared to living at G’ma Betty’s house where I had the master bedroom.Oh how I missed that room. I didn’t have much space to live lavishly in this shit-hole living with Uncle Gary, so I made it work. His room was on the right side of mine, very close, and the walls are as thin as air so it made it seem even closer. Uncle Gary’s and I relationship wasn’t horrible, but it wasn’t the best. He only spoke to me when it requires doing his household chores, when he needs me to make a run to the corner store for our meals, or anything else. I didn’t really expect much from him besides the “caring” part of his guardian job, only because if I wasn’t living with him he wouldn’t be exposed to any monthly income checks because of my name. Although, it would be nice if he got to know me a little better, you know…ask me how my day at school was…my favorite color…what I enjoy eating….what I enjoy doing..you know stuff of that nature. But nope, he would just follow his routine and grab a 40oz. Pack of Old English beer, take it to his room and slam his door. We basically have the living arrangement of two roommates who got kicked out of their parents house and met each other off Craigslist. On top of everything already being weird around the house, things started to go way left.

One Saturday night, around 10:49 pm, I had just got done finishing all my assignments and I was super drained. You ever have that feeling after a long day of hard work that once you get in your bed, you are going to sleep well? Welp, this feeling kicked itself right in as soon as I got all my papers in my backpack. My bed isn’t the most comfortable, but man oh man when I’m tired, feels like I’m sleeping on a bunch of cotton balls dropped from the heavens themselves. I didn’t know where Uncle Gary was, nor did I really care. All I was worried about was sleeping; and to be sure I stayed sleep I took two doses of Melatonin.  It took less than 25 minutes for the pills to kick in and there I was, knocked the hell out.pills

I’m not usually a heavy sleeper, so when I heard my door make a creaky-like sound, I thought somebody was entering. I opened both eyes and looked out into the pitch black room. Nothing was there. The creaking stopped. I readjusted my sleeping position by placing one knee upward and my other leg straight out, and went back to sleep. As I fall back asleep, I could feel my body slipping into a deeper snooze. A very relaxing, quiet, settle, yet enjoyable snooze.


There goes the door noise again, this time it seems that the door is opening a bit wider.

There I lay.


And stiff.

Waiting and wondering what’s going to peer through the dark room.

The light comes on.

And there he was.


Very naked and pure.

I was so confused and uncomfortable as to why Uncle Gary was peering over me in this position.

“Move the blanket!”, in a huffy, drunken voice, he demands me.

Terrified, I did as I was told.

I had on a loose satin two piece set that I retrieved from my G’ma Betty, that I liked to wear to bed in remembrance of her.

I didn’t have any under garment on because Uncle Gary hadn’t wash this week’s load of clothes, so I didn’t have any fresh pairs.

He immediately started groping my breasts, when he vigorously ripped my top and there I was exposed.

“What are you doing!!”, I cried.

“Shut the hell up, just lay on your back like the stupid little whore you are, and if you move I will make it even worse!”, he yelled.




That someone would be able to hear my screams.

“SHUT YOUR MOUTH OR I WILL HURT YOU!!”, he yelled again.

He then took a piece of masking tape and placed it over my mouth.

He lifted me up and turned me over, and gathered both of my hands towards my backside, and masked those up as well.

At this point I have no control.hands

Here I am in this position.

Uncle Gary proceeds to then remove my bottoms, and I began crying harder and harder.

I felt his body against mine. Warm. Prickly. Moist.

I also felt something else that I have never felt before.

His thing.

It felt so bare, and painful. I couldn’t do anything but scream and cry. So many questions and thoughts ran through my mind as he continued to go further inside of me.

I couldn’t understand why he was doing this to me.

Why me?

Am I losing my virginity?

Am I losing my virginity to my Uncle?

Am I being raped?

Am I being raped by uncle?

“Damn girl, I love you”, he begins to moan as he continues.

I froze.

I stopped crying and screaming as I heard those three words.

“Ain’t nobody gonna’ love you like me! You hear me whore?! I’m the only one who can give it to you like this..YOU HEAR ME?!”, he shouts.

