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By Dr. Celia Banting

Copyright © 2006 by Dr. Celia BantingAll rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechani-cal, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.Requests for permission to make copies of any part of the work should be mailed to the following address: Wighita PressP.O. Box 30399Little Rock, Arkansas, 72260-0399www.wighitapress.comThis is a work of ction. Names of characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination and are used ctitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is purely coinciden-tal. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication DataBanting, CeliaI Only Said I Didn’t Want You Because I Was Terried/Dr. Celia Banting – 1st Editionp. cm. ISBN 0-9786648-3-3 (paperback)1. Therapeutic novel 2. Suicide prevention 3. Teenage pregnancy 4. Trust issuesLibrary of Congress Control Number: 2006928592Layout by Michelle VanGeestCover production by Luke JohnsonPrinted by Dickinson Press, Grand Rapids, Michigan, USA

Issues addressed in this book:Suicide preventionLyingPeer pressureThe consequences of drinking alcoholConsensual sex Vicarious livingInjustice and powerlessnessSigns and symptoms of pregnancyFetal developmentAbortionThe process of birthEarly neonatal careAvoiding maternal and infant distressBreast feedingProblem solving skills – reaching out to othersRepairing broken trustHonest communicationAcceptance

Also by Dr. Celia Banting…I Only Said I Had No ChoiceI Only Said “Yes” So That They’d Like MeI Only Said I Couldn’t CopeI Only Said I Was Telling the Truth• • • •Available after April 2007…I Only Said I Wanted To Kill Myself; I Didn’t Really Mean ItI Only Said I Wasn’t HungryI Only Said It Didn’t HurtI Only Said I Could Handle It, But I Was WrongI Only Said Leave Me Out of It

Dedicated to Erica Elsie, and all teenage mothers who struggle to do the right thing

AcknowledgmentsMy grateful thanks go to my proofreader and typesetter, Michelle VanGeest, who frees me from my dyslexic brain, and replaces my mother’s voice. Thanks to Bev, my stray-word spotter, too. I thank my dear brother, Steve, for his computer expertise, and my wonderful husband, Des, for the inspiration and support he gives me. Thank you to Luke and Sam for their faith, inspiration and talent. Thank you to my dear friend Vicki for her guiding sense of style.Thank you to all my psychotherapy tutors and colleagues at the Metanoia Institute, London, for teaching me about human nature, psychopathology, growth and recovery. I thank the good Lord for giving me a lively imagination, and I also thank my parents for moving to the Isle of Wight, “the land that bobs in and out of view, depending upon the sea mist.”

9É Ñ Chapter OneI can’t help it. Watching a bride walking down the aisle always makes me cry, and today is no excep-tion. She looks beautiful even if she is six months pregnant. I smile at my cousin, Jade, as she walks past me, hanging on my uncle’s arm, and she grins at me. I can feel my mom stiffen beside me, and I catch a glance between her and my dad that re-ects everything they’ve been saying about Jade over the past three months. I pray the rest of the family didn’t see it. My family is a dynasty, one where everyone seems to be ghting and picking fault with each other. It’s never peaceful; there’s always a conict brewing like the threat of an earth tremor, or else it’s a full-blown earthquake where one side of the family is severed and split apart until time or another crisis repairs the damage.

10É Ñ Dad calls our family a “menagerie,” a circus full of weird people, which seems a bit unkind to me but that’s what he calls it. I look around the church. Sitting in the pews are cousins who I haven’t seen for years and whose names I can’t remember, some with partners who I’ve never met, and others sitting with their children but with no man. As Jade and her ancé begin to exchange their vows, I can barely hear because there are so many children in the church all calling out, whining and cry-ing. One yells when her mom slaps her and refuses to stop until she’s given candy. To my side I hear Dad whisper, “It’s disgusting. Don’t they know how to behave?” I shoot him a look, hoping that he’ll be quiet. My face is red. I love my mom and dad, and my older sister, Jacky, but it’s not always easy living in this family. I stand here feeling embarrassed, hoping that no one heard him, but I understand what he means, because I can’t believe that my cousins, aunts and uncles don’t seem to know how to behave either…they’re very different from Mom and Dad. I feel ashamed as I think it, because I don’t want to sound snobby like my parents can sometimes sound when they talk about the rest of the family. But I can’t help knowing just what they mean, as the yelling of children and hissing of their parents drowns out, “I now pronounce you man and wife.”

