Daffodils Are Too Bright

The doctor sucked out my sanity and my faith when he vacuumed out my first child. I am 100% pro-choice to this day. But it wasn’t my choice then.

I have filled that empty womb with addiction and compulsion ever since. It’s been 29 years now of punishing myself relentlessly.

I was 20 years old and in love with a seminarian who was also an alcoholic. He could control himself when he was sober. But we had sex once when he was drunk.

He was the star seminarian; a real Catholic Gold Boy. I was just another girl. His spiritual mentor - a priest I knew well - paid for the procedure, and paid for my silence.

The Golden Boy is a priest now himself. With his own congregation. I have rarely walked into a Catholic church now in years.

He got a congregation and I got a hole in my soul.

I cry whenever I see daffodils. That April day when I aborted my child, the pathway to the clinic was lined with those yellow flowers.

They are too bright for me.

Out and proud queer girl, blogger at InkQueery (www.inkqueery.com), wrestling her demons ten minutes at a time.

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