Teen Pregnancy

“You look very emotional right now. Can you tell me about what you’re feeling? Look. I know you are scared and you have every right to be. Your sister is going to yell and be angry but you’ve been yelled at before, right? If your biggest fear is her disappointment, look me in the eye right now. I’m a sister and I can tell you this: Your sister is only angry because she loves you. Your sister is only disappointed you hid this from her because she trusts you. People don’t have feelings for other people if they do not care about them. And do you notice something about what I just said? LoveS. TrustS. Present tense. I’m a sister too. And I can guarantee you this: Anger fades but love never does. Siblings stay siblings, no matter what. The love never dies. Remember that. You are OK. Breathe.”

Yesterday, I had two 17-year olds in the clinic for 2-hours. Their pregnancy got found out because the girl sent a picture of her belly to a friend, and like any high-school, the picture spread. And got back to the boyfriend’s (father of the baby) older sister.

His older sister is the one who has custody; mom is out of the picture.

I have never seen such raw emotion, raw fear in a boy who is supposed to be an “adult” in just 6 more months. He was shaking, lips quivering, curled over in his chair hiding his red, tear-stained eyes. So, so afraid. After ruling out possible physical violence, it was clear to me that he respects his sister so much, loves her so much, that he is silenced by his fear of having lied to her.

He didn’t care about being hit, he didn’t care about being kicked out — what he feared was never being able to talk to her again. The sadness in his eyes as he kept calling her cell phone, sending her text messages — the cracking in his voice every time he repeated, “She’s not replying.”

It reminded me that the 5’ 8” boy with sagging pants sitting in front of me is just that: a scared little boy. Now a soon to be father.

And it is a humbling experience to have been able to be there for him, to be there for them. To be a part of their support system, if even for just this one, hectic day.

It humbles me to be a listening ear.

It humbles me to be a calming voice.

It humbles me to be a nurse.

Every. Damn. Day.

Locked Up

“Once, you asked me if ever knew how it felt to be restrained in the hospital bed. You asked me if I could even imagine what it felt like to sit behind the bars of a locked police car because XX called the cops on you, fearing that you would be dead, and not just threatening to be dead.”

I don’t.

But I know what it feels like to have chains wrapped around my head all the time; because the fear of losing you haunts me, eats me alive. I feel locked because I would never hesitate even a breath to give up everything for you, just to know that I would be with you.

Locked and waiting. Longing. Wondering. Fearing.

So yeah, maybe I do know what it feels like to be restrained.

Pain

Sometimes I get a little peeved when people tell others that they shouldn’t be sad, or angry, or that their pain and sorrow is not warranted. I’m a firm believer of the fact that a person’s pain is what they tell me it is.

Lesson 101 of pain management. Pain is what the patient tells you it is.

Maybe it’s not pain to you.
Or maybe it’s not pain to me.
But it’s pain to them.
It’s pain to someone.
And that’s OK.
That’s acceptable.

Let them have that pain.
Let us embrace it.
Let me have what sometimes is the only emotion I have left.

I know what it feels like to have a wall in my mind.
Your compliments don’t reach me.
Your optimism doesn’t touch me.
Telling me I don’t have ‘X,Y,Z’ as bad as you do,
Only dismisses my pain,
My insecurities,
My right to the only type of love I have left for myself.
Love that is often, hate.

It only tells me how little you listen, how little you see, how little you care.

Don’t dismiss me,
Don’t dismiss us.

Sometimes it’s best just to let me have the pain.
To let us have something.

Fighting

It’s only my fourth day home.
My parents are fighting again.
My mom won’t shut-up.
My dad won’t stop threatening.
Why won’t my mom stop lighting his fire.
Just shut up.
Then the blows will stop coming.
The slaps can stop.
The tears will go away.

My fear will go away.

I only wish my family could split.
I’m jealous of kids whose parents are divorced.

I’m afraid my mom will die.
I’m afraid my dad will kill himself.

I’m afraid.
The fear never stops.

I’m no different from the 11-year old me sitting at the top of the stairs, listening to the screams echo, listening to the anger escalate, wondering when I should run down to get between them.

As if I could stop them.

I’m 24 but I feel more helpless today than I ever did before.

The tears never stop.

Someone explain to me why my tears won’t stop?

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