11É Ñ I’m glad when the bride and groom walk back down the aisle beaming at everyone and it’s nally over. We le out of the church and make our way outside, where the wind is blowing so hard that I have to hold my hat on. Stupid thing, it’s attening my hair and I know I look silly, but Mom insisted that I wear it. She said that it was “only right and proper” that her daughters should do things the “correct” way, so despite our protests she was adamant that we should wear a hat to the wedding. I long for it to all be over; then I can change back into my jeans and feel more comfortable. We’re being ushered into a group so that photos can be taken, and I stand close to Jacky. Dad tells us to stand by them, and it feels like he’s trying to keep us in a little isolated nucleus, safe from the rest of the family. It’s nally over and we get into the car. I know what’s going to happen. “Did you see the state of Jade?” Mom says. “I wouldn’t have had the nerve to dress in white or walk down the aisle if I were pregnant. She might at least have waited until the baby was born.” “I think the whole thing’s a farce. They’ll be di-vorced by the time the kid’s a year old,” Dad says. Jacky looks at me and raises her eyes to the heavens. “And did you see the way those children behaved in church? It was a disgrace.”

12É Ñ “Well, what d’you expect when there are no fathers in the home?” “Did you see Bill’s oldest daughter, the one in the bright pink short skirt? She’s much too old to be wearing clothes like that.” Uncle Bill is Dad’s oldest brother, and Dad’s ashamed of him; said he was always “bad.” He has never married but has lots of kids by different women. I don’t know any of them and Dad won’t let us know them. “How old is she?” Mom asks. “Nearly thirty, I think, and she’s got six kids by six different men.” He shakes his head, “Terrible…still, it’s no sur-prise when that’s the example her dad gave her.” “That’s right,” Mom says. “Jade’s dress was beautiful,” I say, trying to stop them from assassinating the rest of the family before we get to the reception, but I should have saved my breath. “How did she afford it,” Mom said, “with her being on welfare?” Jacky nudges me and shakes her head, warning me not to even try to stick up for them all. “Greg’s coming to the reception later. Is Linda?” Greg is Jacky’s boyfriend…they’re madly in love, and he’s all she can talk about. I like him but Mom and Dad love him because he’s planning to go to medical school. Linda is my best friend, and I’m so

13É Ñgrateful that I can bring her to the reception be-cause I’d be really bored if she weren’t here. We pull up in front of the restaurant and she’s sitting on the wall. “Cool hat,” she laughs. “Don’t,” I say, trying to unpin it. “Here, let me.” She nds the pins and suddenly my head is free. I bend over and rufe my ngers through my hair to make it go the way I want it to. “That’s better.” “Are all these people your family?” she asks, staring around at everyone standing in groups, look-ing at each other’s outts and whispering behind their hands. “Yep. I’m so glad you’re here.” I grin at her. “Your family’s worse than mine and that’s saying something,” she laughs. “I can’t believe how many children there are. Do you know all their names?” Two kids grab hold of me as one chases the other, ignoring their moms who shout, “Get over here, or you’ll get a whooping.” “I don’t know half these people,” I tell her. “Both my parents come from big families, and they’ve all got lots of kids. Don’t say anything in front of my parents about it or you’ll start them off. They really disapprove of the way their families live their lives…ouch!” A kid stomps on my toe as he tries to catch

