A brave and poignant tale narrating the woman’s side in an abortion…and the choice of having a baby that should only be her’s.
This post was submitted anonymously.
I had an abortion. That makes me a bad person. Those sanctimonious know-it-alls holding up signs and killing abortion doctors think I’m a killer and they’re probably right. I’m a baby-killer. But, they don’t know what it’s like. They don’t know what it means to carry that.
Every once in a while, I think about that life that ended before it began. I do the math to see how old it would be now. It would be a fully-grown adult, old enough to have kids of his or her own.
I couldn’t do it. I just couldn’t bring a child born of this blood into this world. Not with my past. Not with my family history. Not with my mental illnesses, hereditary legacy, and not with a mother like me.
If I could choose whether or not my own mother would have me, there are times…
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