I was unable to continue to hide in my grades, my jobs, my paycheck, my pals. I was no longer shrouded by the blind bliss of ignorance, and I knew that the meat I ate was the flesh of another animal, a being who wanted to live, a life I had paid someone to end in the horrors of the slaughterhouse. Yet while I came to understand this, I fought against its implications, which struck me initially as unbearable. I liked animals and would never inflict pain on them. My head knew that this was true, and my heart was repulsed at the thought of factory farms and slaughterhouses.
Meat is murder, and it is wrong.
To this day, I dread discussing vegetarianism. The agonies of the animals, living and dying hidden from our eyes and ears, their corpses disguised and exalted on our plates, struggle against my sympathy for the person confronted and my desire to avoid judgment. It is the exploitation and murder of fellow sentient beings who feel pain and fight to stay alive. Inc. All Rights Reserved.