Mourning Someone Else’s Choice: Pro-Life Selfiness

So, last night the hashtag #ShoutYourAbortion trended, thanks to one Lindy West, with people declaring that they’ve had an abortion and don’t feel the first lick of shame about it.  It was a challenge to the pro-lie of the miserable sad wretch who regrets their abortion and cries at hypothetical birthdays, either that or they never, never, never reveal such a shameful secret.

Because abortions are something to be ashamed of, right?

BLEH.

I have never had an abortion, though it’s the plan should the unfortunate happen, so I started Tweeting supportive stuffs, like the website for Exhale, an organization where people can call and talk about their experiences without judgement and a guilt trip. Because who needs that shit when you’re already working out how you feel about the abortion you’ve had, right?

Yes, I know, I’m acknowledging that not everyone skips out of the clinic afterwards (well, given how the procedure actually works, there’s probably very little skipping anyway). It can be an easy decision for some, it can come to be an easy decision for others, and for even more others it’s complicated.  Because this is how reality works.

As I said up top, it trended wildly.

There were pro-lifers on the hashtag of course, yelling out the same shit and boy oh boy do I wish I screenshotted the best/worst.  There were people going “use birth control!” right above or below someone Tweet about how their BC failed.  There were calls to come to Jesus or God contrasting with condemnations of burning in hell. The usual deluge of fetal snuff pictures, ‘whores’ left and right, and the Pro-Choice Butts* were out in force.

Usual stuff.  But what got me all writey/ranty was the number of people who seemed…entitled?…to someone else’s choice.  Here’s a Tumblr post to illustrate my point:

Say WHAT?
Say WHAT?

You read that right, cats and kittens. Some Nonny has the sads because some stranger may have aborted their future wife.

Again, I wish I had screenshots, but the number of people saying crap like “did you tell your children about the sibling they’ll never play with” or “my best friend had an abortion and now my kid doesn’t have a best friend”  or “that’s one child I couldn’t adopt” or “I’ll mourn your baby FOR you”  was mind boggling.  My flabber was gasted.

And then I got pissed.  Because for all the claims that people who have abortions are selfishly prioritizing their lives over the ‘baby’ inside them, these oxygen thieves have the nerve to stake a claim on the reproduction of complete strangers. What the entire fuck is that about?

It shows, once again, that this isn’t about the pregnant person at all.  They really do care more about the ‘baabbbee’ than anything else. Nothing else matters, not the situation, finances, relationship status, or fucking health of the walking uterus.  Nope, everything will work out perfectly once you decide to keep that baby, by gum.  As you know, pregnancy is super easy to endure for everyone, especially when you didn’t want to be pregnant in the first place. And just think, you’re providing some rando with a potential friend or even a spouse! Isn’t that amazing! Praise Jesus! Diapers for everyone!

And they still want to claim that WE’RE the selfish ones.  Get that shit out of my face.

I needed an excuse to use this gif again.
I needed an excuse to use this gif again.

(EDIT: realized I didn’t address that aside)*”Pro-Choice Butts” are my name for those who have to have conditions for their support of the right to an abortion, usually starting their sentences with “I’m pro-choice, but”.  I don’t think they’re actually pro-choice, and are more like judgmental assholes.

Mourning Someone Else’s Choice: Pro-Life Selfiness
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The Angry Black Chick

Once upon a time, I was an Angry Black Chick.

I know, some of you are saying “You’re an ABC right the fuck now”, but hold your horses, I’m telling this story.

I did a segment on a friend’s podcast where I affected a ‘ghetto accent’ and ranted about whatever was on my mind.  It was fun back then.

I look back on it now and realized I was doing a weird version of Chill Black Girl, performing for my white friends.  I’ve since dropped that, gained more friends, lost a few and am now at times Angry, at times Disappointed, at times Disgusted, and at time Mocking.

I tire of the stereotype of the Angry Black Woman, constantly militant and on edge, ready to yell “racist” at the slightest hint of wrongdoing.  For starters, it’s an off shoot of that other pernicious stereotype, the Strong Black Woman, constantly wearing the problems on the world on her back without complaint.

Fuck, if you had to carry that much shit, wouldn’t you be just a little pissed?

Also, it tells people that we have only have a few emotions, angry being the most prominent one.  It dehumanizes us, turns us into caricatures that can be dismissed.

And now I’m gonna talk about Nicki Minaj.  Nice swerve, yeah?