I start analyzing the phrases he just said and wonder.

He will be my first intercourse.

He will be my first love.

He will be the closest thing I have comparing to a boyfriend.

The penetration begins to slow down a bit after what seems to be fifteen minutes have passed. Uncle Gary begins shaking and starts making grunting noises.
I didn’t know what was happening now. Is he stopping? Is he having a seizure?

“Auuuuuuuugh”, grunting he releases a heavy sigh.

“Don’t tell anybody bitch, or I will hurt you something bad”, he warns.

When he finally gets off of me, I feel something moist in my area. It felt like I just peed on myself or I was bleeding from my cycle; I know it wasn’t either of those so I just flipped back over, still masked up, and cried myself to sleep.

The next days were very hard for me.

Damaged, hurt, and broken, I couldn’t look at the sex faced monster the same.

Him on the other hand, went about life like nothing happened.

I didn’t have anybody to talk to nor run to tell what just happened.

The first of the month came and I was worried my cycle was late because it always comes the end of each month.

“Maybe it’s going to come a little later don’t worry about it”, I assured myself.

The weeks went by and started getting really nauseous, I figured it was morning sickness, and my period still hadn’t came.

I went to my school’s nurse and informed them about my symptoms and she made me take a pregnancy test.

I peed on the little stick thingy and gave it back to the lady and waited patiently for my results..

“Two lines indicated a positive, and one line indicates a negative”, she said.

I looked at the testing stick and there it showed. Two Lines.pregtest

The nurse didn’t have a reaction, all she said was, “Congratulations looks like your about 8 weeks and in your first trimester, I was a teen mom with my first born and it’s hard but you’ll manage through! How long have you and your boyfriend been together for? I am pretty sure he will be excited to hear the news!!”.

I ran out the room as soon as possible. I couldn’t believe she would try to throw hints like that, not even knowing that I am pregnant with my uncle’s child.

I never thought about how it would be to have a child. Maybe my baby would show me the meaning of true love? Maybe my baby would look up to me as their hero? Maybe my baby would enjoy calling me mommy? All of these thoughts, led me to considering telling Uncle Gary. Once I got back home that day, I decided to tell him the news.

“Umm, Uncle Gary I don’t know how to put this bu-”

He cut me off.

“Go wash the damn dishes and get the hell out of my face”, he hissed.

“Ok, but Uncle Gary, I’m pregnant…”.

His face turned red as a tomato.


The next morning, we arrived at Planned Parenthood, where Uncle Gary set up the appointment. He had to sign a shit load of paperwork that had to do with the procedures, the cost, the law side of it, and he had to read a contract out loud that said: “Abortion in Oklahoma is legal under United States law, following the decision in Roe v. Wade in 1973. In 1992, the Supreme Court case Planned Parenthood v. Casey upheld the legality of abortion but granted states permission to create restrictions, so long as they did not create an “undue burden” for women who sought abortion. After reading it aloud, I saw a nurse practitioner roll out a unwieldy wheelchair which didn’t look to comfortable. As I sat down, I shamefully looked up ahead of me to see if there was any sign of Uncle Gary hoping that I have a safe surgery. Scanning and wandering, my eyes came across no sight of him; I should’ve known. The wheels on the chair began to unlock and started rolling, along with my tears.

“It’s going to be okay, darling. We are here for you and so is your guardian, this is your body and your decision”, she said trying to “comfort” me.

I couldn’t believe my ears. I wanted to spazz out on her so bad because she doesn’t know my story nor is she feeling my pain. YOU ARE NOT HERE FOR ME! HE IS NOT HERE FOR ME! THIS IS NOT MY CHOICE! IT’S HIS! However, I couldn’t find a way to open my mouth and let the words come out, all because I kept hearing the voices in my head from him telling me, “I will hurt you”.

We come to a complete stop in front of a pair of gray double doors. I slowly raised my head and read the words on the door with my eyes, “Procedure Room”. The nurse injected a needle in my arm that acts a numbing medicine so I would be sleeping for the procedure. Before the medicine completely kicked in, I began secretly rubbing my stomach in a circular motion to say goodbye to my baby.

