There’s this dream where I’m sliding down a deep hole and I see orange and red flames around me. I feel like I’m being swallowed alive and I want to scream for help but there’s no one around. I never reach the bottom. I had this dream as I lay on an operating table, undergoing an abortion.

Two years have passed since then yet it still haunts me.

My boyfriend, John* and I had had unprotected sex and I nearly fainted from fear when I found out I was pregnant.

I had always loved children and planned to have two of my own when the time was right but John and I weren’t financially or emotionally ready for a child. We had been together for just a year and a half. I was only 23 and focused on doing well in my job in the financial industry. He was in his early 30s and had a stable career in the civil service but had only recently settled a costly divorce.
  
At the same time, I didn’t want to kill an unborn child; the thought made me cry. I talked things out with John but he felt similarly torn inside. He was worried that our relationship would be strained if we had a shotgun wedding, but he promised to marry me if I insisted on keeping the baby.

He left the decision in my hands. In my haste to resolve things, I let my logical side rule and within a week, I had undergone the abortion.

THE AFTERMATH
After the procedure, I thought it’d be easy to pick up my life where I’d left off. As an optimist, I had always taken past setbacks in my stride. I was dead wrong.
   
Almost immediately, I turned from a social butterfly into a recluse. I would lock myself in my bedroom, draw the curtains and cry myself to sleep. I often had nightmares because I felt guilty about what I did. No one understood my turmoil.

My friends had never been in a similar situation and couldn’t empathise. I gradually detached myself from them because I hated seeing them happy when I was sad. My parents had supported me in my decision to abort the baby but I hid my tears from them. I didn’t want them to see that I couldn’t deal with the consequences of my own actions.
   
But I needed to release my anger and sadness, and John became my “punching bag”. He bore the brunt of my mood swings. I’d often lash out at him for letting me have the abortion. He tried cheering me up by lavishing me with gifts of clothes, bags and shoes but it didn’t help. Over time, our relationship suffered.

I didn’t want to meet clients at work so I eventually resigned and lived off my savings. I’d while away the hours at home watching TV and surfing the Net. My parents were busy working and weren’t aware that I was at home.

I started smoking heavily and began to abuse the painkillers prescribed by my gynaecologist by taking them with alcohol. My daily routine included driving to a nearby park, drinking to my heart’s content, then getting home in time to collapse on my bed.

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