About three months ago, I thought that I was pregnant.
And of course, I didn't -really- think so because the numbers didn't work out, but underneath that I was convinced. It was like there was a clock that had been ticking inside of my skull for all these years and I've been waiting for it to stop. The problem is that having been abused sexually at such a young age I've had a lot longer to be thinking about these things than most other girls and I've just sort of been waiting, biding my time until it happened. Fortunately, of course, it didn't and life has gone on its merry way. But the minutes that I spent sitting there, alone, waiting to see how many pink lines would show up were some of the longest minutes of my life.
I hope, as I guess we all do, that when that clock finally does stop ticking it's because I've taken out its batteries.
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