letter to my unborn child

You have every right to be angry at me. Anger is a good, cleansing feeling. I'm too weak to face it. Strong feelings are like tsunami waves to me. I'll deal with them when I'm strong enough.
You wanted to be born. You wanted the end of eternity. You wanted life. I denied you that. I felt the weight of the guilt and tried to replace it with rational thoughts. I couldn't have you, knowing that my father could have abused you the same way he abused me. I couldn't have you, knowing that my mother would have tried to control you and maybe control me through you. I couldn't bare the abuse anymore. I couldn't give my family yet another upper hand. I wanted to be far away from them, on a different continent and free. Didn't really know what to do with the freedom once obtained. I sacrificed you for my freedom. I sacrificed unconditional love, bonding and support.
I was alone, no one to look out for me. I've been alone and lonely for too long. Maybe if I had had you, I would have abandoned you just like my mother abandoned me. Maybe I would have been a bad parent to you, just like I learned from my parents. I know that from where you are, you can't see these details. From where you're standing, nothing can excuse the denial of life. Life should be sacred and welcome. From your point of view, everything was worth sacrificing just so you'd have life. Be patient. Be wise. There is grandness in waiting.
I imagined the place you are coming from. It is timeless and without fear. Time is an awful thing. It moves against you. Change is frightening. But you can't tell, until you're actually alive. Before birth, your biggest ambition is to see the light of day.
Here, where I am, there is nothing but fear. I know all the reasons for I didn't have you. Now I want to forgive myself. I want silence and forgiveness. Will you forgive me, baby?