Lost Souls

I find myself reeling tonight, even moreso than last. Questioning everything, and wondering what the future holds for me, my children, this Nation. Grasping at the smallest of details from the news, hoping that each small discovery gets us closer to an answer- something to be served up as proof that this will never happen again.

Gun laws, no gun laws- those lives are lost. The final products of twenty tiny souls who would have become farmers, factory workers, engineers or who knows what else. This is a time to rally, but for what cause? No guns? Then only the innocent citizens are left unprotected, more guns? Is that the kind of society we want?

Why was a young adult who was described as "strange" and possibly "mentally disturbed"ever allowed to learn to use a handgun? Who's place should it have been to step in? There are so many questions. There is an overwhelming part of me that wishes the shooter had survived, not because I think that anything about that would be fair and humane but because I, like the rest of the Country want answers.

The more I think about it, the more angry I am. After Columbine we began looking into not only Gun control but also the effects of bullying in schools. Though it was a massacre, as someone who has been bullied, it was almost a challenge not to empathize with the shooters. What on earth could a six year old do to provoke a twenty year old man? How can anyone look into the pleading face of a child and pull the trigger, over and over again?

There is so much pain here, so many questions, and so many families who will forever be torn apart by what has happened. There is no easy answer, no subtle bright side, and certainly no way to console a wounded nation, especially without the promise that this could not happen again. 

Filling in the blanks

I sat down tonight to write about the future, but instead I'm stuck once again in the past and though this blog is just musings of my life it's impossible to get the whole picture without the major events in it. This is just me filling in the blanks.

 I don't advertise this fact in real life or otherwise but I spent several years in the army. While I was in AIT (the specialized job training after basic) I got to know a guy, he was just one of many new friends I had made and being naive and all freshly 19, I considered 10 weeks of training to be a good foundation for a friendship built on trust...(yeah, I know, it sounds stupid to me too now.) One night I ended up at a small get together at a friends apartment and the long and short of it is that I was drugged and raped, not so much that got to miss out on all the terror and horrible memories (sarcasm, there should be a font for that,) but enough that it had already started by the time I was conscious enough to fight him off and run only to be interrogated by civilian and military investigators before enduring the rape kit.

I started off with the military trial but his attorney used every possible tactic to make it as miserable for me as he could and I regrettably folded, he ended up being found guilty but because I was not there to testify in person his punishment was a dishonorable discharge and something like 6 months in jail.  I however spent well over six months drinking, purging, and cutting myself- my own repentance so to speak for the guilt that I felt for letting it happen.

This has haunted me for years, but when I look back now I can see that it wasn't my fault. Yes, I made bad choices, but they were the choices that many naive 19 year olds would make.

I guess what I'm getting at is that this is in my PAST, cutting is in my PAST, toiling and blaming and hating him have to be a part of my PAST. I can't move forward and become the woman I want to be with these chains dragging behind and this hate and pessimism casting a shadow over my life (though I will keep the sarcasm... everyone loves sarcasm.) There is a good woman in here somewhere, she's a little broken and she's got a few too many scars but I am willing to change everything to save her, to save me.

My "Rock Bottom"

When I woke up the first thing I noticed was the date written clearly on the dry erase board, September 20th 2012. I had started trying to piece the days together when my parents walked in and began filling in the blanks for me. I remembered the pills, the police, the ambulance ride, I even remember the security guard who was made to watch me in the emergency room. What I don't remember is losing my ability to breath, being intubated and put on a ventilator. I don't remember my mother's tears as she helped a nurse bath me after having vomited on myself, my fathers prayers when he sat by my bed, nor do I remember any conversations that took place in my room about brain or liver damage; All those truths hit later.

On the 18th of September while my two small children were tucked into bed, I was in the kitchen attempting suicide.

My reason for writing is simply that being silent hasn't gotten me anywhere. When I began fighting off the symptoms of ptsd following a rape seven years ago, I did so alone. The longer I avoided talking about it, the deeper depression sunk in, so much that it consumed me. Now I'm fighting, willing to change everything about myself to find a reason to breath, A reason to smile; one that will surpass the next twenty years that I will be able to mother my daughters, that will outshine any breakup or bad day. My goal is to find a reason to want to grow old, so along with medication, therapy, and finally being honest with the people around me I am going to start being accountable for my feelings and behavior.