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When Words Could Only Condemn Me
by Tyde

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I felt sick to the stomach. a churning sensation I'd never felt before, like an invisible hand was making the contents of my stomach turn over and over like whey in a butter churn just waiting to harden.

I nearly pitched over in the office, clutching my stomach and running for the toilets. Just another five metres, you can make it.

The crystal clear water in the bowl stared up at me. Then I let loose. I'd barely had anything for breakfast, it didn't make much of an impression on the bowl. I could tell it wanted to close its lid, make me go away. Hell, I wanted me to go away.

I ate a plain cheese sandwich for lunch that day. Two pieces of white bread, a slice of No Frills Lite cheese and a scraping of margarine. Sipped the tropical flavoured juice from a coffee mug and read the latest Harry Potter. Crumbs fell into the folds of the book and I didn't bother to brush them away. Wanted to just keep reading, just keep my head in this book and hope that I wouldn't have to face that other stuff. That stuff which I was sure was there but I didn't want to know. Wouldn't that just complicate it more? I hadn't wanted for it to happen but it had. I didn't expect this to happen, but I had a sneaking suspicion it would. I didn't want to know. I wanted to ignore it like I had everything else in my life that was untimely. I didn't like going to the doctor, he just made me feel uncomfortable. Always uncomfortable.

For three weeks I put up with the occasional upset stomach. I ignored the weird feelings and sensations. Couldn't I just will it away? Something I had wanted for so long, in all my dreams but I couldn't. I couldn't. Not if he could find out. Words had always helped me to explain things to him before, I could always write or talk my way through it all. But in this situation words could only condemn me.

I would sit at home at night watching the colourful images on the television flash before my eyes but not really taking anything in. News programs, current affairs, sitcoms, drama series and annoying commercials just whizzed right by. I don't really remember anything else. Just sitting in the lounge room, whole world going by, not realising what I was going through. Call someone? No. Couldn't. It was the words you see, what once was my salvation had become my sentence.

How do I tell him what he thought was a dream was cold, stark reality? The whispers, the aching, the sin.

How do you tell a man with a wife and two kids that you're carrying his baby?

How do you admit to yourself that you love it?