I’m so-so about her music.  “Anaconda” makes me wanna dance (if you haven’t seen someone twerk with a cane, you’ve not lived), and her verses on “Monster” and “My Chick Bad” make me feel like the eldricth creature I secretly am (shhhhh, don’t tell my partner. His sanity is too delicious). “Looking Ass Niggas” is amazing and the video is too.  I’m meh with her other songs.

I appreciate her weird style, her not-so-weird style, her insistence to young girls to finish school and don’t depend on no man, her insistence on doing shit her own way.  Love her or hate her, you gotta respect that from an artist.

I also didn’t watch MTV’s VMAs last night.  That requires cable, which we don’t have and watching TV, which I don’t do. Don’t worry, I’m not one of those snobs, I just can’t deal with the medium in a way that I still can’t explain, so our lovely smart TV is used by my partner when he wants to watch Netflix and me when I want to run the Pandora app or play YouTube bird videos for the cats in the office.

But, like most TV moments I want to stay informed on, I watched the hell out of my Twitter feed, and oh boy oh boy did  it light up when Miss Minaj called out human joke Miley Cyrus upon receiving her award.  Don’t get me wrong, Miley’s done good stuff with homeless teens and all that stuff, but her bullshit on Twitter is straight up White Feminism (TM).

And Nicki was awesome for calling her out on live TV. That captured video is just magnificent.

But of course, before the show even ended, keyboards were going with the thinkpieces.  About how Nicki savaged Miley, about how Nicki was “throwing shade” (wrong terminology, if you must use it, that was a straight up call out). Once again, for defending herself, Nicki gets thrown into the same box we all get thrown into when we act even a little “out of line”: The Angry Black Woman.

For defending herself, let me say that again.

When is this shit going to stop? I know that answer.  As long as that term is used to silence us, to make us the bad guy, to make us worth not listening to (like we’re children having tantrums “not until you straighten up that attitude”), that box will always be there.

No matter what message we’re trying to convey, people, usually white people and sometimes black men, will fear our anger so much that it’s not worth listening to the message.  And that’s bullshit.

So much bullshit.

The Angry Black Chick

A Prescription from Dr. Feminace, PH.D of Done With This Shit

(This was a Facebook post I did a few days ago, edited for your reading pleasure)

This moment of education is brought to you by a moment’s ire while trying to relax and save Thedas.
Look, ‪#‎SouthernLivesMatter‬ and ‪#‎BlueLivesMatter‬ and ‪#‎WhiteLivesMatter‬, here’s some seats. You need to take all of them. Consider it a prescription from Dr. Feminace.

(other campaigns that focus on actual marginalized groups – #nativelivesmatter and the like, are of course exempt from this ‘script. *raises solidarity fist*)

You’re missing the point so hard that you can’t catch a fucking clue with clue bait, a clue hunting rifle and covered in clue pee in the middle of clue hunting season. So you have to copy an effective campaign and try to look clever when you might as fucking well just use ‪#‎notallwhites‬, ‪#‎whataboutus‬, and ‪#‎imacluelesspieceofshit‬

Why do we say “BlackLivesMatter”? Because, if you bothered looking at the news longer than the latest ZOMG new story of someone getting shot by the cops, it’s bloody obvious that black lives don’t matter. If someone shoots and/or kills a cop, people go out of their fucking way to celebrate their lives, to mourn, to pull up happy pictures of good time, and (most importantly) to find the fuck what shot/killed them. Hell, people do the same thing when POLICE DOGS are hurt in the line of duty.

On the other hand, black victims do not even get the courtesy. Let’s look at that video of the cop throwing down a 14 year old girl while she screams for her mother over and over again. That black male that was shot two seconds after the cops stopped was obvious a dangerous 20 years old man with a really real gun instead of a little boy with a fake one playing in the park. Did that dead black guy have a criminal record that had fuck all to do with his murder? Any pictures of them holding their hands up a way that we can call a gang sign? Say, maybe they had weed in their system. You know how wild and violent they get when they’ve had their pot. So scary.  Shoot/harm first, ask questions later, if not never.

White killers get more sympathetic press than black victims.
Killer cops fucking up at their job get more sympathetic press than black victims.
ANIMALS get more sympathetic press than black victims.

That is what we are talking about when we say “black lives matter”, because it’s fucking obvious that they don’t in our society. Do you fucking get it now? It’s not about hating cops or white people or Southerns or what the fuck ever.  It’s a cry for help, a cry for attention (the right sort, the sort that requires change in our society), and it’s only getting louder.

