C.R.

December 13th, 2013 started out as a perfectly normal day. It was the Friday before finals week of my junior year of high school. About 15 minutes into my fifth period class we heard a loud noise from the hall, but didn’t think much of it. Moments later it happened again, and again, then the sounds of people running and screaming. There was a shooter. Everyone sprinted to the corner of the room to hide. Every moment that passed in lockdown felt like one closer to death. I’m usually an optimistic person, but on that day, I was sure we would all die. I prayed and prayed that my brother was safe, that my friends and coaches and teachers and teammates were going to make it. At some point we heard the doorknob turn and I accepted that this was it. I prayed that my family and friends would be okay without me and prepared to die. Luckily, the door was locked and whoever it was left. It felt like ages waiting there in fear, just listening to the chaos outside our classroom. Finally, over the intercom someone announced that police, firefighters, and SWAT were in the building and would be evacuating classrooms soon. We were patted down and led outside and immediately I started searching the crowd of students for familiar faces, hoping that against all odds everyone had made it out alive.

The next morning, I woke up sobbing and hyperventilating as I felt all emotions from the previous day rush over me. I would have given anything for it to have all been a bad dream. News was finally catching up, and reporting that one girl was shot as she tried to confront the shooter. He then entered the library and started firing in hopes of killing his debate coach and our librarian and shot himself when confronted by police. We found out later that he had classroom numbers written on his arm, but the intention wasn’t clear. In the weeks after I barely ate or slept. I was afraid of my own memories, and couldn’t bear to be alone with my thoughts so I watched Netflix or listened to music at night until I couldn’t keep my eyes open anymore. Night terrors came in the early hours of the morning and I tried to do anything to distract myself. I went to one candlelight vigil and group gathering after another to fill my time and avoid facing my pain. Out in the world, I was afraid and constantly scanning for escape routes. Loud noises sent me into a state of terror. As months went on I was still having frequent and intense panic attacks and the hopelessness I had felt when I was sure I would die at any moment was impossible to shake. At some of the hardest points in dealing with the trauma of the shooting, I thought that maybe all this pain and fear just wasn’t worth it. I wouldn’t say that I actively wanted to die, but there were a so many times that I just wanted to be done with everything. To escape the cloud of darkness that hovered over me.

Spring quarter of sophomore year a number of things happened that sent me into the same downward spiral I had experienced as a 17-year-old. I became anxious all the time, and started having panic attacks in entirely normal situations. I had gotten so far into my college friendships without talking about the shooting and felt like I couldn’t explain why I was feeling the way I was without diving deep into that history and feeling like my pain was a burden to someone else. Talking in depth about the events of that day was and still is incredibly hard and brings on a panic attack, leaving me shaking and crying. So, I distanced myself from my friends and hid what was going inside my head the best that I could. On the surface everything was fine, but underneath I was a mess. As the quarter went on, I felt more and more alone and like before, I wanted to be done and escape the pain I was feeling. Because I had spent so much energy hiding my anxiety and depression, I felt completely disconnected from those around me and like no one would even notice if I disappeared. Luckily, the timing of the darkest moments of this period lined up with the start of my summer study abroad. It was the exact space I needed to be get out of my mind and rediscover how much of life is worth living.

Over time I’ve learned how to cope better and live my life as close to normal as possible. Being mindful of my own mental health and forcing myself to take breaks when I feel myself slipping has been crucial to recovery. Since the shooting my anxiety and corresponding panic attacks have lessened, but it’s still a part of my life that I struggle with and the trauma is something I’ll always carry with me. It’ll be five years this December but I can still remember every detail of that day as if it was yesterday. Partially due to the nature of social media, and partially due to my general fear of talking about the shooting, I never openly posted about anything I was going through. I was afraid of the questions it would bring, and at my most anxious moments it felt harder to open up than to just push through and hope things would get better soon. Through social media people are increasingly connected, and the thought of a random person seeing my very personal struggle was enough to keep me from sharing anything at all. 

Shootings are becoming more and more common, and with each new headline my hearts breaks a little more as I imagine a whole new group of people experiencing what my community did. The shooting was a firsthand glimpse into how dark the world could be, and we were all forced to grow up far too fast. Each time a tragedy happens it’s like a wound opening again, and I can feel the pain fresh as new. If you know anyone who’s experienced a shooting all I can suggest is to be patient and present. It takes an incredible amount of time and energy to process the emotions that come with a near-death experience like that and the trauma affects every single part of a person’s life. Some people just can’t talk about it right away, and that’s okay. For anyone who has experienced this, it’s hard and it’s awful but you’re not alone. There is a light at the end of the tunnel. Eventually spaces and people start feeling safer. Silence becomes bearable and talking about it gets easier. There will be laughter and love and light again. These are the things I also remind myself. Whenever think about the shooting, I remember part of a speech made by the parents of Claire Davis, who was shot in the halls of our high school. Every time I read it their words are more relevant than ever:

“Always remember that you’ll never be called upon to do more than you can do in this life. You are always enough. If you consciously and deliberately choose to practice love and compassion in your life, you will always find the strength for the battle. You will always find the courage to move forward, and you will always have the strength to resist the temptation to give up or fall into despair. By consciously and deliberately choosing to love every day for the rest of your life, you will live a meaningful life no matter what you do. You will find passion and love for life. You will be able to love yourself, and love others. Love will provide a light that will lead you to people that you can help, and give you the wisdom and courage to provide that help. By consciously and deliberately choosing to love every day for the rest of your life you will help put an end to hatefulness, prejudice, intolerance, and violence.”

Take care of yourself and others, listen with an open heart and mind, and remember that everyone around you is going through something that you might know nothing about. Consciously and deliberately choose to love.