Abortion (part 2)

Abortion (part 2)

I’m usually quite a rational and logical person. I love to debate and tend to disconnect myself or even disrespect my opponent the moment they become emotional. I inherited this horrible trait from my dad but not for the tyrannical purposes he uses it. I aim to win the argument and you will never find a solution unless you’re as logical as possible… I should have probably finished that law degree, I’d have made a good lawyer!

However, with the pregnancy hormones rushing through my pregnant body there was no way for me to make an objective decision. I knew that, I knew it and at the same time I didn’t know anything.

I just felt pregnant, felt love. Was it wrong to kill you, was it selfish? Would it mean bad karma? Were you a sign that my life should take a big turn? Did this mean, that I should be a mother now? Did you have the right to live? All I had was questions with no answers. I did not want to kill you, the thought of it was so painful. After all you were a piece of me, you’d be a fucking great human being. A wild child with a strong spirit.

And yet, I knew it wasn’t right. Neither the right time, nor the right father. I knew I was pregnant for about 10 days and during those days, as painful as most of the experience was, I had moments of absolute bliss. Bliss is not a word I overuse like many spiritual wannabes but in this case it’s truly the most fitting adjective.

When all the doubts and concerns about having to make a decision disappeared for some moments – I felt better than I’d ever had before. A little like a whole body orgasm on acid. I felt like my body had finally reached a state that it was craving  to get to ever-since puberty.

From those early days on I always imagined myself being pregnant, impatiently looking forward to it. My mother is an extremely loving and maternal person, a lioness raising me herself. Having her genes and being raised that way, it would only be natural for me to one day become a mother that dedicates her life to motherhood too.

And then there were all those people that decided rationally for me in a situation in which I wasn’t able to. And with that last bit of intelligence that remained from pre-pregnant days, I knew, they must be right. Not a single person I had spoken to was for you. Not one! And eventually I thought to myself, let democracy win.

However amazing you’d be – they must be right. I thought I might not be able to make the right decision for myself and I wasn’t. Luke, the friend I was staying with had probably the greatest influence and at some point he looked at me and said “you know what you have to do”.

How the fuck though…
So I gave in, I would have an abortion. And that’s when I had to realise that you can’t have an abortion in Thailand. It’s illegal.

Great, lets just lay another stone in my way because life wasn’t difficult enough already. Suddenly this whole thing was not only emotionally but practically complicated. Mission imbortiable (thats a mix of abortion and impossible in case you didn’t get that). I honestly considered having the baby because it would be ‘easier’. Yeah that was a bit dumb too.

After a lot of research I found one dodgy little clinic at the end of a dirty alley that illegally did them.
I went with a friend only to hear that it was too early for me as they don’t give out the abortion pill but only do the surgery. The nurse told me to wait 4 weeks, come back and they could suck the baby out.

I cried and screamed at her how the hell would it be possible to continue living with a baby growing inside of me that I knew I’d kill in 4 weeks time? Fucking ridiculous!

Later that day Daniel called. I had spoken to him about this and he was the only one that actually said he would support me if I decided to have the baby. He said he would raise it with me even though it wasn’t his.
But he did this because he loved me so much and wanted me back.

He hadn’t let go of our relationship yet and thought this would be a way to stay with me. It would have been so wrong in every sense. He did, however, find the solution. He managed to get abortion pills from a clinic a few hours north of Johannesburg where he was still stuck with the shattered pieces of an ended relationship. He told me he would hide the pills in a birthday card and send them to me via DHL express.

Two days later the card arrived, and the next day I departed for Koh Phangan. From the moment those pills were on the way, but especially once I received them, I emotionally disconnected myself completely from my own pregnancy. I had to. This was the only way to keep on going. The trip down to the island was long and exhausting, I had Minnie with me and travelling with her is never easy. Travelling pregnant in a hot and humid country isn’t easy. But I made it.

The abortion
I arrived at my best friend’s big beautiful villa set in a lush garden. And I arrived on the island where I lived most of my adult years – if any place in this world would be worthy of the name ‘home’, that was it. I thought it would be the most perfect place to have an abortion, as ridiculous as that sounds. The image I had in my head was a lot less traumatising than that of the dodgy backstreet alley clinic in Bangkok.