But you can’t deal with that reality, can you? The press caters to your narrow-minded view of us, leaving you capable of calling our rage “stupid” and whining when we put our protests in your face so you CAN’T ignore our presence. You wag your fingers at us, but remain silent when your token Black friends express their feelings, then turn around and repost/reTweet racism memes that you and your White friends can nod their heads about.  You easily ignore our pain – and that is what copying that slogan is. Hide your lack of empathy by whining like petulant children upset that a sibling got a piece of a cookie compared to their whole one. Even if that sibling has been locked in a basement and beaten most of their life. Even if that sibling made the fucking cookies in the first place.

Because who cares, you’re not getting the attention right now. You’re scared and trying to make shit about you so you feel better. You try to co-opt movements because you need to not think about anything but yourselves (or have a single original thought, for fuck’s sake), because empathy is oh so hard, and you might have to work on seeing us as humans like you, and we see you.

Oh, we see you.

…okay, back to sweet talking Solas. I feel better getting that out.

A Prescription from Dr. Feminace, PH.D of Done With This Shit

Put Away The Fainting Couches: What is and isn’t an Insult

(CN: mention of slurs of various sorts)

There’s this thing where apparently being called a ‘racist’ or a ‘terf’ or a ‘homophobe’ is somehow considered such a great insult that there are pearls clutched and couched fainted on and ‘how dare yous’ thrown around, and frankly, I’m done with it.

Of course it is, White Guy
Of course it is, White Guy

It’s something that I’ve seen on the left and the right.

I don't "support" you, but don't you dare call me a name like "homophobe"
I don’t “support” you, but don’t you dare call me a name like “homophobe”

…and it freaking annoying.  It’s derailing. Suddenly people have to take time out of their day to either reassure said person with their honor so besmirched, or arguing about “are they or aren’t they”, and the whole bigotry thing gets mostly ignored.  That isn’t the kind of ‘allyship’ we need.

What we need are people willing to get over their ‘honor’ whenever such accusation are tossed about and either (A) do some serious self examination and LISTENING to the people affected by the accused bigotry (If you’ve been accused of saying/doing something homophobic, and most of the people defending you are straight, you might want to check yourself) or (B) stick to your guns.

By “stick to your guns”, I mean quit complaining about being called such and stand by your statement. Understand that this may mean that those affected and their allies might continue to consider you a bigot and might not want to hear from you again.*  You’re just going to have to deal with that.  You can’t, say endorse someone who says that transwomen are just men affected by autogynophilla, say that you’re not a TERF, and expect transwomen and their allies to take you seriously.  That’s not how that works. Intention ain’t magic.  If you’ve caused offense, you either give enough of a shit to apologize (even if you don’t understand how – and surprise opportunity for education yay), or you unapologetically stick to your guns.

See how that works?

Also, these are insults: faggot, nigger, -tard, tranny, ugly, stupid, piece of dogshit rotting in the sun, professional victim. Words said with the intention to hurt, to harm, to reinforce stereotypes.

Homophobe, racist, terf, sexist, ableist, aren’t insults.  At the very least, they are descriptors.  Or a clue.  Now it would be super duper awesome if everyone took the Jay Smooth route of “what you did/said/supported was BLAH-ist” instead of “You’re a BLAH-ist”, but you know what? Expecting the marginalized to carefully curate their words all the damn time so they don’t sound so harsh and hurt someone’s feelings is bullshit.

So put away the pearls (or wear them with something cute), use the couch for something else than fainting, take responsibility for yourself and realize that there is something more important to deal with than hurt feelings and bruised honor at accusations of bigotry.

Like, you know, actual bigotry.

*Oh, and finding one or two of those marginalized who agree with you to push forward is shitty too. We’re not clones, we get to disagree with them and you. It’s “LOOK, I have Black friends” to the max.

Put Away The Fainting Couches: What is and isn’t an Insult

Weep On, Gamerbros

So, there’s this game called Rust.  And it starts off dropping the player into a wilderness naked.  It’s a survival-type game, so you have to make, find, or craft what you need to survive (including clothes) in the game for as long as possible.  There’s also the chance that another player can kill you, if the game itself doesn’t.

The game is on Early Access on Steam, so it’s a work in progress.  Until recently, every character was a white guy.  You know, like the vast majority of games with a static character in them. No problems there.

Then, suddenly, Rust changed things.  See, the character can be of a different race.  And not any sort of fantasy race, I mean human variations.  So, yep, you could start up your game and surprise! be a black guy. And there’s no changing it.

And the white gamerbros freaked the fuck out.

It was ironic and glorious. Suddenly, it mattered what the race of your character was.  Suddenly, representation mattered as whiner after whiner after whiner whined about living in the game world as a black man and what it means.  Like being called ‘nigger’ or being targeted because of the color of your skin, because of course, gamerbros are the worst, even to each other.

