I saw a bumper sticker on the back of truck yesterday that read “Abortion=murder” and for some reason it made me angry. Wait. Not only made me mad but irrationally so all day. I hate fuming under a professional facade. With so many phone interviews now is not the time to fake authority. I need to park my irritation somewhere, hence the rant.
We live in a country with the defining character of choice. Make something illegal and choice goes away. Choice is what makes us individuals. Unique. Case in point – I don’t smoke pot. Never have, never will. But, I voted for medical marijuana. Why? Because if someone else needs/wants it, knock yourself out. I will never tell you what you can or can’t ingest. As long as you aren’t shoving it down my lungs I don’t care.
So, back to the abortion-bumper sticker- murder thing. Been there. Done that. By choice I’m a murdering monster. Sometimes I hate myself so much I make my own skin seethe. But, what’s done is done. At the time I looked at my situation and came up with the only conclusion I could – to care for myself. A child borne out of hate is to be hated. The anger ran so deep it all but consumed my sense of self. It still does. But. But! But, did I really want to transfer that mental violence to another human being? It was enough just to get up each day and not kill the girl in the mirror. Displaced murder saved my life.
My child of imagination would be old enough to make me a grandmother by now. Grandparenting. I would suck at that. Worse than being a parent. I now live with my choice with a clear conscience. You in West Virginia with your “abortion=murder” bumper sticker, how did my over twenty year old choice change your life? What were you doing while I was killing a life not known? Do you know me now? Did my choice change your life? Am I changing it right now? Tell me how what matters to me is anything to you.