I have a doctor appointment on Friday. I am still having trouble coping with the death of that little boy. I am kind of reluctant to go to the doctor and tell her about it. I keep thinking that she will think I am overreacting. Why do I continue to mourn so deeply for a child I never knew? In a week it will have been a month since the school shooting, and I still think about him every single day. It still wrenches my heart and brings me to tears.

In the past almost 5 years, I can’t really remember a day when I haven’t been in a state of anxiety. Either mild, dull, or extreme. I seem to see-saw between fear and terror. Every single day. I am never truly happy. Just varying degrees of contentment, periods where I am absorbed in something enough that I forget my endless worries.  Usually my escape is books. I go through an insane amount of reading material on a weekly basis. Someday I will just have to get rid of all my stuff and use books to make up my furniture. Another escape is video games, though lately it has only been one video game in particular, Skyrim. The TV series, Game of Thrones, has been another source of comfort. Anything that deals with the distant past, or fantasy, is really up my ally.

Sometimes I wish I hadn’t been born with a morbid streak. Maybe I would be able to get over this tragedy a lot easier, if I could keep my mind away from the horrible aspects of what happened, during the shooting, and the emptiness after. It is so hard and devastating to picture a child buried in the cold, unyielding, sleeping earth a week or so before Christmas; but my mind can’t seem to move away from it. It’s like a scab that just begs to be picked. I can’t help myself.

I am exhausted, and sad, and feeling guilty for something I would of had no control over, for a child I don’t know. Why did all those children have to die? If only the gunman would of stuck to himself, and left everyone else alone. If you want to die, fine. Don’t take innocent children with you. I just want to lay down and sleep for a long while, until I feel better, or something.


Musings pt 2.

Why do I keep on grieving for a boy I have never met? Ever since the school shooting in Newtown, I have had trouble coping with the death of one of the little victims. At first I thought I was just projecting Curtis onto him, but it feels like it runs much deeper than that. I can’t help but imagine what his parents are feeling. Or what I would feel, if a tragedy like that affected my own family. I can imagine his mother passing by his empty room, his bed, clothes and toys not disturbed from the way he left them on that day. I can imagine his mother trying to go about normal routines, like doing laundry, and coming across an article of his clothing, and breaking into tears. I can imagine reaching out to feel the emptiness on the couch besides me, where there once was a living, breathing, child..and where there is now nothing. How can one recover from that sort of pain? How can you even try to go on? And why am I so affected? Maybe the tragedy that happened that day has pushed me over the edge and back into depression.  Depression. I find the word too clinical, and overused to the point where it loses it’s meaning. It feels more like despair, than just being sad. And of course, there is the question, why don’t I just stop thinking about it? Because I can’t. I feel guilty that I am alive, and that little boy is not. I feel guilty that I can resume my life, and he can not.  And then there is the more morbid aspect, where I can’t stop thinking about how he felt when the event occurred. Did he realize what was happening? Was he scared? Did he cry out for his mother? Did it hurt? How fast was it over, for him? These thoughts bring tears to my eyes, and I feel horrible for even thinking them, but I can’t stop. Everytime I feel somewhat close to normal, somewhat close to happy, my brain steps in and reminds me none too gently that there is a small child who will never be with his parents again. Never do the things he loved, ever again.  I can’t overcome my feelings of guilt, and I don’t know why.

On the complete opposite side of my despair, is terror. Not just being uncomfortable, or nervous, or afraid, but terrified. I am terrified of something happening to Claire. I am terrified of what my life would be like if something were to happen to her. I realize I can’t protect her from everything, but when someone, on a whim, can force their way into a place that is supposed to be safe, and cruelly snatch away the lives of small children in the matter of minutes, my terror feels overwhelming. I think one reason for my terror is that I wouldn’t be brave enough to end my own life were something to happen to Claire. I don’t know if I would have the courage. I would be forced to live in a dark, dull, twilight world, where every waking moment and every dream would be filled with visions of what I lost, and everything would be a reminder of what once was, and could never be again.

These thoughts run through my head daily. I can’t escape them, or shake them. It colors everything I think, checks any feelings of happiness I may have. So far my only escape has been reading. I find the past much safer than the present, and easier to think about than the future. It is exhausting, trying to combat these thoughts, trying not to dwell on a little boy that is gone from this world, and most likely happy and at peace in the next. If only we knew for sure, what awaits us on the other side, coping with the loss of loved ones would not be so hard. Maybe someday, when I cross over, he will be waiting to tell me that he is okay.