Once I’d put my bags down and took a few breaths of clean tropical island air I was ready to get started. Get dat baby out of me, end my suffering.

It was horrible having to make that decision, sure – but it was a lot worse knowing I would have to abort this potential child; my potential child. It took a lot of mental focus, thought control and meditation to not have a complete emotional break-down. To pretty much block all emotions from interfering with the decision that I’d made – or that had been made for me by circumstance.

I took the pill and 3 valium thinking it would be better if I’d slept through the process. Yes…. This was clearly not one of my brighter moments.

Three hours later I woke up with a feeling far, far beyond pain. You must imagine my cervix was opening trying to give birth to a dead foetus. Dead because I had already taken progesterone pills one day earlier, which kills foetuses. The pain was unbearable so I started banging my head against the floor hoping to faint. That’s when my good friend Nimrod, who’d also taken valium, slowly and grumpily woke up to call the ambulance. Let me just quickly draw an image of my beloved friend Nim for you. A highly intelligent and morose Polish Israeli that has taken more drugs than anyone I know. He is extremely cynical and also completely detached from his emotions — if something isn’t logical there’s no reason for discussion. Which is a brilliant quality to posses in any other circumstance besides abortion.
He did, however, the one and only thing that made any sense at all: he called the ambulance.

From that moment on, everything was blurry and all I remember was the pain. The sirens of the ambulance and lots of Thais around me. It must have been dramatic but I was in my bubble of pain and the next thing I felt was a needle in my forearm and me drifting into a heaven like feeling. I didn’t know whether I was dying or safe but whatever it was, it was good. It was really really good.

It was morphine.

I woke up in the children’s department, wearing diapers and hanging on the IV drip. The nurses had confiscated the rest of my abortion pills but I still had to take more to complete the process safely.

They told me these pills are illegal and they wouldn’t give them to me. Hanging on the drip and in diapers only, bleeding like a slaughtered pig in the children’s department of that hospital I was about to give up on life. I cried for the 20th time in 2 weeks (even though this time I did push it a little) and told them how dangerous it would be for me if I didn’t take all of the pills, that this process that I started needed to be completed. I read that warning many times online and was really paranoid about it.

One of the nurses eventually had empathy, she gave me back my pills and told me I may never come back to that hospital again. They then called Nimrod who picked me up on his scooter and brought me home wearing only diapers and a scarf covering half  of my body.

On the way to his house I thought to myself, that life under no circumstances could get any worse than it was right now. But I didn’t realise that the worst pain was yet to come and that was when I realised you were gone. 

I had tried to suppress the pain of losing you but on three separate occasions something triggered a sense of loss that I couldn’t ignore. Once, when I found the ultrasound photo of you, another time when I sat on the beach and kids were running around me, and the third time when some drunk girls made thoughtless comments about what they’d do if they fallen pregnant now.

The rest of the time, I was fine. In fact, for some reason I became more sexual than ever before. I started squirting more often. I started exploring more. A few days later I moved to a small hut on a hill overlooking the most beautiful and secluded and magical beach I know – to heal. To heal and become happy again. I needed to be happy again.

And I did, a time of love and romance, lots of LSD, orgies, beauty and inner work had begun. After the worst days of my life, life blessed me with the best months of my life. That was just before I moved to London.

And here I am, sitting in my Shoreditch flat on a rainy and grey summer day.

What is the reason I wrote this long article, digging deep into a time in my life that I don’t want to think about…?

I have recently met someone – fucked someone – actually liked someone. He begged me to have an abortion in case I’d fall pregnant. This was after he’d played out his little fantasy of telling me he wants to come inside of me to “make” a little baby girl (there was more that had been said, which is not for you to know at this point).