Suddenly consumer choice mattered.  Suddenly the lack of choice (which every other gamer who isn’t white or male just apparently had to “suck it up”) mattered.  Suddenly, they got to feel the same way a lot of us lady gamers and gamers of color get to feel.

And boy or boy did they not like it.  The pity is that they don’t quite seem to get it.  The lack of empathy is astounding.  Hell, Extra Credits, known for having a pretty soft hand when it comes to the goal of making games better, has addressed the issue, seeing it as a good thing, and I agree.

Yes, you may have to play as a black character, and with all that entails.  Does that make you uncomfortable?  Good.  Live in that discomfort.  Experience it.  This is your privilege being shoved into your face.  Think about the lady gamers who would like to play as a woman (though given that the character starts off naked and anatomically correct, there are legit concerns with that, given again, how shitty gamerbros are.  I say do it anyway.) in their first person survival games.  Think about the people who aren’t you that are forced, by agreeing to pay for and play the game, to play someone who does not represent them over and over again.

Or keep crying.  Keep whining. Keep being painfully unaware that the same words you use to attempt to silence us when we ask for diversity in gaming apply to you right now.  Hell, my cup needs filling anyways.

IMG_20150527_120904

Weep On, Gamerbros

Beating the Sexuality out of Black Girls: Why?

(CW for abuse of all sorts of natures)

I love Tumblr, I really do.  I stay away from most fandoms of shit I like (I’ve been in the game for 20 years – the drama gets old), I follow a bunch of awesome social justice minded people, and if I ever needed to know if two or more men can actually fuck in a position I’m imagining, I just check my Dashboard.

There was this conversation I was following from the ever awesome Source Du Mal concerning something that was really, REALLY a part of my growing up.  And I need to word vomit about it.

Black girls can’t even ASK a damn question about sex without threat of assault by parents who are too busy thinking they are “guilty” of having a sexuality.

Like, sex is fucking everywhere. Are you kidding me? Come the fuck on. And if all you gonna do is beat them for being CURIOUS, then don’t get mad when they find out physically with lil Tyrell behind your back.

I was probably very precocious as a kid, probably because of being raped before I started kindergarten.  I had this curiosity about naked bodies and sex and those loud noises Momma made with her boyfriend or Dad with his new wife.  I never told an adult about my rape.  For some reason, I just KNEW the reaction would be bad.  So did my own research, playing doctor, stealing the dirty novels my Momma did a shit job of hiding, and writing my own laughable attempts at erotica (I still have the stories I penned at 10.  They are cringeworthy as fuck). When I got a bit older and could go to the library by myself, I dove into the puberty and sexuality books to try to understand my growing body and the strange feelings.

Talk to my parents about sexuality? Are you kidding?  If I so much as mentioned a boy that was an actual friend, they would freak the fuck out.  “You gotta boyfriend!?!”  My stepmother found condoms in one of my sister’s bookbag and proceeded to beat her.  While demanding that she answer questions about where babies come from.

“What do girls have?” *WHACK*

“Vaginas!”

“What do your friends call them?” *WHACK*

Worst. “The Talk”. Ever.

If that wasn’t the flashing klaxon that told me my sexuality (and hers) was not ‘safe’ at home, I dunno what was.  Between Stepmom’s abuse and our father rejecting our growing bodies, Sister and I lashed out in different ways; she got defiant and wilder, I became more private and sneaky and keep everything in.  One boyfriend tried to pressure get me to let him in our house for sex and I couldn’t bring that to any trusted adult.  My early explorations online got me exposed to a lot of creepy A/S/L-ness from dudes, couldn’t bring that to anyone.  When a boyfriend in high school kissed me, and I liked it and I wanted to share that joy, who would I share that with.  My first crush on a girl (or my second, or my third)? My decision to not have sex until college? The inappropriate looks and comments about my growing body? When that happened in earshot of my folks, it was my fault.

For existing or something.

According to my Stepmom, wanting to date made me a whore.  My sis started running away and they forced her on Depo shots to make sure she didn’t get knocked up.  I asked for the same, because my periods were murder and I read that it could help, was called a whore.

That I made it to 19 and in college before making my sexual debut had fuck all to do with the environment I grew up in.

I don’t get it, parents. Either little girls are worth guiding and loving or they’re not.  Either they’re just little THOTs and sluts in training that need that urge beaten out of them (literally or physically or both) or they’re not. Girls have those thoughts, at young ages, and it’s your fucking job as parents to nurture (cause it’s fucking natural, and I dare any of you to deny you were the same as a kid), to help her handle that, to answer her questions or help her find the answers herself.  I’m sorry if the fact that your precious little princess having an O-face someday or right now scares you, but this is your fucking job.

