AGAIN

I don't recall how many blog posts I've written about school/mass shootings, two of which were local -- a high school attended by the daughter of friends and one involving a gathering of teens where the son of a friend was shot and injured by a jilted boyfriend of one of the girls he killed.

Now, Uvalde, Texas.  19 children, ages 7-10, and 2 teachers were slaughtered the other day by a young man who legally bought two AR-15 assault rifles for his 18th birthday last week prior to his decision to kill.

I can't look at the photos of the kids and teachers on TV, in the papers, on social media.  I only see innocence; I only see my own granddaughters in their faces.  I see my best friend's daughter, 5th grade teacher extraordinaire, moving to protect her students.  My heart breaks anew with every glimpse at those lively, smiling faces and then their grief-stricken parents and families. 

I have nothing eloquent or motivating or interesting to add to the already well-articulated outrage and grief that is everywhere.  But I can post this list, broken up into multiple screen shot photos.  I can post this list of America's tolerance for shameful violence against children.  Guns are the #1 killer of children and teens in America.  Guns!

And with each mass killing we hear about "thoughts and prayers".  We hear about the fact the 90% of Americans favor some sort of regulation on gun ownership.  We hear about an entrenched political party that will not move gun safety legislation forward.  We hear about the National Rifle Association which seems to have those recalcitrant politicians in their grasp.  We hear about the terrorizing of our children, who practice "active shooter" drills as part of their curriculum.  We hear that it's a mental health issue, not a gun issue.  And we see that statistics that tell a different story -- we are by far the most violent democratic, economically stable country on earth.  Others have mental health issues. Others have poverty and crime. Others have all the problems we have.  But they also have the will to say NO to the ridiculous notion that gun ownership is a right without restriction.  

They do not glorify guns and violence as uniquely American.  Our country was founded on violence and continues to be violent to this day.  We put up with it.  It's part of our culture. I saw a man at my local grocery store last week wearing a t-shirt that announced, "In God We Trust -- The Guns Are Just Back-Up", with an American Eagle bracketed by images of rifles.  He wore his sentiment proudly.  I wanted to cry...or rage.

There is the usual taking sides right now...until all this fades until the next time.  I guess there will never be a day when enough is enough for some people.  As for me, my heart breaks...every time.

At least, that's the view from here...©

Here is a partial list of schools where gun violence has occurred in the U.S.  According to National World magazine, since 1970 there have been 2052 incidents of gun violence in American schools, killing 661 children and adults.  America is a gun.

STRIPPED NAKED

Some of you are old enough to recall a TV show that ran from 1958-63 called "The Naked City", which was a black and white police procedural set in New York City.  It's famous episode-ending line was a solemn-voiced narrator intoning, "There are eight million stories in the naked city.  This has been one of them."  I don't recall ever watching the "grown-up" show -- I was 8 when it started and 13 with it ended and it was likely on past my bedtime.  But I remember that line vividly as it became part of the pop culture of the day. 

So, here's my tag line:  "There are 40 million anxiety sufferers in the United States of America.  I am one of them."

I wish I was like "The Bloggess", a blogger I love who writes with laugh-out-loud humor about her anxiety/depression and has gotten famous and sold books and has a gazillion followers and fans.  But I'm more the maudlin type, who tries to just tell the painful truth about this condition, hoping my story will resonate with others and we will become sisters/brothers of the heart; not famous, but still fighting for the Light in our own ways, in your own lives, whatever that looks like at your house.

At my house it looks like an almost constant low-level hum of "what if" and "be careful".  (Thanks, Mom, for those oft-repeated "words of wisdom" and the anxiety heredity factor.  I don't blame you anymore;  you are one of those sisters of the heart and I totally get it now -- you couldn't help it any more than I can and you had zero tools to mediate it.  So, actually, hats off to you; you fought and survived all on your own.)  

The hum becomes an audible persistent whisper when I am occasionally home alone for extended periods, like last week. I don't like nighttime.  I joke about being on 'lockdown' with every door and window secure, the direct-to-police department alarm system on at all times, and security cameras scanning.  It only helps a little bit.  (Is there a 'Rent-a-Rottweiler' place I can call?)

Let's add to that a horrific school shooting.  Every single time (there are so many that that phrase is not even weird), I go into "OMYGOD!" mode and project myself into that scene with pounding heart, lightheaded terror, overwhelming grief for those kids and their families.  It seems impossible to take a step back.  

I was sitting at Dairy Queen, enjoying a hot fudge sundae as a Valentine's Day treat to myself, when the report came over the TV (ubiquitous intrusions into public spaces these days.)  The sweetness turned sour in my mouth.  I watched for a few minutes as they reported one dead.  I drove home in dread, switched on my own TV and soon the reporting indicated there were "multiple" fatalities.  We now know there were seventeen.  I turned off the TV.  I meditated.  I did all my breathing exercises and positive self talk.  I started to calm down a wee bit.