14É Ñanother one who’s weaving in and out of the adults’ legs as we all wait to go into the restaurant. “…And I don’t blame them, really,” I say, hop-ping on one foot with tears in my eyes. Mom and Dad walk over to us. “Don’t mind our family,” Dad says to Linda. “Glad you could come and keep Hannah company.” Linda grins at him and says, “My family’s just the same; thanks for letting me come.” Finally we’re allowed to go inside and Dad gets us a table near the door and as far away from the buffet as possible. He says that they’ll swarm all over the food, and at least sitting over here he won’t have to endure their bad table manners. I hate that he says such things, but as they all rush to the buffet and push in line, I can see that what he says is true. We line up and virtually everything’s gone by the time we get to the food. Mom’s nostrils are ar-ing with disgust as she sees everyone walking by with their plates piled high and not caring about the people coming behind them. We sit back down with virtually empty plates, not that I care because suddenly I’m not very hungry anymore. Everyone’s talking with their mouths full, and I can see chewed up food churning around their mouths as they shout across the table. Linda’s gig-gling and she digs me in the ribs, nodding towards Aunt Sue who’s got chocolate cake on her nose as

15É Ñshe shovels spoonfuls into her mouth. Mom and Dad don’t have to hide their feelings anymore because the noise is so loud that they can say what they like without being overheard. Jacky is oblivious to it all as she stares into Greg’s eyes. Mom embarrasses me in front of Linda when she says, “I’m so proud of our girls; they’re so good. Jacky’s doing well at college and Hannah’s working hard at her grades. They’re so different from every-one in this family. I mean, look around you, it’s as if none of us belongs here at all.” The speeches go on and on, and Mom and Dad stare stony-faced, as the jokes get dirtier and dirtier. When it’s all over and the tables are moved back so that everyone can start dancing, Dad tells us we’re going home because he can’t stand anymore. “It’s only six o’clock,” Linda says. “D’you think that your parents will let you go to Zak’s birthday party?” I know my face lights up. Zak is sort of my boy-friend. I’m fteen, but my parents won’t let me date yet. They tell me that I’ve got to concentrate on my grades so that I can go to college like Jacky, and they constantly drum into us that we are not going to turn out like the rest of the family. “I don’t know. I’ll ask.” Jacky’s gone off with Greg, and as Linda and I sit in the back of the car, Mom says, “Well, I’m starv-ing, shall we go for a meal?” Linda glances at me. “Um, Mom, Dad, since we’ve left the wedding so

16É Ñearly, do you mind if I go to a party with Linda?” Dad glances over his shoulder as he drives. “Whose party?” Linda answers, “It’s just one of the girls at school, sir; it’s her birthday. Her parents will be there and it’ll end by midnight.” I shoot her a look; she’s just lied to my mom and dad. “What d’you think?” he asks Mom. “Well, if the girl’s parents are going to be there it should be okay, but we’ll pick you up.” “Thanks,” Linda says. “We’ll be waiting outside the door at the time you tell us to be ready.” “Thanks,” I say, my stomach churning. I don’t like lying to my parents because, although they can be stuffy, I know that they’ve worked very hard to give Jacky and me everything that they didn’t have. I always wondered why they kept us away from the family as we grew up, and as I became a teenager they told me why. Dad and Mom met at college, and when they told their story about how they met, their eyes misted over and they went to a place that excluded Jacky and me. They laughed when they told us the lengths they went to in order to avoid telling the other that they’d grown up in poverty with alcoholic parents and knowing how it felt to have no clothes or proper food. “My knees were always poking through my jeans,”

17É ÑDad had said, “and I wore my brother’s when he got too big for them. I didn’t mind, though, I was just grateful.” He’d told me how he heard his mother crying at night when she thought that she was all alone, after his dad had beaten her and gone to the local bar. He said that it twisted his heart in pain to hear her and be unable to do anything to help. She died when he was nine years old, and he and his brothers and sisters had virtually brought themselves up while his dad went out to bars each night. He’s told Jacky and me over and over how he was determined to be a good husband and father, and how much he wanted to make things different for his own family. Mom had a hard time too, and she told us that her mother was an alcoholic, so she and her brothers and sisters had also brought themselves up while her mom was drunk on the couch. Her dad had left, and she hadn’t seen him since she was ten; she was left to take care of her younger brothers and sisters. Mom and Dad met when they were at college. He was studying engineering during the day and worked at night to pay for his education, and Mom did the same, only she studied travel and tourism. It’s through her work as a travel agent that we’ve been to so many parts of the world, and I’m so grateful for everything they’ve done for us. It’s not been easy, though, because both Mom and Dad’s families resent the fact that they’ve done well for themselves

