By now everyone’s heard of the rat bastard who held hostages and killed and injured people at a CO Planned Parenthood. It’s…how do you even start to process that?
It happened last Friday, and I was reloading the local news page over and over, took a nap and went right back to it. I needed to know when or if they would apprehend this fucker. And of course they did, alive because white, even though he killed one of their own, but that’s a different rant.
The next day, I went to escort after a long break (I was sick, then Turkey Day, and oh, my father’s been contacting me after like over a decade of silence from me. Shit’s been stressful as fuck, kay?). One of the clinic staff checked in with each of us as we suited up, just telling us to be careful, to be aware, and thanking us for showing up even after the day before happened.
Now escorting has always been serious business to me, even as I joke and make fun of the merry band of fools. Each patient is important to me, and getting them into the building with as little harassment as possible is my JOB. Serious business, folks.
I always known that clinic violence was a risk, but Friday really made it hit home. Let’s be real, we’re practically screaming “Shoot us first” in our bright yellow vests, standing outside. To these people, this ignorant jackasses, we’re the handmaidens of Satan – yes even the guys – escorting poor innocent ‘mothers’ into Hell. To someone entitled* enough to think that taking matters into their own hands will do a damned thing, we’re sitting targets.
And on the real, that’s pants-shittingly terrifying. Having to swallow that shit and show up was emotionally draining. I had so many excuses – allergies, frost on the car windows, now I’m tired from scraping all that damn frost off the windows, now the windows need defrosting because I still can’t see, do I really want to do this? We’re in Minnesota, the protesters are more annoying than scary. But it doesn’t have to be a regular, it only needs to be one person. Can I really do this?
I can do this.
I will do this.
I NEED to do this.
Of course, the accusations of ‘mentally ill loner’ are being thrown about because white and that’s another rant. Let’s get one thing straight – even if he has a diagnosis of a mental illness, doesn’t matter. It’s the entitlement that is the issue. Shit, I’m crazy. My grasp on reality sometimes isn’t all there. Some days I’m filled with so much self loathing that I stay in bed. Other days, anxiety fills me with so much dread that I don’t leave the house for days. Also, I know which end of a gun to point when I want something destroyed, and I’m a slightly less than shitty shot.
But the thought of going up to another human and blowing a hole in them makes me sick. I could never do it. Many of us with mental illnesses couldn’t do it either. Fuck, we’re most likely to BE victims of violence, so please keep that in mind as the same bullshit rhetoric we always hear when a white guy gets murdery is being trotted out.
Please keep the three victims of this shooting and all of the injured in mind.
Please keep the clinics that have suffered violence in mind.
Please keep the fact that the faction that keeps fueling this fire has the nerve to continue to call themselves “pro-life” in mind.
Please keep the security measures clinics and doctors have to go through just to do their jobs in mind.
This shit isn’t easy. It weighs on my mind every Saturday.
*I’m calling it entitlement because, well it is. It takes a nerve of steel to think that YOU, yes, YOU, you special snowflake you, will be the savior of babies for a day or a week or forever by destroying other people’s lives and/or livelihoods with your gun or your bomb or your vandalism or your wee little hatchet. That is some entitled bullshit right there, especially when your actions will have no negative effect on the fact that ABORTIONS HAVE AND WILL ALWAYS HAPPEN, YOU FUCKING FUCKS! You ain’t stopping shit. You’re just giving the less violent pro-lifer fodder to secretly wank over while they publicly denounce your fucked up actions. Fuckers.