Then, at dusk, the doorbell rang.  A stranger at my door is unusual.  I live up a steep driveway with a flight of stairs to the front door.  It's not an easy trek and it is very intentional for someone to come to our door.  Door-to-door salespeople often pass us by...not worth the physical effort.  Same with trick or treaters.  And some of our friends with bad knees.  But this guy made it a point to ring my doorbell.

He was fairly well groomed and not badly dressed, but seemed "off" somehow; darting eyes and kind of a slurry, sing-song-y voice.  He asked for "Lance" and since we've lived here for 35 years, the chances of him coming to Lance's old house seemed impossible.  I told him he had the wrong house and he left, muttering unintelligibly all the way down the front stairs.   

Our neighborhood listserve includes an ex-cop who has warned that often the bad guys will case a house by coming to the front door to see if anyone is home.  If so, they use the ruse that they are looking for someone, and leave.  But if no one answers the door, they go to the back, knock or ring again and if no answer, they break and enter.  This very thing happened to me in 1985 when I found myself alone in the house with a would-be thief who heard me call 911.  He fled, thankfully.  

So that's all it took for my already hair-trigger state of anxiety to tip into, let's call it, paralyzing fear.  Yep, fear cuz some yahoo rang my doorbell.  

I hear how crazy this sounds.  With all the of compassion and caring you can muster you will tell me all the rational ways to reframe this.  I AM NOT STUPID!  I tell myself the same rational story.  But Anxiety is a master teller of horror stories and your voice (and mine) don't stand a chance.

The next several days had me on high alert, where every sound, every shadow held menace; where every breath was hard fought when it feels like you can't breathe.  Still, I went about some semblance of "normalcy", seeing friends occasionally, going to Yoga class.   But I felt like an imposter and couldn't wait to get home to my sofa, and my house ... where I was scared again.  It was all so freaking exhausting.  And I knew it was TOTALLY irrational.  So next came Depression to seal the deal, with the constant berating, the constant judging, the constant nudging toward self-pity and self-loathing.  And that, my friends, is the aftermath of an Anxiety "episode".  

Depression comes in to tell you what an idiot fool you are and you deserve only to sit on the couch and hate yourself for another week or so -- or months or years.  But I think I can beat this thing off me in a few more days because I am now enlightened to its ways, even if I can't stay out of its way completely.  I know I'm coming out of it, actually, because I'm even writing this at all.  It's a step, revealing myself this way, to you who might be laughing at me.  Well, fuck you if you are.  

There are 40 million of us.  We are all struggling, suffering, and hopefully surviving.  I'm so grateful to have a supportive husband (pink roses, endless discussions, loving arms, lots of patience).  I'm so grateful to now understand this chronic condition and know it will never go completely away -- I liken it to a chronic physical ailment that is always there but can be managed, like arthritis or colitis, but still "flares" occasionally and needs a more aggressive intervention.  (Maybe I should call it "my anx-itis".)  

I'm so grateful to have found tools like breathing, yoga, meditation, and cognitive therapies to turn to in both the best and worst of times.  (I fought mightily to come off a terrible medication cocktail for anxiety and depression years ago that had me shaking with chills and head clanging brain fog, so not going back there.)

I'm sending love and compassion to those who share this condition, especially to those who don't have the support and resources I do to mitigate the "flares".  Nobody wants to be in this club.  Lucky you if you are not.  Mostly those of us who deal with this tend to sequester ourselves in a cocoon of isolation when we are at our worst.  But we love you for quietly holding us in your thoughts and being ready to welcome us back, without judgement, when we emerge -- raw, naked, and needing to know you are still there.

At least, that's the view from here...©

A short, easy article about anxiety, FYI:  https://www.elementsbehavioralhealth.com/mental-health/8-facts-anxiety-anxiety-disorders/

CHOOSE HOPE

This morning, watching the spectacular sunrise, I find my emotions walking the tightrope between despair and hope.  Life is so precious and so sad.  It's hard not to sound like a cliche-writing hack when one contemplates the fleeting nature of this human existence.  So, I'm not going to put many words to the swirling emotions I am feeling, shared by a community in shock and grief.

You've likely heard.  Our community was the "top story" yesterday across the nation.  Another school shooting, this one ten miles from my home, in a neighboring town where many of my friends live, where their children go to school, where some of their children go to that school.

I went to a candlelight vigil last night at our Unitarian Universalist Fellowship.  We sang songs of comfort and strength, lit candles, held each other in love as grief washed over us.

