It’s 3 in the morning and I really need to be getting to sleep soon, but it’s at times like this where I get deep into my own thoughts. I suddenly found myself reflecting on the past tragedies and conflicts I dealt with in my [earlier, pre-legal] teen years, as well as other influences in my life both positive and negative.
I think the experiences I have the starkest memories of are always related to the tragic suicides that happened while I was in high school. There are few tragedies comparable to suddenly finding one of your classmates isn’t there anymore. There are even fewer tragedies that are tragic purely in their preventable nature. Many of us were left wondering to ourselves what could have been done, what should have been done, what was left unsaid. Nobody will ever know what was running through each of these peoples’ minds when they committed the unthinkable; all we’re left with is a soul whose life was cut short because they didn’t want it to grow longer.
I remember being in my sophomore english class when I learned about the first incident and finding myself at a loss of emotion. I had no idea how to react, didn’t know who the victim was at the moment, and found myself looking at the situation as if from the outside. I couldn’t bring myself to realize that this was happening and that it wasn’t some news story on some far away school in some far away state. It was happening here, at home, and, as I soon found out, to someone I personally knew.
I supposed I was extremely lucky to go to a school that offered so much support in the wake of this tragedy. Teachers spoke to us in a manner so candid it was as if the line between teacher/student and friend/friend had been blurred. Locks were removed and walls were taken down as the school came together to mourn him. It was then I began to realize that yes, Gunn’s teachers were here for the students, not the money in the paycheck. I realized that I was in an environment where I would be encouraged to struggle with myself in order to grow with people there to support me. I also knew that there would be incredible efforts to prevent me, or anyone for that matter, cut themselves short again. I saw how much each person meant to the people around them.
In the end, the tragedies didn’t just stop at one. Is it horrible that I became so numb to them when each of them happened? With each consecutive incident, I found myself reacting less and less. It had become habitual, almost routine. The lack of feeling actually became the most painful sensation. I had to come to terms that my heart was numb to tragedy…purely because it had witnessed too much already. It felt lonely to be quite honest.
Now, each time something similar comes up, like if someone talks about being suicidal, or I read about someone that did the same unimaginable act, I am brought back to that paradox of oddly numb but painful experience in being alone, watching from the outside with no emotion. I just want people to live for what’s ahead for them. I don’t know how to tell them to just wait…because it does improve. Having outlived certain people, I’ve gotten to experience the wonderful things they never will. I’m living to prove that there is a reason to live. I’m living for my family, for my friends, for all the people whose lives I’ve been a part of. I’m living for the food I haven’t tried, the places I haven’t seen, and the people I haven’t met. I live for God. I live to write endless posts like this. There is too much to live for, and I just hope that people can remember that there is so much more than the pain that is right now.
Sorry for the rambling.