I froze for a few moments and then told him to please not come inside of me, thinking this idiot doesn’t know what the fuck he’s actually doing to my overly fertile uterus. He got angry when I told him that an abortion would most likely not happen. He got angry because there was a situation in my hands that he could not control, and trust me, this man NEEDS to be in control. You know, for the love of him (or lust, let’s not mistake the two) I’d have the abortion, just to please him. And to protect my child from him. And just to make everyone’s life easier. But I have realised – I can’t.

I can’t please everyone always. And if everyone will tell me to have the abortion, if they beg me. This time I won’t. An abortion can be an exception for something that was absolutely not the right time and the right circumstance but it can not become a habit for me. I need to take responsibility for my actions. I don’t regret it, it was the wisest decision, it gave me a pain I have never experienced in my life and thats how it made me stronger. 

However, a few things like heroin, rape or an abortion are best experienced once and never again, if you’re even destined for it at all. The few weeks of pregnancy also made me realise that I do want a child. Whether I’ll raise it by myself or with a partner (most likely by myself), I want to know the feeling of love that you will only feel for your own child. As exciting as my – especially sexual – life is, I crave another kind of high and that is love, a love so strong it only exists between a mother and her child. 

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Abortion (part 1)

Abortion (part 1)

This is probably one of the most difficult things I have ever written about. And although it has been a year and a half – the wound has not healed. But it has, at least, been successfully repressed. Some things are better not to be thought about; some wounds simply cannot be healed. 

However, here is my story for you. And as usual, my personal abortion was a lot more weird, painful, and dramatic than what most women go through (not to belittle the painful experiences of others). Surely, an abortion will always be a memory best forgotten, it is never an easy decision or experience. But it rarely goes like this:

I had just arrived back in Bangkok after abruptly ending my studies in Psychology and Human Kinetics and Ergonomics. I had been in a relationship, with a newly adopted dog living and studying in South Africa. I couldn’t stay any longer. I couldn’t continue living that life. I missed my old happy hippie single life in Thailand too much. This longing haunted me in my sleep.

South Africa was definitely something else, a very sad, yet beautiful country. I was living in Grahamstown, a grey, rainy place named after a brutal coloniser, and studying at Rhodes University. What a strange thing to go back to university at 28! I did love it there for a time. I loved having a purpose, a goal. I loved the knowledge I acquired, wanting to be the best and achieving it. I loved making new friends and figuring out a place that was so different from anything I had ever experienced.

It was dangerous. Every house had alarm systems, windows covered in burglar bars. It was there that I learned what White Privilege means. But in the end, it wasn’t for me. I was in the wrong place, in a society that was too closed-minded and in a relationship that I didn’t want to be in any more. Leaving South Africa felt like breaking out of a prison I had put myself in. Leaving South Africa also meant leaving Daniel, a man that had just asked me to marry him. This was all a radical shift but I had yet to realise what big changes awaited me.

I spent the last weeks of my stay in Grahamstown by myself as Daniel went back to Australia to work. I spent these nights either on Ritalin in the library, or fucking a handful (or two handfuls) of guys. I had spent a year and a half being monogamous even though Daniel and I were in a polyamorous relationship on paper. So let’s just say I went a bit wild after he’d left. I had relatively few options in South Africa but there was enough room to play with. 

Daniel and I were one of those healthy couples. We trained every day, we ate clean. No drugs, no alcohol, no cigarettes. So when he left, everything turned upside down. Inside out. Life became exciting again. Wild. Chaotic. Toxic. How fucking good is it to be single???

And in that mess of drugs and sex, it happened. Two condoms broke. With two different guys. You know, It does happen. Condoms do break if you’re too rough or not wet enough or you ignorantly use coconut oil as a lubricant not knowing it causes condoms to break. And then at other times, you don’t even put one on in the first place, or the guy that fucks you from behind sneakily pulls it off. Until then, I had never gotten pregnant. Even though it could have and perhaps should have happened many times. It’s pretty much a miracle that it didn’t.

So I thought it would stay this way. With the same naïveté that allowed me to walk the street in the middle of the night without fearing danger or rape; I believed that I was especially protected in some way. I believed the world was safe and people were good. Then life decides it’s time for that naïve young girl to wake up. She must learn the hard way so she can become strong.