It’s a job that should be started when she’s young and should continue until she’s out of your house.  But when you cut off that budding sexuality with harsh words and harsh hands, you are destroying her.  You are ruining her trust of you. If she can’t ask “where do babies come from?” or “What can I do about the scary man down the street who wants me to hug him?”, then can she come to you with “The person I’m dating is pressuring me to have sex.” later?   Not if you fly off the fucking handle the second she hints about having pants feelings.

This shit has wrecked us, and is still wrecking us. When girls act out, we call them nasty names, we humiliate them as punishment, we beat them because how fucking DARE they try to navigate the sexual waves without any fucking guidance.  Don’t they know they should just keep shit quiet and never make a peep and never have a single sexual thought, or fall in love, or have a crush, or leave the house, or have friends of whatever gender they’re attracted to until their wedding day?  That isn’t for their safety, it’s for your fucking comfort. And when you do this shit, I don’t see “That girl deserved it with her fast ass”, I see, “I suck as a parent.  This child will never trust me again, and I’ll probably wonder why.”

“The Talk” isn’t easy.  It’s not comfortable. But it’s necessary.  And it’s so much more than just “Keep your panties up and don’t bring home anything that has to eat” and “Boys only want one thing.” But it’s your fucking job. Dealing with a diaper blow out isn’t comfortable either, but you don’t beat a baby for it or try to make them not shit so much. You suck it the fuck up, break out the tools and handle that shit.

When your daughter is curious about sexuality, you need to Handle. That. Shit.  Love her. Respect her. Give her some privacy. Fucking hug her, Father figures.  Just because she’s maturing doesn’t fucking mean your job as a father is done. Mother figures, quit being jealous of the attention your daughter is getting.  You think that’s comfortable and fun for a 14 year old to have 20-30-40 year old men panting after her? Get over yourselves and fucking parent already.

(And yes, that counts even after your little girl has discovered her O-face. She’s not soiled or ruined.  Hug her. Love her. Guide her to make decisions that work for her. She hasn’t stopped being your daughter.)

Beating the Sexuality out of Black Girls: Why?

Dear Former Clinic Escort,

Blogmaster’s Note: This’ll be a long one, but worth it.  Also, if you come up with some some anti-choice argument BS, have your shit recent and accurate, or you WILL be shown the door.

Wow, when this piece of dreck popped up in a private FB group for escorts, it was universally panned.  I don’t tend to link to the sentient bullshit machine that is LifeSiteNews, but for this opportunity, I made an exception.  So I clicked and read this oh so special letter to us Clinic Escorts.

And the moment the page load, I’m assaulted by an autoplay pledge plea (I know I have Flashblock, so what the fuck?) of two twin douchebags who I’d never heard of, one of which introduces them as “I’m David Benham and this is my twin sister Jason.”

Mmm-mmm, that’s some tasty transphobic humor right there.

Anyway, they apparently lost some house-flipping show on HGTV because they opened their yaps and let the anti-gay, anti-choice out.  Insert commentary about how free speech is actually supposed to work here.

NothingofValue

Well, I was in a mood after pausing that crap video, so let’s get to the actual letter, shall we?

Dear Clinic Escort,

Hi there!

Today I saw you, with your bright orange vest emblazoned with ESCORT on the front and back. You refused to make eye contact with me.

Actually our vests (provided by the awesome folks at The Clinic Vest project) are eye melting yellow, but okay.  And as for ‘eye contact’? We become masters at the Thousand Yard Stare to ignore you and your repetitive and WRONG nonsense.  We’re escorts, not counterprotesters. You’re not owed an audience just because you think you have something important to say.  Not from strangers, not from patients, and certainly not from escorts.  Deal.

I saw your gritty determination as you grabbed arms with that young woman and whispered in her ear, “Ignore them,” you said, “Don’t look at them, they are here to intimidate you, to scare you. I’ll keep you safe, don’t worry.” You walked quickly, head up, steel in your eyes, never letting up your grip on her arm. Her head was down, following your lead, mutely keeping up with your fast trot to the abortionist.

We walk with patients who are terrified and angry at the horde of people who can’t take “no” for an answer, who surround cars and try to shove their crap into the windows. Congrats, you have accurately described our job (though we do tend to not touch the patients unless asked where I am because we believe in strange concepts like “respecting a person’s space”). Pity that will probably be the last accurate thing you will say in this entire ‘letter’.