Sorry I can’t be there for you.

Sorry I can’t expose you to life outside of the womb.

Sorry he did this to me.

Sorry he did this to us.

Sorry I did this to you.

Sorry I didn’t do anything to stop this.

I hope you find a way to forgive me.

I am sorry, baby.weelchair

I woke up after my surgical procedure, and I felt the difference. She was gone. He was gone. It was gone, my baby was gone. It felt empty, like I didn’t have my little pouch or something heavily pushing down on my cervix. I wanted to cry, but I was drugged and still a bit numb from the injection. The nurse came back with the same wheelchair and helped me off the bed. “I am going to take you into the recovery room down the hall , and there you will feel more comfortable.”, she said. There was one recovery room, and there were girls crying every two seconds. Surprisingly not me. The lady next to me was in her 30s and already had two teen kids. She walked out of the place like it was nothing. After she left another girl my age was drowning in her tears and I asked her if she wanted to talk about it. She looked at me, and I knew how she felt. She knew what I was thinking. But it was too late. I don’t know where my baby is. I want to know what they did to it. I want my baby back, but it’s too late. And now I’m sad. Emotional. Depressed. Worthless at times. Lonely at others. I think about it everyday. The monster who did this to me doesn’t even check on me or wonder how I am doing, he literally lives his life like he’s the innocent one.

I cried almost every day with tears I could only cry when no one was home because I always ended up screaming my head off, to the point where I would just stop breathing.
I’m not suicidal; I did the right thing, but I wish I didn’t have to. I wish I had my baby later in life, even if it would of been two years later. I haven’t talked about my baby with anyone since I tried talking to the monster, but he always shut me out. He doesn’t understand how it hurts. I talk to myself, trying to rationalize what I did, comforting myself. I feel like I am becoming a victim of this whole situation. I try to be a survivor, I really do. It couldn’t have been for nothing. Gladly, this process wasn’t hard in the state I lived in, Oklahoma. Due to different states laws in the United States surrounding abortion, In Oklahoma, the law requires abortion clinics to meet the structural standards of surgical facilities, which makes having an abortion legal in the state. According to a newspaper article I was reading in the recovery room, it stated, “Abortion is illegal when: Non-licensed person performs abortion; failure to meet standards for legal abortion; taking life of viable fetus unless necessary to preserve life, health of mother or failure to provide medical aid to fetus; purposeful termination of a human pregnancy with intent other than to produce a live birth or remove a dead fetus. Partial Birth Abortion: Physicians shall be fined $10,000 and/or imprisoned for not more than 2 years for performing a partial birth abortion except when necessary to save the mother when her life is endangered by a physical disorder, illness, or injury”. Good thing I met all of these requirements in order for it to be legal. I wonder with Donald Trump becoming president and him being super anti-abortion, how would women like myself deal with situations like these? How would the state laws have an effect on a women’s health and decision? As a pro-choice abortion women, I believe it should be legal worldwide for women to under. To anyone reading this and deciding whether or not to have an abortion, remember this. There is no me or anyone else to tell you how to decide. Reading my story, you can tell I made that mistake of having somebody decide for me. It’s your body.  It is your life and your baby. It’s like walking through hell; you’ll get burned, but you’ll keep walking. Today, I don’t know if I regret the abortion, but I wish my pregnancy would have happened later in life. It was my baby, my beautiful baby, and now it’s gone. I cry and I cry almost everyday since last August, but it’s not all day, and I’m not sad all the time anymore. Moreso, thankful because I know my baby isn’t mad at me nor angry with mommy, he or she is my guardian angel. I’m looking forward to a time when I could meet my beautiful baby and find a true love.

This is my story.

4 Comments Add yours

  1. emet levy says:

    The personal images, and writing bring the topic into a new more for lack of a better word personal setting.


  2. felicityjones17 says:

    I really enjoyed this story because it is something that happens in everyday life and even though it’s tough this story can show girls that they have a choice


  3. soha says:

    Shay way to dig so deep into you character! Loved how much energy you put in 🙂


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