Back to Paris

When I went to Paris in December, I was in love and felt on top of the world. I felt loved and appreciated, and thought that the man I am about to visit is the one I will share some part of my life. I was on cloud nine: in a very good shape mentally and physically, I thought life was my oyster.

And it was. We spent a wonderful time in Paris. I was treated like a princess, I was relaxed and loved, and I loved, and nothing forecast a disaster. 

We were supposed to meet again in few weeks in Bangkok to live with each other and to make a decision about our lives together. 

Then one day he said he needs time and that is never a good sign. I told him to take as much time as he needs and went back to my life thinking that it's normal he was hesitating, after all moving his life to Bangkok even if for a while was a big decision. It was Thursday. He said he will talk to me the following week. 

On the same Thursday I went out with my friends, had couple of drinks and in the morning I was dragged from my bed being so sick that when throwing up I felt my eyes popping out. I thought it was weird and it then crossed my mind that it might have something to do with being pregnant. I also remembered few days before that I felt dizzy and hot,  and sweaty and that I felt generally a bit strange. It was Friday.

On Saturday, I went to the cinema but before this, I went to Boots and got a pregnancy test. I was on my way to see PK, a Bollywood production and as some might know there is an intermission during an Indian movie for the toilet and drinks refill. I went to the toilet after the first part of the movie, did the test and after three seconds I saw the two red or purple, fat lines. I WAS pregnant.

Called Maggie. We met. Had dinner. I didn't call Olivier just yet thinking that he should have some space, as he required... I sat with this information and thought...

The next day I called the guy in France. No response. No response on the phone, no response on Skype, or Facebook. He finally got on Facebook and I begged him to pick up the phone. He said he didn't have time and if I had something important to say, I can leave the message on Facebook. And so I did. I wrote "I am pregnant, please call me." But he did not. For two days that felt like two centuries. 

I was going through hell in my head. On Sunday night, he finally facebooked me saying that he will call me the next day. It did not sound good to me. 

The fear started to grow and grow, and grow. I was scared and panicked and shaken up. I thought I was thrown into an earthquake, into a tsunami and the whole world was collapsing. Fear engulfed me and stayed with me for weeks.

Although I had friends around me, it was the loneliest time in my life. All in my head with my fears and the world around me shaking.

I waited and waited for this call from Paris. When we finally connected I did not see the same person I used to see on the screen. He was not loving and carrying any more and willing to share his life with me. Instead he made it clear that he does not want to have this baby and that the only option he sees in me coming to Paris and having an abortion. 

The hell broke out.

Few weeks later I was on my way to Paris. I was devastated, sad and defeated. I felt horrible. I felt depressed. I felt scared. I was on my way to Paris, the city of love but this time this trip had very little to do with love. It had to do with everything but love.

When I went to Paris in February, I was devastated and felt at the bottom of the world. I felt sad and defeated, and knew that the man I am about to visit would force me to fight for a very important part of my life. I was down: not in a very good shape mentally and physically any more. Life was not my oyster any more.