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I was a senior in high school when my boyfriend got me pregnant the first time I had sex with him. We were both 17. I took a pregnancy test three weeks after I missed my period. I didn't want to be pregnant, I didn't want to tell him and I didn't want anyone to know. I got drunk enough to finally tell him one night, and he claimed I didn't know what I was saying. He didn't want to have anything to do with me.

I was alone, I had awful morning sickness, I had continued to party, I was applying to colleges, and it seemed my only option was to have an abortion nine weeks into my pregnancy. I paid for it and went through the whole experience alone. The decision was mine to make alone; the pain, the emptiness and the sadness are mine alone. I had never felt more isolated, abandoned and confused in my life, and I hope I never feel that way again.

We stopped seeing each other and we didn't speak until the following year when I came home from college for winter break. I called him to finally talk it out. I guess I was searching for his forgiveness, or mine, or maybe an apology from him. I don't know what I wanted from that phone call. I didn't get anything- just his indifference. I still can't understand his callousness.

I buried the hurt and betrayal for years, but as I watch my friends start families with their loving and supportive husbands, I've realized I need to uncover and deal with this pain one step at a time. I'm happy for my friends who will soon be mothers and bring a new life into a loving, supportive home.

I'm proud of my strength and my decision, but I'm still making my peace with myself... it's going to take some more time and that's okay.