You ushered her in through the doors and soon emerged, alone, smiling at us triumphantly, a glimmer of malice in your eye, a smirk of arrogance and joy at having bested us – another woman you saved from the anti-choice fanatics. You rejoin the other escorts, laughing and joking, until the next car pulls up, and your face resumes the mask of the militant soldier, ready to do battle for women’s reproductive rights.

Malice.  Militant soldiers. “Another woman saved…”

Oh god.  Hold up, I gotta stop laughing for a minute.  Making up your own interpretation of shit is something anti-choicers are really good at, I’ve noticed.  “Pro-life fanfiction”, I’ve heard it called. That’s not malice, it’s pride at helping patients enter with some dignity. We’re not “militant soldiers”, we’re volunteers done with your shit. They weren’t ‘saved’ from you.  They arrived at their appointments on time with as little harassment as possible. You’re turning it into some weird competition where there is none. But hey, whatever it takes to keep up that martyr complex. It’s just what Jesus would have done.  Or something.

As I watched you I wondered, have you ever been inside the clinic?

Nope.  They never let us inside the clinic.  They just hand out the vests and send us to work.

Oh wait, that’s complete bullshit.  Of course we’ve been inside the clinic.  The inside of the clinic where I escort looks like every other doctor’s office I’ve been in.  Clean, professional.  Only more purple. No charnel house look here.

Have you ever been in the waiting room, filled with the silence of trepidation and fear? Have you listened to the stifled tears?

A some escorts have either had abortions, or have been a companion to someone who has.  We even had a transgendered man volunteer who had one. I know you’re going for this “we don’t know what we do” angle, but we do.  We really do.

And trepidation and fear (and yes, tears) are natural reactions to a surgical procedure.  I felt that before my extensive dental surgery.  I did before my first endoscopy. Some people even feel it before giving birth. It’s natural.  Doesn’t make what’s about to happen wrong.

Have you ever been in the counseling room? This place, where instead of asking questions and listening, the worker masks the truth, or outright lies about the third life in the room, the life growing inside the woman’s womb?

I’m not a counselor, and we fill out patient privacy forms , so my answer will have to be no.  As for the information given, I think you may be confusing that with a CPC. From what people who have had abortions and actual counselors and doulas have shared (and the documentaries I’ve watched, After Tiller and 12th and Delaware), counselors, you know, counsel.  It’s their job to listen.  It’s their job to give ALL of the options.  And if a patient decides to only have an ultrasound, or changes their mind, it’s okay.  No one’s keeping patients trapped until they decide they way ‘we’ want, as CPCs are reported to do. That’s what choice means. Do you get it?

Probably not.

Have you seen her sad and scared eyes?

Yes. Badgering a patient outside of the clinic will do that.

Have you asked her why she is there?

I’m not a counselor, and neither are you. I swear, we get antis, who can’t take ‘no’ and ‘leave me alone’ for an answer, asking this question to complete strangers like they’re owed that answer. This might seem really strange to you, so I’ll put it bold so you get it: It’s none of our business. Not yours, not mine.  That is between the patient, the counselor, and the doctor. And maybe, if the patient is a believer, their relationship with a god.  Not yours.

That said, I have actually had patients, after we get them inside and away from your shit, volunteer that information.  And while you might deem all of these reasons not good enough for you, they are so damned no concern of mine.

I don’t give half a crap why a patient is there. It’s none of my business.

Do you know if she is being pressured or forced into this abortion, if she is safe at home…all the questions she won’t be asked inside the clinic? Does she know about all of the help available to her if she keeps the baby? Does she know how many couples would love to adopt her baby?

Wow.

Just, wow.

bitchyoutriedit

You do know that 9th Commandment is YOUR law to follow right?  The one about “not bearing false witness”?  That’s so much bearing of false witness I’m surprised your back isn’t broken from the strain. Counselors ASK these questions.  They provide help if the patients change their mind.  I’ve seen the brochures with my own eyes. And even if they change their mind, that’s not a victory for YOU, it’s a victory for the concept of CHOICE.

And seriously, adoption isn’t the opposite of abortion. This may shock you, but some people aren’t interested in continuing a pregnancy they don’t want. Fucking deal.

Yes, I know, I’m using filthy words now. That’s what I do when I’m pissed at disingenuous liars. And it’s only gonna get worse.

My dear Clinic Escort, have you been there for the ultrasound, where you can see the fully formed baby kicking its arms and legs? Have you heard the worker tell her it is just a bunch of cells? A blob? A product of conception?

