The Human Condition: Helpless in the Wake of Relatable Tragedy

By now we all know what happened. If we weren't glued to the television yesterday, then we were absorbed by our newspapers this morning, or wrapped up in the online coverage today. For some, this is a horrific, disturbing, and mindboggling tragedy - one that is so outside the realm of reason or understanding that within the next few days - they will simply become numb to it. Then there are those who were indirectly affected - friends and family members of students and faculty at Virginia Tech - people who want so badly to know and to feel and to help - but just can't, exactly.

Then, of course, there are those who know. We know because we've been there. And in the most terrifying way, 25,000 students and faculty have joined our ranks. And it's not only yesterday - but last year, too, that these same kids had to know this same terror. We have to ask ourselves some tough questions. We are the ones who had the places we believed to be safe and the people we loved ripped away from us by someone who we thought we trusted - who someone knew - who someone, one would suppose, loved. Another one of us. There is no worse violation than to have our worlds demolished from within. It's all the worse for everyone when it's a child - a child killing another child. Or, as my good friend Jocelyn Heckler wrote, "friends killing friends. My friends killing my friends."

I'm sorry if my words are less than eloquent. Yesterday, between doctor's appointments in a day that was already turning out the most distressing of surprises, I turned on the news. Eight years will numb you - or you will tell yourself that it does - but in truth, a wound that does not heal properly - as so many of ours haven't - are too easily opened. And so violently. I was fine... I was fine... I was fine... and then I wasn't. The horror and terror and uncertainty and emotions that have never been given names because that would make them real - and trust me, you don't want them to be real - came flowing in. The sound of my own scream still echoes in my skull. The compounded pain of 19 school shootings in 10 years - of 25,000 new members to this club of sorrow and pain - tore out of me. I cannot tell you what it's like - it's impossible to describe. 24 suddenly became 16 again and I knew that life would never be the same - and I had no control over it.

There will be investigations. Reports. Official inquiries. The FBI will come. There will be rumor and it will cloud the truth. There will be reporters. Helicopters. Counselors will come and offer their ears and advice. Gifts of money and things - attempts to heal wounds that will never close. Songs and poems and books will be written. Paintings will be painted. All in an attempt to understand - to rationalize.

I was not there. I do not know. But 8 years ago I lost three friends - two at the hands of the third - and I can tell you that there is no recovering from this. There is no way to "make it better." You just take each day - each hour - at it comes. And soon you'll find it gets easier. Do not be alone - you need people around you even when you don't want them. Talk. Write. Draw. Get it out. This sort of pain is toxic and will eat you from the inside if you allow it. Avoid the news reports if they become too much. Allow yourself to feel the pain. Let it out. If you have to scream - scream. If you have to cry - cry. And it will creep up on you at the most unexpected moments. Your emotions are valid and you are the only one who has the right to say what is okay and when. The very fact that you get up every morning and make the most of the days you have - because believe me, they are a gift - makes you braver than anyone can fathom.

And if you are so compelled - as I was - to speak to the media and make your voice heard - trust your instinct. If it feels right, it probably is. But even if it felt right at first, but then turns sour, you have the power to end the interview. I learned that too late and found myself abused by some media in an unethical - to say the very least - way. Or, do what our Killfile does, and be the truth yourself. It may not reach as wide an audience - but you will be in control. And that can mean everything. When the shooting at Dawson College occurred, I wrote an open letter to the media - it can be found <here - and my sentiments are the same.

In the end - trust yourself. This will not heal overnight. The days will keep passing and life will go on. And some days will be hard - hard to get out of bed, hard to do the things that make up life, hard, even, to breathe. But you will get out of bed - and you will, to the best of your abilities, do what you have to in work and school. And you will continue to breathe - no matter how much you may want to stop - or how much you may wish it was someone else breathing in your place. You are still here - and the best way to honor those who are gone is to continue living - and to enjoy it.

Don't forget your family and friends - they are there for you. Don't forget to partake in the things you enjoy. And don't forget to laugh - it will lighten you.

No one can know exactly how anyone else feels at a time like this. But we can try. If there is anyone who needs to talk - and needs someone who does know the pain you're going through - please contact me. I may be in Colorado and perfectly helpless in many, many ways - but I'm an ear who is willing to listen and can give advice that you can't learn in psychology courses or counselor training. I've been there - and as much as it hurts for me to relive what happened 8 years ago - I believe that if my experience can do some good - then maybe things will be a little better for everyone.

My email is MissKicha@gmail.com. If you know anyone who needs to talk, I'm here.

Peace

Footnote:
After Columbine I spent three years in poetry therapy - a great program that let me release my thoughts in a safe, non-censored environment. The woman who ran the workshops, Catherine O'Neill-Thorn, would like to offer herself if anyone would like to use her: www.artfromashes.org

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