When I talk about it

Navigating feelings in the wake of a school shooting

When I talk to people about it who were not there, it feels like I’m trying to make them feel better.

I know most of their questions and thoughts are genuine. Save for few like the cashier whose eyes glinted with twisted excitement as she pried.

I always explain that I was scared, but safe, and how lucky I am to have the support of my loved ones. Which I am, I do believe that wholeheartedly.

However, what I want to say is my life changed that night, and I fear it was permanent.

I want to tell them the way I felt, but I’ve found it to be indescribable in words.

Instead, I’ll describe February 13th as the way I felt when I was on a walk and I stooped low to inspect a strange looking leaf only to find it was a bloodied, severed rabbits foot.

I cried in disgust and closed my eyes trying to forget the mangled sight. I couldn’t.

That’s how it felt. And I remain horrified and disturbed.