After reading my best friend's entries on this site, I decided to start my own online diary. It seems like a good release - a good way to work things out for yourself. I'm not sure if it will help, but here goes.

Where to begin....getting married at 17, my hatred of children, the sordid tale of my estranged and now deceased mother, my contradicting political views? Hmmm. OK, marriage it is.

I am 27 years old and have been married 10 years this past June. Yes, that means I was 17 when I got married. I met Jeff when I was 14 and a freshman in high school. I was warned not to mess with him. After a week of "going out," he disappeared from school. I later learned that he was kicked out of high school for the second time. Well, when he showed up one last time a couple of weeks later, I told him to go fuck himself.

Fast forward about a year later. I get a call from Jeff out of the blue. Of course I was very suspicious, as that is my nature. Well, things progressed, and we were an item. I did a lot of lying to my parents at this time. "Oh, Beth and I are going to the movies" or "Yeah, I'm spending the night with Shelley." I was usually with Jeff the entire night, or most of it. See, these friends did exist, but had no curfews. If they did, it was 2 a.m., like Shelley's. I was good at the lying, too. If caught in a lie, I could come up with a new one at the blink of an eye.

OK, on to the miscarriage. We actually had sex for eight months without protection. I found out I was pregnant and had miscarried in the emergency room in January of 1991. I had noticed my clothes were a little tight, and my breasts were tender or in pain a lot. I had also missed a couple of periods, but thought nothing of it. I had missed them before. Well, I started bleeding on a Wednesday after a particularly grueling P.E. class. No big deal, I assumed it was my period. Friday night I was supposed to spend the night at my friend Paula's house, where Jeff would be, too. Well, that afternoon I washed my car. As I was squatting cleaning the tires, I started to have severe cramps. I ended up locking myself in the bathroom. Nothing helped the pain. I laid down in the floor. I laid down in the tub. I took some Pepto Bismol, which I then threw up. My stepmother asked me to open the door and asked what was wrong. I think I had been in there at least an hour. I told her about the pain and the bleeding, which was extremely heavy at this point. It was decided to take me to the hospital.

The pain. I was told later that it was the same contractions I would have had if I had a full term baby. I literally wanted to shoot myself, it was so bad.

OK, I was examined in ER. When the doctor said "You are, or were, pregnant," I freaked out. I begged him not to tell my dad. He said he had to. Also, this was my first time ever having a pelvic exam, which is stressful unto itself. Dad was told, and I was admitted to the hospital. I was to have an exam the next day to see if a D and C was necessary (if there was any tissue left in my uterus). Luckily it was not.

After my parents left, I got ahold of Paula and Jeff to tell them what happened. Jeff wanted to come see me then, but it was after midnight. The next day, my Dad came up there threatening to have Jeff arrested. He was 19 at the time. Luckily, that was not pursued. I think, to her credit, my stepmother talked him out of it. (In a later post, I may go into how she was trying to get me out of the house all along.)

Well, since this is getting long, I'll abridge the rest. I waited until I turned 17 to move out. I started making plans as soon as I got home from the hospital and my dad still forbade me to see Jeff (and refused to pay for birth control pills - but I got them at the health clinic anyway). In late April or early May, Jeff asked me to marry him. I of course said yes. I was thrilled, though the circumstances were less than ideal. Anyway, we got married in Tennesee and moved into a duplex.

Man, I think that's enough for now. I need to get back to work.