With these two condom mishaps in mind, I was on my way to a clinic in Bangkok to get tested. I was shitting myself thinking I’d caught something. There was no doubt in my mind that I could have gotten chlamydia but I was sincerely worried about having contracted HIV. It was South fucking Africa after all.

I arrived at the clinic but it was closed for a public holiday. I felt like I needed to be proactive and I had a bit of pain in my uterus. So I went to 7-11 and bought a pregnancy test, one of those I had bought probably 50 times before. I pissed on it in the public toilet of a park. I didn’t take it too seriously. It was more of a routine thing to do. And when I saw two pink stripes I laughed and told myself it was probably a manufacturing mistake. A bit concerned however, I rushed home to my friends where I was staying and bought another test on the way.

Two stripes again.

I sank into the sofa as images of last week’s shenanigans fought for attention in my mind but I couldn’t really focus on anything…

…The day before, I had just come back from a crazy trip to Pattaya with some new girlfriends. We went to a gay strip club and I was called on stage, sat on a chair and ten guys with erect penises wearing cockrings circled around me pretty much fulfilling my earliest gangbang fantasies. There I was in the middle and wasted as fuck. So I did what any one would do in that moment. I took the chance and sucked them all off. We went to a normal strip club afterwards and I went on stage pretending to be able to dance, hit on one of the strippers  almost to the point of harassment and then blacked out.

I thought of Kgala, a thin, black, handsome and very smart socio-politically active young skater kid who cheated on his girlfriend with me.

When we realised the condom had broken, after he came inside of me, I ran to the shower to clean myself, desperately hoping it would help. When I came back to the bedroom he stood at the window pointing at a rainbow. I joked and said, I feel like this is a sign a baby was just created. I laughed. 

But it wasn’t all that funny anymore.

I thought of Chris, my drug dealer lover and his pretty face.

A law student so high on his own supply that often I couldn’t even understand what he was saying. I thought of the night I ended up in the bathtub with him and two other guys. I thought of him then fucking me in the shower and in someone’s bedroom. He took so long to come, it felt like a never-ending story. Until the excitement was gone and I just wanted it to be over. And when it finally was, he pulled out to tell me the condom broke. It didn’t feel good at all, that moment just felt dark.

I thought of Daniel, who I’d left heart-broken in South Africa, trying to sell our car and get the papers ready for the dog we’d adopted so he could take him to Australia…

…I thought of all the drugs I’d taken, it was probably some of the wildest and unhealthiest few weeks of my entire life. A grand finale of self destruction that lead to… you
…And finally I thought of you.

I touched my belly and a feeling of love overcame me that cleared all other thoughts from my mind and finally, finally I cried. 

Would you be light caramel brown or white and tall? Would I raise you by myself on the beach in Thailand? Who would help me? How would I educate you? Would you be healthy? Was this real or was it a nightmare I’d wake up from in a second? Its a strange feeling when you’re at a point in your life where you only have questions and not a single answer. 

To be really, really sure I went to the hospital to get a pregnancy/every-STD-exisitng-in-the-world test. I had to wait an hour and when the doctor called me in, he told me he had good and bad news…

Bad news??????

He said, “The bad news is you have chlamydia”. Thank God I thought, “…and the good news is you’re pregnant”.

I cried again and told him he got it mixed up. Chlamydia is the good news and the pregnancy is the bad news but he didn’t get it. I listed the drugs that I had taken in the last weeks and he promised me the baby would be fine. I didn’t believe him. I got a picture of the ultrasound and a tablet against the chlamydia.

I walked home through Bangkok’s smoggy, dirty streets, sweating and crying. It was real. You were real. It was a nightmare. No, hell. I was in hell. 

Back at the apartment, I called my mum and her first reaction was anger. “How could that have happened?”, she said. “How could it not be Daniel’s?”. And she did what she’s always done all my life – she slut shamed me. Not that it would have any kind of effect, she’s done all my life and look at what I’ve become.