18É Ñin order to make a different life, and most of the family arguments stem from their jealousy. I nd it hard to understand why Mom and Dad still bother with their families if they cause them so much pain, but they say that “blood is thicker than water,” and they hope to be an example for all the nieces and nephews. I know how much my parents have sacriced for Jacky and me, especially after today when I could see for myself how different they are from their families, so I hate lying to them. Linda looks pleased and I give her a bleak smile. I’m glad to be able to go to Zak’s party—in fact, I can’t wait to see him—but I wish that she hadn’t lied so that I could go. Mom and Dad drop us off at home so that we can get ready, and they head off to eat something better than the leftovers of the wedding buffet, saying that they’ll pick us up at 11:30. I’m not hungry; my stomach’s a mess and my hands are trembling as I try to do my eyes. I’m mad at myself as I mess up and have to start all over again. Linda tugs at my arm and hands me a bottle of soda, saying, “Here, have one of my special sodas, it’ll make you feel better.” “What’s in it?” “Vodka. I took it from my dad’s cupboard. It’s good and you can’t smell it on your breath.” She grins at me and takes a swig from the bottle,

19É Ñand not wanting to be left out I take the bottle from her hand and swallow hard. It burns my throat and my eyes open wide with surprise. Then as warmth seeps through me, I sit in a comfy chair and hand her my eye makeup so that she can do it for me. “Cool,” I say, taking another swig from the bottle as I look at my face in the mirror; it’s ushed. “You look great. C’mon, let’s go.” I follow her out of the house and we walk up the road. She makes me laugh as we walk the mile to Zak’s house, and by the time we get there I’m excited and feeling very woozy. I’ve never been to a party before, and kids are everywhere, hanging around the outside of the house, kissing on the veranda, and there’s loud music coming from inside the house. I’m really excited, and Linda tops up my soda bottle with vodka before we go inside the house. Zak sees me almost immediately and comes over to us. “Hey, I thought you weren’t going to be able to come tonight. Weren’t you supposed to be going to a family wedding or something?” “Yes, I went but it was awful so my parents left early.” “Cool, come and get yourself a drink.” I follow him to the kitchen and he pours some-thing—I don’t know what—into a glass and hands it to me. His eyes are shining at me and my stom-ach is churning so badly that I’m afraid my hands

20É Ñwill tremble and I’ll drop my drink. He’s lled it to the top, and to avoid spilling it down my front and embarrassing myself, I take a big swig. As it ows down my throat, I gasp. It burns more than the vodka did; this makes my eyes sting and my nose prickle with its fumes. He takes my hand. “Come and dance with me,” he says. I’m feeling so dizzy and separated from myself that I let him pull me along the hall back into the liv-ing room where everyone’s dancing, and I bop about to the rhythm, giggling and laughing as he moves around me. Linda’s in some boy’s arms, someone from school I think, and she grins at me, nodding, making a thumbs up sign behind the boy’s back. Zak pulls me to him as the music changes, and I feel as if I’m on re, everything inside me alive and urgent as he grinds himself into me in time to the music. I don’t resist when he clamps his mouth over mine and kisses me hard. It’s as if the music and all the kids disappear to somewhere beyond this moment in time, this moment in my life where I feel special and alive. He sways into me as the music changes again and then laughs, pulling away from me but still holding my hands as he moves his body in time to the music. It’s so loud that I can hear the beat vibrating through my feet and up to my chest, and as the house rocks, so do I. Linda grabs my hand, pulling me away from Zak

