I've been in a bit of a funk lately. I think it's because I've been working on more of my story, and although I tend to ruminate, I hate it. I don't like living in the past, and I really don't like reliving stupid things I've done.
But I want to be thorough. It's one of my quirks. It's not enough to me to just say that my pregnancy was a lonely time and I wasn't sure what to do about things. Writing is cathartic, and I know I'll feel better once it's all out.
That said ... I've been going through old messages on MySpace. H and I met on MySpace, have I mentioned that before? I'm never on MySpace anymore, because it reminds me of H, and because I like Facebook better. And because most of the people I connect with on-line have abandoned MySpace for Facebook.
It's coming up on two years since I met H, and I've been reading through the messages H sent me, from the first down to the last, so I can write about things. In retrospect I can see things progressing, see the danger that was almost imperceptible at the time. It's horrifying. My stomach turns more and more as I move through the list. I want to reach back two years and slap myself. Give myself a good shake and tell myself to snap out of it, to use my brain for once and think about what I'm doing. I feel physically ill as I read.
It's a bit like watching a scary movie. I can look at things now and see the stalker with the meat cleaver hiding behind the door, waiting for the horror-film heroine, too tragically stupid to live, to enter the room. I want to shout to her, "Don't open the door!" But it does no good. She can't hear me. She's going to open the door no matter what I do. She's going to be butchered and I am powerless to stop it. I can only look on in horror at the bloodbath on the screen.
That turned into a violent metaphor. Hmm.
Sometimes I wish I hadn't opened the door. I wish I could go back. Arm myself. Give myself something to defend myself against the onslaught. But then ... what of my baby? If I'd known not to open the door, known what was behind it and walked away instead, she wouldn't be here. I don't like to think about a world without her.
I've struggled, thinking about things. Would I make the same mistakes again, knowing what I do now? Would I still have done everything just to get Roo here? I think I would. I know that, if I hadn't, Roo would have gotten here some other way. But I'm greedy and selfish. I want Roo in my life. I wouldn't trade being her birth mother for anything in the world. If I had to open the door to get her here, so be it. She is worth it.