Twenty years and I'm running on Empty

How much longer am I going to live? That's the question I keep asking myself. How many more years do I have left to ruin my life and the lives of those around me? How many more times will I cry until my face looks like I was stung by millions of bees? How many more times will I wake up wishing I hadn't? How many more?

I'm officially turning twenty today at 1024.

This weekend I...

• found out I was pregnant right before going to work
• broke up with my boyfriend, one day shy of our one year anniversary
• ended up in the ER because I was bleeding. Apparently, I'm too stressed. Really?
• had my best friend taunt me and egg me on to kill myself and take my baby with me
• realized I have completely screwed up my life, the lives of those around me, and my baby's life.

If that's not enough to cry non-stop for almost two hours, I don't know what is. My child's father could be one of two people, neither of them is up for fatherhood, so I'm doing this alone. One of them thinks that I shouldn't mention the baby because it'll be easier for him to forget this is even happening. And the other insists that he loves me, but the baby isn't his.

It doesn't matter what happens. I'm going to love this child. I might be the only one who does. I'm not getting an abortion. I thought about it because of the situation I'm in, but this baby did nothing to any of us. I'm not killing him or her. After hearing the heartbeat and seeing the baby move on the monitor, I can't let go.

So happy birthday to me.