She probably didn’t do it hoping to change me but it was just how she learned to react to an extremely sexually liberated woman. Even though she’s a feminist, an alternative witch, politically rather than sexually liberated. Maybe she hated men too much to have lots of sex with them. Or maybe she was jealous of my sexual freedom. After her sadness and anger had calmed down she told me that although she normally wouldn’t suggest it, she thought I should have an abortion.

I was disappointed, but I thanked her for the advice I didn’t want to hear and the insult I didn’t need. Quite shocked having not received what I needed from my mum, I called about 6 more people whose opinion I trusted, only to find out that everyone said exactly the same. I need to have an abortion.

No one believed you should be born? What the fuck was wrong with them, cold-hearted assholes. They had no faith in us? How could they all think like this? It’s because they didn’t carry you in their bloody bodies like I did. All of this while the hormones hCG and estrogen rushed through my blood making my skin glow and my tits swollen and sore. Everything very soft including my mind. I was really really pregnant and it felt…. Kinda good. It felt yummy. And I felt so much love, it would be impossible to kill you. Even if everyone said it was the right thing to do.

I went out and bought chocolate cake and a pink dress. Might as well… this is when the most confusing and painful few days of my life began. Days of considering whether to keep a baby whose father I didn’t even know or somehow find a way to have an abortion in a place where it seemed close to impossible.

To be continued next week (the decision)…

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Dirty Raw Jungle Sex


A few weeks ago I ended up sitting at my kitchen table with a few friends at 1am on a Sunday morning, suddenly confronted with the memories of the times I had wild, dirty, sandy, sweaty jungle sex.

Everyone in the group agreed that its most favourable to sleep with someone clean, ideally freshly showered, teeth brushed, shaved. Not sweaty, not smelly. I get it, I agree. For the most part….

But there are those rare cases and unfortunately, not many of us will ever experience them, where you sit naked at a waterfall, tripping on acid, thinking you’re some kind of wild jungle cat. Maybe a tiger.

And there’s the man that you met a few days ago, who is the most beautiful thing that you’ve ever seen in your whole life – the image of male physical perfection, an adonis. His beautiful eyes looking at you like you’re the most desirable woman in the world. You’ve climbed through and played in the jungle for hours when you reach the top of the waterfall – the garden of Eden.

You stare at his muscles in full action as he climbs gracefully from rock to rock, the strongest lust and desire to create your own waterfall overcomes you. 

And that’s the moment when you have raw, dirty jungle sex. 

Your bodies, their sweat, the cool soil, the fresh water all merge into one sexy explosion of lust and orgasm. You scream as loud as you can because no one can hear you. You’re free. You cry, you orgasm, you love. Your chest feels like it will explode. Your vagina literally does.

When you’re young and you just move to a tropical island, refuse to wear shoes and deny the concept of capitalism. You disconnect from all rules and conducts of the society you grew up in – then you are surely at a place to have that uninhibited dirty sex.

Or when you decide, no matter what age, to let go of all conditioning for once, maybe use some magic drops or powders to help you turn the manipulated parts of your brain off and go wild. Inside and out. That’s also when it can happen.

But those moments have to be consciously initiated for most of us because as we do grow up, money becomes the major driving force of our life and we’ve had a few STDs or scares of our sexual experiences and it just becomes admirable if not necessary to have clean, hygienic and safe intercourse. We have become more or less responsible grown ups and we have responsible grown up sex. Most of the time, at least? Hopefully?

I wonder what happened to that wild jungle girl, totally in love and lust not caring about anything but love and pleasure in the wild nature. She was one with nature – literally.

Well I think the only answer is that she is neither in love nor in lust and she is most of all not in nature anymore. But take her back To Haad Why Nam and bring along one of those Adonises. Give her a drop of acid and I promise she’ll be right back and screaming for her life.

So there’s only one difference between me and my clean-sexy loving friends around the table. I have lived in the jungle. I have fallen in love. I have taken my clothes off and played happily in waterfalls, tripped my balls off a million times and all of that opened the door for these wild, strange sexual experiences. And that’s why I was the only one in the room saying that there is another side to sex and there is nothing better, more satisfying, more mind blowing than having raw, dirty, jungle sex. But you can’t know, if you haven’t experienced it…

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