You’re asking me if I’ve seen ultrasounds before?  Why yes.  From parents happily expecting, and from people who have decided on abortion.  The majority of abortions are performed in the first trimester – too tiny to have those kicking arm and legs.  And even if we’re talking second trimester, why does that matter? If someone doesn’t want to continue a pregnancy, they get to not continue a pregnancy.

Have you been with her, holding her hand as she screams in pain, ignored by a doctor who doesn’t even know her name?Have you heard the suction machine, watch as the blood, tissue, and body parts flow from her body into a cold jar? Have you heard the sound of the currette scraping her uterus? Have you seen the body parts – an arm, a leg, a piece of a rib cage, poured into a baggie as though it were scraps of meat?

Christ, are you getting off on this nonsense? While anesthetic affects people differently, they still get it. And yes, thanks to brave people who record and report their own procedures, we get to see how the shit works, sans your overdramatic overdescriptions.

Also, are you sure you’re still talking to us “dear Clinic Escorts”? We don’t go into the procedure rooms during procedures. We don’t go into the counselling rooms during counseling. And if we’re curious, we can ASK.  We can research.  I did an entire talk as a layman to other laymen about basic abortion procedures.  So, yeah, keep on with the drama, you can’t fool me.

Have you sat with her in the recovery room as she stares off into space, desperate to get away from this place so she never has to think of it again?

We’re not doulas or patient advocates, so no. But, since I’ve been trained as an abortion doula, by people who have been doing it for a while, I’m more willing to trust their word on the reactions in the recovery room.  Sometimes, there’s tears.  Sometimes, there’s vomiting, because anesthesia.  Most time, it’s relief.

Don’t believe me? Look up some positive abortion stories.  I’m Not Sorry has been running since 2004.

Have you been with her through the depression and the anxiety that plague her after the abortion? The breakup of her relationship? Have you helped her through her drug addiction, her binge drinking? Have you been there when she is unable to bond with her children? When her marriage falls apart? Will you be there when she attempts suicide? Will you be at her funeral when she succeeds?

LiaraFuckThis

I…I can’t even with this bullshit, but damnit, I’m gonna try.

Firstly, as someone who struggles with depression and the like, go fuck yourself.  It’s people like you who KEEP people with these issues from speaking up, unless they’re willing to join your guilt parade.  Yes, some people emotionally react poorly to having an abortion.  Most (and you can look that shit up yourself) don’t.

Secondly, go fuck yourself, because if this theoretical woman did all of these things, your sanctimonious ass wouldn’t be at that funeral either.

Thirdly, there are support for people going through issues after an abortion that don’t involve the guilt trip.  Backline and Exhale.  Look them up, and go fuck yourself.

Fourthly, and most importantly, GO FUCK YOURSELF.

Dear Clinic Escort, look into my eyes.

*flips both birds*

vtLap8s

They have seen things you could never imagine. Things that have made me scream in the middle of the night. Things that are never discussed in the intellectualized, feminist world of abortion rights.

Some escorts have had abortions. Some escorts have had abortions. Some escorts have had abortions. Some escorts have had abortions.

Because while you see a job well done when you usher her through those doors, her nightmare is just beginning.

Did I mention the going and fucking yourself?  Because you can go do that now.

But before you do, I asked a few fellow escorts to chime in on your bullshit.

Nick V:

WTF is this nonsense? I know our counsellors DO ask those questions. I know our clinic would never ‘encourage’ a women who was unsure to just go ahead and have an abortion. Heck we saved women from boyfriends that were trying to force them to have one. This is horseshit.

Rivka:

I don’t give a rats ass what decision she makes. I don’t have a personal investment if if she stops to talk with you. I don’t get personal satisfaction from people choosing to have an abortion. I am there to let people access health care. I have never grabbed a patient. I have never smirked walking out. I chat with patients. Hell, I sometimes say half my job is keeping the antis from getting punched. Why in the world would you think I *care* how many people have abortions? I don’t care. I just want them to have *access*. It’s not a game where you win or I win.

And yes, I’ve been in the waiting room. I see women who are tired, women who are reading a book, women who are chatting. I have had women tell us that they feel better, I’ve had plenty of women thank me for making the trip to get health care a little less scary for them.

And yes, I’ve gone with a friend when she needed support. For her it was a hard decision. It’s one she has very mixed feelings about, but she’s still sure she made the decision that was right for her. And I stood with her and let her work through that. I didn’t tell her what to do, and I would have supported her whatever she choose.

This isn’t a game where you get saves and I get abortions. My only interest is in those women being able to access healthcare without fear.

Pat C:

One lie that gets me is the, “Ask them to show you the ultrasound. They don’t want you to know the truth,” The clinic will not only show it to you if you ask, they will print a photo for you if you want.

