My Mother Should have Aborted Me

Thoughts from a “former fetus”

Image by Enrique from Pixabay

I’ve heard that many little girls wanted to be a mommy, or a doctor, or a princess, or a mechanic when they grew up. I never wanted to be any of these things.

What I wanted to be most of all was dead. I had no intention of seeing my eighteenth birthday. I dreamed of coffins, the underworld, and being a vampire.

Being a vampire would have been awesome in my mind, because I would be dead but not dead, and would be in control of my life, tormenting those who abused me in life.

The vampire was my favorite literary creature, and I was all in. I adored Anne Rice’s Vampire Chronicles, because they were my first real introduction to vampires. I wanted to study vampires in graduate school in very specific ways, and it was nothing to do with sex.

I wanted to study the spirituality of vampires. It was a topic of endless fascination, and I was in the process of putting out applications to graduate programs based on what I wanted to research. I had it all planned out.

This was more than a morbid curiousity, more than even a fandom. Vampires were absolutely essential to my life.

I spent the first two and a half decades of my life wishing my mother had aborted me. If I had answered the job interview…