This morning one girl is dead; the boy (who was by all accounts a popular well-liked athlete and leader) who used a gun on his classmates, and then himself, is also dead.  One boy is in serious condition, one boy and two girls in critical condition in area hospitals.  For all of them I feel such sorrow; for their families I feel such anguish; for all of us I feel such pain, numbed by disbelief.

And numbed by the almost commonplace nature of the event.  Our local first responders were remarkable -- but then they had trained for this.  The school teachers and students themselves were remarkable -- but then they had trained for this.  We now train ourselves for how to react to school shootings, so common have they become.

I won't go on my rant, my deeply-held belief that our national fascination with readily available firearms is partly to blame.  I know it's complicated -- not long ago another small local community endured the stabbing death of a student at school.  I know it's complicated -- funding for mental health services is so often on the chopping block when it's time to balance the budget.  I know it's complicated -- we model violence as conflict resolution for our kids with entertainments like video games, TV dramas, and outrageously gratuitously violent movies; we model it in our real-life wars and even with the specter of angry discourse in our political debates where anger and fear and intractable positioning seem to be the order of the day.

Still….what I see mostly around me everywhere are people of good intentions, who love their families, work hard, laugh together and want to find peace, happiness, and meaning in their lives.  This we share and this we must elevate to a cause for celebration of our shared humanity, even in the face of tragedy.

I won't fall into despair.  I choose hope.

At least, that's the view from here… ©

UPDATE:  One of the girls in critical condition died October 26, 2014.  Her parents chose to give the gift of life to others through organ donation.  And the grief goes on….

UPDATE:  On October 31, 2014, the other girl in critical condition died.

UPDATE:  On November 6, 2014, the shooting victim who was wounded, but recovering, went home from the hospital.

UPDATE:  On November 7, 2014, the last victim who had remained in critical condition died.

"SUFFER THE LITTLE CHILDREN TO COME UNTO ME..."

Here we are, right in the middle of the fa-la-la-la-la Christmas season, caught up in shopping, baking, decorating, planning, organizing, socializing....a time when our hearts sometimes have a hard time finding "Christmas Spirit" amidst the "to do" lists that this holiday has become.  And then an act so unspeakable and at odds with the season of peace and love shakes us to the core and focuses our attention away from ourselves and our petty troubles.

On Friday, a crisp blue sky day in Newtown, Connecticut, a troubled young man, carrying at least two rapid-fire weapons, entered Sandy Hook Elementary School and started shooting.  Within only a couple of minutes, 6 adults and 20 children, between the ages of 5-10, were dead, as was the shooter, who took his own life.

Facts are slowly emerging of acts of heroism by teachers and school staff, whose first thoughts were to keep their students safe.  Facts are slowly emerging about the perpetrator, who had also killed his mother in their home before descending upon the school, who seems to have suffered his whole life with significant mental health issues; as we so often hear, he was intellectually brilliant but socially withdrawn, even pathologically "shy" and reclusive; a loner.

My first thought, as is my first thought every time there is an eruption of gun violence (which is frequent), is that troubled people with access to guns leave more carnage in their wakes than those who do not have a readily available gun.  I am an unequivocal proponent of gun control.   Within hours of the shooting, I re-joined the Brady Campaign to End Gun Violence and wrote to my Senators and Congressman.  I might finally be giving in to my frequent impulse to "get involved" in an issue or cause again.  I've always known this would be the one.  For me, it's the only action I can take to try to mediate the overwhelming sadness and frustration I feel when something like this happens, something I believe could be prevented.

But right now, I don't have any energy for "organizing".   Instead, I am reminded of a saying that comforts me:  "We are spiritual beings having a human experience."  Humans are flawed, vulnerable, confused, loving, compassionate, violent, crazy, amazing creatures.  So, my energy is going into creating havens of peace for the human experiences in my little world. My energy is going into advocating for "radical kindness" within myself and others I know.  My meditation practice teaches me to "stay in the moment", to be aware of the vast cosmic consciousness that exists in and around us, connecting us all, and that the only answer to the troubles of the human experience is to be kind, to love, to act with compassion.

There is a meditation in the Tibetan tradition called Tonglen, where one invites on the in-breath the suffering of another into our consciousness and on the out-breath sends out love, peace, and healing to that person.  I have been practicing this meditation since Friday, both in sitting silently and at random times during the day when I am going about my life's busy-ness.   Meeting violent, unspeakable acts with compassion for those impacted (which on one level is all of us) is the only response I know right now.

For Christians, this is the season celebrating Jesus' birth.  He was an example of love and acceptance and also acted to upset the status quo.  His example might be one we can  emulate in the days and months ahead, beginning as we gather around our Christmas trees holding those we love with special care.

So, my prayer is this:  May all those little children and the adults who gave their lives for them, the families left to mourn, and the person who fired the gun, all find peace in the compassionate, loving presence of Divine Consciousness.

At least, that's the view from here....©