21É Ñand she dances with me. “Great party,” she shouts above the noise, and then she struts off to dance with another group of kids. I stagger off towards the kitchen and bump up against both walls as I zigzag along the hallway. I need to drink some water. I need to throw up—the room’s going round and round and I feel awful. There’s no one in the kitchen and I steady myself at the sink, holding on as if I’m lost at sea and cling-ing to a piece of stray debris. I nd a glass that’s got lipstick on the rim, but I don’t care. I just need to get some water inside of me, so I ll it and drink thirstily from the clean side. “There you are,” Zak says thickly. “I looked for you, but you’d gone.” “I was thirsty. I also need the bathroom,” I slur. “Here, let me help you,” he says, grabbing my arm and leading me out of the kitchen. I’m wobbling all over the place as he helps me up the stairs to the bathroom. “Go on, I’ll wait outside,” he says. He opens the door and I go in, staggering, fall-ing against the wall, and I try to steady myself as I sit down. The room is going round and round and there’s a loud humming in my head that has no rhythm or tune—it’s just a noise, one that takes control of my head and lets me know that I’ve lost control of myself and my senses.

22É Ñ I manage to pull my panties back up and head for the door, but when I step out into the hall I feel so dizzy that I fall into Zak’s arms. I’m grateful that he’s there or else I’d have landed facedown on the oor. “Hey, are you all right?” he asks, but I can’t answer for I don’t know if the weakness I’m feel-ing is due to the alcohol I’ve drunk or the longing I feel riding through my body as he starts to kiss me again. He leads me to his bedroom but I don’t remember getting there. I don’t remember how I ended up on his bed without my panties on, beneath his posters of baseball heroes and rap artists. But I know with-out coherent words that, as I lie there on his bed with alcohol soaring through me and the room spin-ning round and round, he’s just entered my body. I’m too dizzy to respond because all I can think of is that I’m going to throw up all over his bed, so as I’m gripping the bed trying to anchor myself to a stable point that won’t keep spinning around the room, he pushes and pushes into me. I don’t know how it all happened. All I can really remember is that he thrust his trashcan under my nose as I leaned over the bed, throwing up harder than I can ever remember doing before. The hum-ming in my head is as loud as ever, and as I keep my head close to the trashcan, three feelings jostle about in my mind. I can’t believe that I’m throwing

23É Ñup in front of the boy I like. Then I can’t believe that I’ve just had sex with him—it’s my rst time and I’m so drunk that I can’t remember anything about it. And the last feeling is that I want to die and make it all go away. Somewhere I’m aware that he’s looking really worried as I continue to retch, and after a timeless moment that slips into nothingness, I’m aware that Linda’s kneeling by his bed. “Are you all right?” she asks, looking worried. “Uh? What?” “It’s nearly time for your dad to pick us up,” she says. I’m jolted back into this room, Zak’s bedroom—oh my God, what have I done? I start to cry. My dad’ll kill me if he sees me drunk, and then it dawns on me—my dad would kill me if he knew that tonight I lost my virginity through “casual sex” and couldn’t even remember it. Zak and Linda pull me off the bed, and I sway as they lead me down the stairs and into the kitchen, where they force me to drink loads of water. Tears are rolling down my face as I throw up again all over the kitchen oor. I’m so ashamed of myself and so embarrassed because, although everything is still spinning around the room, I catch sight of the disgust on Zak’s face. Linda’s hissing in my face, “Come on, Hannah, we’ve got to get outside because your dad will be

