As the 3rd anniversary of that horrible day approaches, there has been a lot of talk about the 16th. I talked about the experience for the third time the other night. Having talked about it, I decided to take some time to write about my experience. This is over simplified and long, but it will be well documented as my journey over the past 3 years over the next 2 weeks leading up to the anniversary.
Part 5: Remembering The Tragedy, What To Take From It, and Where To Go From Here
The dream is always the same. I am standing in a hallway, with white tiles on the ground, and painted white bricks forming the walls. I glance down to see a professor lying dead in a pool of blood, and, stepping over him, I continue down the hallway to a classroom. I open the door, and look around, horrified at the things i see. Desks are turned over, hoping to block the bullets that were just fired. I kick a few shell casings, and, looking down at what I have kicked, I see a friend’s lifeless face, forever caught in its expression for help. Crying and ashamed, I shield my eyes and walk back into the hall. Another body grabs my attention. This one’s disfigured face reminds me of someone, too, I once knew. His demeanor is different, and the wounds self-inflicted, but I am left wondering only one thing: what could I have done?
Three years ago, my life was changed forever. However, only now am I hoping to take the life I have been given and to do something with it. For three years I have squandered that life, spending it, instead, on asking frivolous questions that I do not hold the answers to. I cannot know why I was allowed to live, while others were not. I only know that I am left with a burning question: how does one commemorate and remember the anniversary of the day they should have died?
My answer, whether right or wrong, is to share it with those who are willing to listen. It has taken me three years to be able to speak about the shootings, and I have chosen a public forum in order to do so. Regardless of whether it is the proper choice, I feel it was the choice that would finally bring peace to my heart and mind.
I will never feel comfortable in a classroom again, and I know it. I look to this September, when I will try to begin a teaching career, and dread it. I am scarcely able to will myself to attend classes now, and when I do, often I sit outside the classroom, and listen through the crack of the door. I have forgotten how to study, attend class, and function in an academic setting. To me, now, there is only the wandering of the mind, the lack of focus, and the weariness about that which is around the corner.
I no longer take all the medications that I was once prescribed. Instead, I opt for ADHD medicine to help me retain some glimmer of focus, however dim it may be, in order to function on a daily basis. Trivial tasks have become a chore for me, as my memory and attention span suffer so greatly. The dreams still haunt me, but there is hope that one day myths and dreams will replace the true memory of the worst day of my life.
I will never own a gun, and feel uncomfortable around them. Having trained with them, and having sought a career in the military, I find this strange to comprehend. I do not want the burden of owning a gun. More importantly, I feel that someone who suffers from depression should not be allowed to own a gun, and I will abide by my own ideals.
This summer I will graduate, finally, and leave Virginia Tech to form new memories, new friendships, and pursue new ambitions. I want to be a writer, however unsuccessful I expect to be. I want to endow scholarships to the Virginia Tech Rescue Squad, however broke I may be. But most importantly, I want to be able to prove to those who I see in my dreams that I have not forsaken them. Instead, I will commemorate their lives by living my own, by giving back to the things that they loved, and by trying to involve myself in society, instead of shunning a society that I feel uncomfortable within. Regardless of the successes that I will or will not have in the future, my attempts are what I hope the images of my dreams are encouraging me to pursue, and, for them, I would do anything.
Thank you for reading my story, and for caring so much about what this week means to me.
…
Part 5: 3 Years Later
Part 4: The Midnight Disease
Part 3: Insomnia, the New York Yankees, and the First Memorial
Part 2: The Media, Family, Friends, the West Point Summer, and the Decision to Return
Part 1: The Beginning of the Week
We will Prevail. We are Virginia Tech.
April 16th, 2007
Writing Wednesdays 