Sick
There are things I am sick of hearing, like "being united," or "coming together," or "won't give in," and facing things with "strength and dignity." Likewise, I am sick of seeing banners urging me to "pray," or that this community is " Strong." I lose all sense of rational thought when I see ribbons fluttering in the wind on a chain link fence and clusters of people shifting their weight from one foot to another, rubbing their hands over their eyes, completely opened and emptied as emotion literally pours out of them. Candles and teddy bears sharing the pavement with flowers and pictures make me so angry.
Grief is natural, and expressing it is healthy and necessary. But what we're going through is abuse; it's a plague, and I am worn down by the words that come from our places of power. Wait; no I'm not.
Every time a politician sends "condolences" to a community ravaged by gun violence; every time they cast their eyes down and purse their lips, I dissolve into a rage. Look us in the eye; open your mouth and say something of consequence; stop appearing helpless while gently consoling us and metaphorically patting our hands.
But it's this rage that I can't handle anymore. If I went to the top of the mountain and howled with anger and sadness each time a mass shooting occurred I would lose my voice. If I scratched my nails against my skin every time someone died from gun violence, I would lose my skin. In light of what other people have lost, maybe that's not such a bad thing.And the thing is, if it could bring back, and heal those who died since Columbine High School, I would. I absolutely Fucking would.
Beyond the trappings of communal tragedy, I hate this sense of not being able to do anything; of wishing that there was some hero, some leader who could make this right and tell us, with sincerity, that this was the last shooting.
It is swallowing the rage that is wearing me down; not letting myself blink, forcing myself to get on with the rest of my day because that's the only recourse left to me. Of course, I can write, I can vote, I can donate, I can march, I can make phone calls. It apparently does not pry anything from anyone's cold dead hands. And I am beyond caring why anyone would decide to kill as many people as they can. I've moved on to wanting to know why you keep letting it happen?
Why do I live somewhere that permits my boss to bring his gun to work? Why does this country permit one state to have a set of gun laws that another state won't enforce? How does someone get 10+ suitcases of firearms without anyone anywhere saying WTF?
Why do you insist you need these guns?
Why can't you just tell the rest of us that our lives are worth as much as your semi-automatic?
Prayer is not frequently something I turn to, and the unquestioning, blind faith in all religions makes me nervous. Complete trust is difficult for me; I need to question, and I need to understand why. Right now, however, alternatives seem to be thin on the ground, and thus I find myself in my car at a red light talking to God (or, more likely, myself), as though I am a child pleading for something. I want a parent, or someone powerful to make this all better; to give us a respite from this trauma. Because sometimes I blink and see the full ocean of sadness flooding in around us
Grief is natural, and expressing it is healthy and necessary. But what we're going through is abuse; it's a plague, and I am worn down by the words that come from our places of power. Wait; no I'm not.
Every time a politician sends "condolences" to a community ravaged by gun violence; every time they cast their eyes down and purse their lips, I dissolve into a rage. Look us in the eye; open your mouth and say something of consequence; stop appearing helpless while gently consoling us and metaphorically patting our hands.
But it's this rage that I can't handle anymore. If I went to the top of the mountain and howled with anger and sadness each time a mass shooting occurred I would lose my voice. If I scratched my nails against my skin every time someone died from gun violence, I would lose my skin. In light of what other people have lost, maybe that's not such a bad thing.And the thing is, if it could bring back, and heal those who died since Columbine High School, I would. I absolutely Fucking would.
Beyond the trappings of communal tragedy, I hate this sense of not being able to do anything; of wishing that there was some hero, some leader who could make this right and tell us, with sincerity, that this was the last shooting.
It is swallowing the rage that is wearing me down; not letting myself blink, forcing myself to get on with the rest of my day because that's the only recourse left to me. Of course, I can write, I can vote, I can donate, I can march, I can make phone calls. It apparently does not pry anything from anyone's cold dead hands. And I am beyond caring why anyone would decide to kill as many people as they can. I've moved on to wanting to know why you keep letting it happen?
Why do I live somewhere that permits my boss to bring his gun to work? Why does this country permit one state to have a set of gun laws that another state won't enforce? How does someone get 10+ suitcases of firearms without anyone anywhere saying WTF?
Why do you insist you need these guns?
Why can't you just tell the rest of us that our lives are worth as much as your semi-automatic?
Prayer is not frequently something I turn to, and the unquestioning, blind faith in all religions makes me nervous. Complete trust is difficult for me; I need to question, and I need to understand why. Right now, however, alternatives seem to be thin on the ground, and thus I find myself in my car at a red light talking to God (or, more likely, myself), as though I am a child pleading for something. I want a parent, or someone powerful to make this all better; to give us a respite from this trauma. Because sometimes I blink and see the full ocean of sadness flooding in around us
My bible knowledge tells me most Republican politicians are not headed to heaven (enough to make hell a very scary place to me.) Maybe this is why the Christian carnage continues. Hear the call for guns in churches? When Alaskan Pete Kelly tried to allow guns on UA campuses I considered quitting. He failed. I quit anyway but a year later. But immigrants!
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