Borrowing Jacob 1

I have finally started writing it.

Mostly Forgotten

I’ve forgotten much more about the beginning than I remember. I know that a year ago I could have reeled off a play by play for the entire nine months but now I can’t seem to recall some of the more significant details. I don’t remember the day or date. Was it first thing in the morning or in the afternoon? Where did I buy the tests and how many? How long did it take for the lines to develop? How long did I wait before I called my parents and did I cry before then or did I wait until I heard my mom’s voice? I know I felt scared out of my mind just opening the pregnancy tests and that I was shaking and sweating and trying to concentrate on what I was doing but there are so many black spots in my memory. I can’t remember if I did it upstairs or down, if I waited in my room or the living room. How much water did I drink before hand? I don’t think I talked to anyone that day, if I had let them know what I expected. Did I call James? Or Erik? Anyone? I can’t remember.
One thing that I do remember is after I talked to my mom and she and dad were on their way home I remember vividly curling into a ball and crying so hard that I thought my stomach was going to rupture, I had a fleeting thought that maybe if I got worked up enough that there would be a miscarriage. That’s horrible I know. I remember feeling so lost and I know that I felt like no one was going to understand because I didn’t even understand. I couldn’t wrap my head around a pregnancy.
I have a decent enough memory. I can remember the outfit I was wearing for most any momentous moment in my life, except this one. I can remember details of conversations with strangers from ten years ago but I can’t remember past “promise me you wont be disappointed in me” with my mom and I know my mom and dad were on their way home when I called them but for the life of me I can’t remember what was said when they did get home and finally saw me. Where they crying? Was I? Did they hug me? Did I let them? I can’t remember words but I can still feel the waves of disappointment that rolled off them into me like it was a tangible thing that kept beating at me. Did my dad look at me? I can’t remember looking him in the eye or even if I could have if I tried. I know my dad and I know he was red faced and quiet and probably had tears flowing but I can’t see it. The memory isn’t there anymore.
I’m starting to wonder if I’ve somehow blocked or repressed these memories in some form of self preservation. Or is it that it’s been eight years now and my mind is really just okay with everything enough to forget it all. I figure now is the time to try and get it all out of me and down on paper, before it’s all really gone for good.
I’m not sure exactly who I want to read all this. I don’t know why this is any different to me than telling someone about my life but it is different. I can’t stop midway and answer questions and defend myself or explain why I did one thing over another. Laying it all out and assuming everyone will come to the right conclusion is taking a lot of trust on my part and I’m not that comfortable trusting others.