Other formats

    Adobe Portable Document Format file (facsimile images)   TEI XML file   ePub eBook file  


    mail icontwitter iconBlogspot iconrss icon

Salient: Victoria University Students' Paper. Vol. 29, No. 14. 1966.

What a girl thinks — Pregnancy— A Monologue of Despair and Hope by A Melbourne Girl Student

What a girl thinks

Pregnancy— A Monologue of Despair and Hope by A Melbourne Girl Student

For the past five days my mind has been full of this one obsessive thought. Just what would I do if my fears were true? I've often thought about it. But do I really know as much as I think I do? I've never read a proper book about anything. You just seem to pick things up as soon as you're old enough to wonder what that abstract, enigmatical word sex means. I haven't even had a talk with my mother since I was about 11. It seems to be non-existent in our house. And yet it is around everywhere. Practically everything has it as a motivating force back somewhere: man and woman, black and white, positive and negative.

To a boy either he has got a girl into trouble or his girlfriend is in trouble. She has got a load. Maybe to him she's a pro. moll. tart, bird, darling, whore, bitch, twit, slut, brush, sheila, sweetheart, jill . . . perhaps he's in love with her. Whether she got it in the back seat or a motel after knowing him 10 minutes or 10 months is no matter. Something has to be done.

How does she know it was him? God! She gets around enough. How do I know she's not just having me? It's not my business if she races off with every bloke that gives her the once-over. What's it to me? It's her worry now. A bloke's got to get it somehow. Why did God have to make women so complicated? Besides she was a damn bat. I don't know what got into me to want her anyway.

Sure I told her I loved her and what beautiful eyes she had (like muddy water). We even talked about eternity. I didn't even remember her second name when I saw her again. God! I wouldn't ever have rung her up. Hell! Life is bloody strange. Now she's going to have my kid. Part of me is inside her. A bond formed from promises made only to be broken. I wonder how she feels about it and me?

Right now a thousand thoughts are racing through my brain. Will I tell him? I know I wasn't just a onenight affair. We've been going around with each other for some time now and I know he likes me a lot and I love him so much. If society wasn't so damn hypocritical I'd live with him. We probably won't get married but right now I want him for all the time and if I can't have him for ever. I'll still remember him for ever.

Society is so complicated. It sets up so many false startdards. When you're a kid you believe that everything your parents tell you about good and evil is just so. It can never be any different. The law is laid. But naiveness gives way to scepticism and the rules put down by our fathers are questioned when it is realised they are not cut and dried. One does not step into sex on the wedding night. One's desires for the opposite sex, sexually and romantically, grow and mature with experience.

A 10-year-old loves as deeply as any couple on their silver wedding anniversary. It is this conflict between the natural desires of the young who are healthy and naturally inquisitive and the mores of society which cause so much of the storm and stress of the 12-to-20 group. By 20 it is realised that these unwritten laws rest on very shaky posts.

Any girl can get into trouble, whether she be from Toorak or Fitzroy. It happens a lot. If you love somebody you want to share everything and always be together . . . I Love him so much I would go anywhere with him or do anything for him. He's not handsome, but I love his expressions and all the things he says and does. I love to care for him. I miss him when he leaves me and when I'm With him I wish we could slip into eternity together.

I love the long, slim line of his body. He is my complement. His body is firm, but his skin is smooth. He's young and strong, potentially active but always gentle. I love to feel his warmth and breathing beside me and to lay my head on his shoulder. I love to touch him and put my arms around him and pull him close. I love him to do it to me. I love to ruffle his hair. I love to look into his clear eyes and grope to reach the perfection of mind and body which comes with oneness. I love to know how he has spent his day, even what he ate for breakfast. I like to be depended upon and to have somebody always to turn to. I love to say this is --- when I introduce him. I love him, but it is a sin to love in such a way.

I should not have to worry. This should be the time to anticipate a great joy. I do not want to destroy what may be pulsating within me. I see it as an image of him. I believe deeply in the sanctity of life, no matter what its form.

How can I reconcile my conflicting feelings? Surely it's not impossible? Where could I go? What would I say? It would look awfully suspicious if I suddenly left home and shot through. Perhaps I could get my course transferred up to Sydney or something . . . I should be able to hide it for at least a few months. If I got a transfer interstate, nobody would know who I was and I could arrange everything up there and come back again at the end of the year exactly the same as when I left.

A bit unrealistic? Hell! I wonder if I really would have the guts to do it? Of course, that would mean adoption. I don't think I could just hand over a life I had helped create to somebody else; just like a parcel. I would always feel drawn back to it and very quilty—I don't want anyone to know. Yet I know lots of kids who have gone through the same thing. Abortion? I wish Kaye was in Melbourne. She's the only one I could talk to about having one. She had one about a year ago and later married the boy. You couldn't meet a nicer girl.

Most of the other girls I could ask have been around a lot more than I have and would just love to gossip. I don't think I could say anything to my parents. They just wouldn't understand. I'm sure they don't know what goes on. Besides, Mum raises the roof when I only boil over the milk.

Why is it illegal? It goes on. Everyone knows it does. When I'm sure something has happened I'll tell my boyfriend. Although I don't think he would know of anybody who could help. I know he would stand by me and do all he could to help me work something out. I'll tell my best girlfriend too. We are very close and trust each other completely and I would have to have somebody besides my boyfriend to talk about it. She knows us both well and would not condemn or judge us.

But where does that get me? I'm still in trouble. I guess I'll have to tell a third person. I know one of my ex-boyfriends has found out about getting at least two girls abortions, although not because of him. I hate to think what he will think of me coming to him. I wonder if I should take my boyfriend with me to meet him. It could be embarrassing and yet neither of them is easily embarrassed. Not everyone can afford abortions. I love ---. I won't let him pay all of it. It's just as much my fault it happened. God, when did it happen? I'm sure I gave myself enough time. We're not that ignorant and --- always knows what he's doing. It does not seem wrong. It is very beautiful and mysterious.

What if --- can't help me? Oh boy! But he just has to. What am I going to do if he can't or won't? I don't really know too much about what would happen if he did, anyway. I often think about it. I've read about things, seen films, heard talk, but I don't really know exactly what would happen. I wish I could talk to Kaye.

I see Bea Faust's imploring and agonising expressions as she argues with a smug preacher on "Fighting Words," about whether it should be illegal. I see strange instruments from 'Project '65." I see that radio announcer's ugly grin as he discusses contraceptives. Uni. debates, Truth's headlines. I see delicate young girls falling down stairs, wild horserides, strange concoctions from a witch's kitchen, hot baths and gin.

I am afraid. I see myself walking along a dark street, until I reach a cold bare room with a big, bright light. The walls are shining white while the doctor has on big blackgloves. What else is there? I think of what I would have lost. Who will want me after this? I feel empty and very lonely. Perhaps he will do a bad job? I've heard about those too. Why should such a gift of God turn to such sadness or tragedy? I remember how I wept when I thought I could not have at all.

God! Please help me. What am I going to do? Please drive these crazy thoughts out of my head. Make me think rationally. I'm not even sure that I've got anything to worry about yet. I'll give myself at least two more weeks before I do anything about it.

I'm really pretty sure everything is going normally. I even feel as if it's coming. Maybe I'm just psyching myself into it. I've done it before. Hell! I wonder how many more times I will go through this maze of thought. Is there really any answer? Those who don't need to worry about such things have all the answers. But what about those like Us who are on the fringe? I wonder how many other girls are thinking and feeling the same as me. Probably lots.

I hope everything turns out okay.

This article was first published in Farrago, the student newspaper of Melbourne University, and was handed in anonymously.