I Shouldn't Have To Write This

I shouldn't feel the need in my soul to get these words out because it never should have been necessary. I should never feel the way I do about something so horrific because it just shouldn't happen. No where in this deep, dark world will anyone ever convince me that the good that could come of it will bring enough light. No one. Ever.

But life is hard and entirely unfair. If I sit still waiting for things to be fair, I'll never get anywhere.

I'm weeks behind most of the gut-wrenching posts about Sandy Hook because at no point was what I was feeling relevant. This was about real people who were hurting and our nation being available to them through this awful time. It was only about me in the sense that I could help someone in pain. No one cares how I feel, and they shouldn't care.

Then, last night, I watched an irrelevant movie with my husband that just hit me where it desperately hurts, and now the images that had somewhat subsided in my mind are banging against the side of my skull demanding to get out. They're screaming at me with a violence that I can only let out through spontaneous tears and whole lot of anger.

It was a really dumb movie, and I never thought in a million years that it would affect me in any way. I tend to like stupid movies where stuff blows up, and it didn't occur to me that they might be a scene where someone basically goes psychotic and shoots several people at close proximity in cold blood. I tried to tell myself that it was just a movie and had nothing to do with the things that our nation is trying to deal with. It is just a stupid movie. But, there were screams of terror and people lying on the ground and the kind of music that only heightens everything that you're feeling. I replaced all of those actors who got to walk out of that Hollywood set with children who didn't get to walk out of anything. I saw faces that I have only seen through pictures. I saw first responders with hearts breaking.

I walked away mid-movie and cried for a really long time. My husband is the most caring man in the world, but he doesn't quite understand how I get attached to people I've never seen before. But I have seen these children. These children are my patients. These children are Little E whom I haven't gotten to see in months. These children are Victoria Haller's nephew.

I work in psychiatry and I can tell you that not everyone can be helped. There are people who walk in who you give your best, but they either don't want or cannot take it at this time. There are people who have the kind of disorders that don't respond to even the best therapy or medications that we can offer. It's the part about the job that sucks, and the part that can make you somewhat cold to people at times. You can't help everyone, and you certainly can't help people who don't really want it. That doesn't mean we shouldn't be making a good faith effort with everyone we meet.

The only thing that relieves some of this agony for even a minute is something that I have to tell family and loved ones of patients all the time: Don't try to put logic to something illogical. You'll just make yourself crazy.

We'll never understand why. We'll never know why. Even if we had an answer to the whys, it wouldn't make us feel any better. It wouldn't fix anything. Nothing can ever fix this. Nothing.

So we continue to heal together. Last night, New Years Morning 2013, was just my personal breaking point where it all became real and starting viciously bouncing around in my head. It stayed with me throughout my attempt at sleep. It physically hurt in a way I cannot describe. It's still on my shoulders today.

I'm the one who springs to action when bad things happen, so it's normal for me to not have the "breaking point" moment until weeks after everyone else. I think I have been so busy trying to find a way to help that I didn't realize how much what I was trying to help affected us. I feel silly for even having a moment like this because I feel like I'm co-opting the pain of people who actually went through it. I avoided this post as long as I could, and I thought that I would get away without it.

I didn't. I just put off the inevitable moment that every writer gets to when it has to be on the page or they won't make it through another second.

There. It's on the page.

And, just, fuck you, Universe, for shit like this.