"I want to die as myself."

I did my back exercise and took a shower. Strangely enough, I feel pretty good.

And I cannot get over this song.

This excerpt from The Hunger Games just popped into my mind:

“I don’t know how to say it exactly. Only…I want to die as myself. Does that make any sense?” he asks. I shake my head. How could he die as anyone but himself? “I don’t want them to change me in there. Turn me into some kind of monster that I’m not.”
I bite my lip, feeling inferior. While I’ve been ruminating on the availability of trees, Peeta has been struggling with how to maintain his identity. His purity of self. “Do you mean you won’t kill anyone?” I ask.
“No, when the time comes, I’m sure I’ll kill just like everybody else. I can’t go down without a fight. Only I keep wishing I could think of a way to…to show the Capitol they don’t own me. That I’m more than just a piece in their Games,” says Peeta.

Lately, with abortions as frequent as ever, I've been thinking about life and death. I've been thinking about the distinction between killing and murdering, between protecting and slaughtering. I'm not sure how to approach it. Legally, peripheral participants are referred to as "accessory to a crime." Biblically, passive onlookers are as responsible as direct culprits. Have I, in essence, contributed to the murder of millions of babies? That question seems incomprehensible; consequently, I think I have become somewhat calloused concerning death – especially when it comes to terrorist attacks.

It is reported that 2,753 people were killed during the September 11th attack of the World Trade Center in 2001.
It is estimated that 125,000 infants are killed daily. DAILY. Every single day. "In the USA, … there are over 3,000 abortions per day." EVERY single day.

That is unfathomable.

I feel like Peeta. As our world, as our country, is slaughtering itself from the womb up, I want to die as myself. I don't want to be turned into some fanatic psycho-killer, nor do I want to be turned into a calloused, oblivious man.
And yes, I'd kill just like everybody else. If a man or woman advances on my family with a firearm or other weapon, insofar as I am capable, I will disarm and retort fatally. But I don't want to be a piece in the Game.
I want to think my own thoughts. I want to regret my poor choices. I want to yearn to make better choices each following day. I don't want to be desensitized by the jargon and the bombardment. I want to feel sorrowful about the evils I can't rout. I want to feel impassioned about the evils to which I can respond.
I want to act. I want to be foiled. I want to act again and persevere.

I am a small man, and the world is dastardly and gigantic, but I hope I can serve in some small way, and I hope that I can die as myself.