I do not have an outside voice yet. Does this mean i will go unheard?
I may not have comprehensive thoughts like you adults. Does this make me worthless of even your thought?
I may not understand as much as you do. So will you never understand me?
My eyesight may not be as sharp as your’s. Does this make me a sore view for your eyes?
This is my story… the story of a child you did not want.
My first memory as a fetus is of hearing you curse in front of the doctor when you were informed that you were a month plus pregnant. The doctor was telling you that she had warned you that unprotected sex could lead to this. At that time I had little idea what all this meant. But one thing I had understood then and there, I was neither wanted nor respected.
Memory two was of you telling your boyfriend that abortion was not an option available to you due to it’s high cost and that you would indeed give birth to me. It was a few seconds of happiness for me, until I heard his reply. He said he was not going to support me, and that your idea of marriage was unthinkable. This left you shattered and bought more swears to me. So, I was not only unwanted and not respected, but also a fatherless child.
A few months passed with you cursing me always. You hit me indirectly when you were angry. You cried a lot. You drank a lot when you shouldn’t have been drinking at all. All this while, you didn’t realize what affect this was having on me.
It was obvious to anyone who saw you that I was en route. This got more people against you and made you more and more against me. By now, I was unwanted, not respected, father less, family less, and an extremely cursed child.
Finally I was born, and when I first saw you, my mother, the look on your face was that of hate, not love for me. You were discharged from the hospital. You never took me home, you threw me away in a deserted park. You left me to die. The eagles ate me, the dogs fed on me, and now is my moment of death.
People see their whole life flash before their eyes when they die. They remember everyone who loved them and who they loved. I only remembered you and how much you hated me. But what hurts most is that even as a memory, I will be a nightmare for you. You were my mother, but I was never your child.
Author’s note – I read a story about a dustbin expressing his feelings towards the world. In the end, the story mentions a child being thrown by the mother. This got me to writing this post, from the point of view of the abandoned child.