24É Ñhere in a minute.” She pulls me up and I stand there swaying, feel-ing terrible, but that’s nothing compared to how I feel when I turn around and see my dad in the doorway. “What the…” he says. I know that in one second he has scanned the room, seen me dishevelled, wobbly and a pool of vomit on the oor, and he knows exactly what’s been going on. “Where are your friend’s parents?” he demands. Zak says, “They’re not here; they’ve gone away for the weekend.” “Who are you?” Dad asks rudely. “I’m Zak; it’s my party.” Dad glares at Linda. “You told me that the party was to celebrate a girl friend’s birthday and that her parents would be here.” Linda looks down at the oor and mutters, “Sorry.” “We’re leaving, right now,” he says, glaring at Zak and completely ignoring me. Linda helps me through the crowd of kids who all stop dancing to watch my humiliation as my dad marches through the house and I stagger behind him. He opens the car door and barks, “Get in,” and we sit in silence as he drives. “I’m really disappointed in you, Linda. I hate

25É Ñbeing lied to. If that’s the kind of girl you are, I don’t want my daughter to associate with you. I don’t want you coming around.” “Dad!” I cry. “I’m so sorry,” Linda begs. “No! Enough! Every behavior has a consequence, and if neither of you can be trusted, then you have to suffer the consequences. You’re not welcome around my house, Linda, and you, my girl, are grounded.” I’m crying, but Linda looks angry and sullen, and as Dad pulls up outside her house, she gets out of the car and says loudly, “I’ll see you at school, Hannah,” and then she slams the door. Dad drives off. “You are to stay away from her, do you hear me? I don’t want you being with someone like that, not now, not ever. Look at the state of you, you’re drunk and you look like a slut dressed like that. You look just like your cousins. Haven’t I brought you up to be better than that? Haven’t I?” “I’m sorry, Dad,” I cry. “Sorry’s not good enough. Did you know that the party was not at your girl friend’s house?” I nod miserably; I don’t want to lie to him further. “So you lied to me, too. I’m really disappointed in you, Hannah. Haven’t Mom and I done everything we could to give you a good life so that you don’t end up like your cousins and all that mess? Is that

26É Ñwhat you want—to end up like them?” “No,” I howl. “Well, you could have fooled me. Can’t you see what drinking alcohol does to people, to families? Surely Mom and I have told you enough times what it did to our parents and how we suffered through it as children. Can’t you learn from our experiences? Where did you get it from, anyway?” He looks over his shoulder at me and his face holds a mixture of anger and pain. “Linda gave me some and then I had some more at Zak’s house,” I say miserably. “Well, I don’t want you to go anywhere near her anymore, do you hear me? And I’ll be going round to see Zak’s parents as soon as they’re back.” I’m crying hard now, thinking of the trouble my dad will cause Zak. “Please don’t, Dad, please,” I plead. His face is set, his jaw grim. “He’ll hate me and tell everyone at school, and then they’ll hate me, too. It’s not his fault. Please don’t tell his parents.” I can tell that he’s really angry because he drives fast and erratically, swerving around corners. And although I’ve got my seat belt on, I grab the handle above the door. My stomach’s churning really badly and, before I can cry out to ask him to stop, I vomit all down my favorite top. He shrieks to a stop on our driveway.

27É Ñ “Get out,” he shouts, his face screwed up. “Look what you’ve done to my car…you’ll clean that up, right now.” I’m crying all over again as he tells me to stay outside. I feel so ill and utterly humiliated stand-ing beneath the outside light with moths zooming around my head. Mom comes out with a bucket of soapy water and her tongue. “How could you, Hannah? We trusted you. How could you lie and then get yourself in such a state? You’re no better than your cousins; and after all we’ve done for you to help you turn out differently from them. Clean your dad’s car up and don’t come back in until it’s spotless. Oh, and by the way, you’re grounded for a month.” She marches back inside the house and leaves me on my knees scrubbing Dad’s upholstery. It’s gross but not as bad as it could be, because I’d already lost most of the contents of my stomach earlier. I’m relieved because I can’t stand mopping up vomit; it makes me heave even more—the smell, and the bits of carrot that always seem to be there even if you haven’t eaten them. When I’m done I slip into the house and head for the stairs, hoping that Mom and Dad won’t hear me, but it’s no good. They appear from nowhere and I feel as if they’ve been lying in wait, ready to pounce on me to remind me of what a disappoint-ment I’ve been to them.