AND

Since I transport many clients home after their procedure, this is not true. All of them say the staff are kind, compassionate and keep asking them if they are in pain. They will stop the procedure if needed to comfort the patient and reapply a local if necessary.

Huxley M:

One: some clinic clients are nervous. They’re typically nervous because they’re about to have a medical procedure, which is worth getting tense about. They’re also typically nervous about the protesters out front.

Two: some clients do have sad feelings, for a variety of reasons – the one I’ve encountered most (I’m also doing volunteer transport now, which means lots more talking than escorting does) is that they do want to talk, to have someone in their life know what’s up. “Hey, this is why I’ve seen stressed lately/seemed sick/etc.” And they don’t feel like they can, because they are afraid they will be treated by loved ones the way they are by the protesters. The overwhelming amount of negative emotion surrounding abortion is what they create – which is exactly what they intend.

Finally, just grabbing a client’s arm? I dunno about everybody, but we don’t even walk with clients without asking if they want us to. I have never initiated physical contact with a client, ever. Protesters make plenty of unsolicited and unwanted physical contact with clients, companions, and escorts, though. Guess they’re projecting?

Thanks guys, you rock!

Dear Former Clinic Escort,

Double Storify Saturday!

…published on a Sunday, because I’m sick, y’all.

First off, let’s go to the sidewalk with a round up of the past two weeks of clinic escorting. I didn’t get out because of sick this Saturday, so I shared the tweets of the ever awesome @LouClinicEscort , who gets a larger crowd anyways.

Next up, something crawled up my back and it’s name was “complaints about political correctness“.  This had me so going that I was tweeting in bed about this shit.

Enjoy!

Double Storify Saturday!

Saturday Storify!

This may or may not be a regular thing, but people seem to really like it when I combine my escorting tweets into an easy to read format.

We don’t get the crowds as other clinics, but our regulars are persistent, annoying, the worst, and occasionally, hilarious.

So, here’s two Saturdays combined. Enjoy!

 

Saturday Storify!

Talking about Abortion and the Argument from “Ew”

So, as I was gearing up for my First Talk Ever for FtBCon 3 (which starts today, and my talk is at 8:00CST, and here’s a link just in case you’re interested, and if you can’t catch it then it’ll be on YouTube afterwards and I’m going to shut up now), I noticed something.

Correction, I’ve noticed this thing for forever, and this is finally as good of a time as any to talk about it.

Part of my talk involves pictures of fetal remains.  Good thing my stomach has been a churning bowl of sour for nearly two weeks, or I’d be worried about being ill from having to dive into those image searches.  Between the ones posed next to coins and pencils and curled up in ways that would be cute if they weren’t dead and probably rotting meat, finding accurate pics was a pain.  A gross, bloody, irritating pain.

But I see gross fetal remains pictures every Saturday and frankly, they don’t gross me out.  They piss me off.  They show me that “we have no other argument, so let’s make you feel sick.”

Or as I like to call it, “Argument from Ew“.

You see this same shit if you scratch a homophobe (not literally, they’re not worth touching). Underneath all of that concern about the children and the sanctity of marriage, you’ll probably find some “Two boys kissing are ewwww” (but let me secretly wank to two women, cuz that’s hot!). Or “people having sex I’ve never heard of are eww!” for anything that isn’t one man, one woman fucking for the making of teh bebbies.

Don’t get too smug, liberals, you do it too.  I get a little angry when asshole vegans (rare, thankfully, but still annoying) tries to show me factory farm pics in order to get me to stop eating animal flesh.  Yes, I’m aware where hot dogs come from.  And that my eggs are chicken menstruations. And that there’s pus in the milk that eventually becomes the dairy products I enjoy (milk in its basic form makes me nauseous). Um, nope, that’s not going to work for the same reasons fetal remains will make me pro-life anytime soon.

And don’t even get me started on anti-vaxxers.  Oh noes, vaccines contain ingredients that sound weird.  Eww, don’t let them put that gross stuff into your kids, no matter how useful it is if you bothered looking up the “why” and not just the “what”! Ditto with GMO fear and Big Pharma fear (you will take my life-saving meds from my cold dead hands), and so on and so forth.

Maybe it works for some people, but trying to gross me out into changing my mind feels like an insult.  Don’t try to convince my stomach that you’re right, appeal to my brain, damnit. That’s what I use to think! I’m grown and we’re not in elementary school.

And now that I’ve gotten that off my brain, time to panic about my upcoming talk!  Yay!

Talking about Abortion and the Argument from “Ew”