Virginia Tech: Too Close to Home
Have you ever wanted to shoot somebody?
Has the thought, in frustration or fury, ever crossed your mind? Be honest. I know you didn’t mean it. You were just pissed that day, when that motherfucker cut you off, and you slammed on the brakes just in time to see his “W” bumpersticker.
You were just overloaded that night in the club, waiting for your flaky girlfriend who was late as usual, when that random chick dumped her drink down your leg and looked at you like she couldn’t believe you’d got in her way.
You were just kidding, sort of, when you joked with your friend about dancing on your evil boss’s grave. And god knows, when it comes to Al Qaeda, Saddam, Cheney, Rove, and the asshole who keyed your car, well, are they really contributing anything we’d miss?
Everyone thinks it, off and on. But most of us would never do it. Why?
Maybe your life’s been a little darker. Maybe you’ve walked through some tunnels you couldn’t see the end of, stopped believing there’d be an end to, couldn’t get anyone to help you with, or even take you seriously. Maybe you’ve been abused, disbelieved, raped, betrayed. Maybe you’ve been bullied unmercifully for all your life. Should anyone ever have to learn the meaning, the deepest extent, of crushing humiliation—of sickening dread—of paranoid terror—of soul-deadening isolation?
No, of course not. But some do. Some are learning that right now, as you read this.
And this is considered acceptable loss by the majority of this society, so that the majority can pass unthinkingly, unseeingly, past those that are in true pain.
Every day you walk, jacking your jaw into that cell phone, past someone who’s contemplating suicide. I guarantee it. Maybe you’ve walked past me.
A large percentage of my life has been spent struggling against the darkness. Abuse, illness, bullying, sexual assault, and what can euphemistically be called “bad spiritual advice”, have all been a part of my life. And I know I’m not alone. Problem was, I went through most of it alone, and I deal every single day with the twists it’s rendered in my perspective. How much can you relate?
I’ve had suicidal—and murderous—thoughts before. There’s something inside me that keeps either from being an option for me. A heart? Sanity? A conscience? I’m lucky to have it. Because how much resources does our society allocate nowadays, to ensuring everyone has it? Not nearly enough, obviously.
I’ve watched, and felt with my heart, our society become more isolated, more disconnected, more tight and oppressive. I’ve seen the people in the world around me, who in my childhood would have been cautiously tolerant, become terrified of anyone they didn’t know, unfriendly and closed off, coated in some sort of psychological Teflon. People grow nervous when asked for help. Lawsuits, liability, looking stupid, getting fucked over and dragged under themselves—people turn away. I’ve seen it, because it’s happened to me.
I’m a happy person nowadays, mainly because I stopped giving a fuck about what society expected me to make of my life, and started following my heart. Too bad we don’t teach children to do that, right from the cradle. Maybe they’d stop shooting each other.
Too bad we’ve all been reduced to trying to keep our own heads above water, telling ourselves we’re shocked when somebody drowns.
I’ll never kill anybody, except in self-defense, blah blah blah. You’re still safe, from me at least. Fortunately for all of us, most people have enough willpower to not let the experience of life crush the desire for life–and respect for it–out of them. Do you? While you’re attending the vigils this week, saying heartfelt prayers of condolence (and gratitude that it wasn’t you), why not search your heart, too? You might be surprised at how much we’re all part of this problem.
The First Year
As April slides by, I find myself approaching two important milestones: one year back in the United States from Europe, and the completion of my first school year back at Florida State. It’s hard to say which has had the most influence on my life; when I was in France in the fall of 2005, the FSU/Tallahassee/writing-for-a-living plan all kind of exploded into my head at the same time. I chose it as a comprehensive whole, and its benefits have all been tangled together, feeding each other. I can look up from my anthology of warped, decadent fin-de-siecle British literature, and stare at the massive live oaks, following with my eyes the kinks and twists of the swaying gray Spanish moss. Laying by the pool in a bikini critiquing short stories beats the hell out of trying to carry a six foot painting in 20mph wind and sleet. You know, some things are just better than others. If I had any ethical dilemmas before moving back to Florida, they’re gone now.
Of course, it helps to have ethics that are based on happiness.
There have been weak moments in this new way of life, of course, but overall I feel a certainty that I made the right decision. And that’s all I really wanted—certainty that I was headed in the right direction. After years of struggle and uncertainty, I only wanted to feel sure of myself again, and halfway contented. And I’ve got so much more. Change is possible—not just little changes, or superficial ones like location or career, but big ones, deep ones, changes that upend your view of the world and transform you into the person you’ve always wanted to become, but had almost given up on reaching. Shit, if I can keep hope, then hope can be kept.
So what have we learned, kids? To do what you actually want to do—not necessarily just in the moment, but the deep-seated leanings of your soul. They’re there for a reason, and they want to be heard. Desire isn’t a toy, but it’s also not a distraction; if you’re going to give in, give in all the way.
It’s Alive!…
Howdy folks…
I’m not quite dead, as they say—hurling my guts up in a Gatwick airport security line may have been rockstar, but it didn’t kill me! No, as soon as I’m done with this move (apartment upgrade), a plethora of posts and pix will appear, as if by magic, on this very site.
Stay tuned!
It’s Here
Well, today’s the day! At 2pm, hopefully, I’ll be on a plane out of Jacksonville, bound for New York’s JFK. In a way, I feel pulled in two directions at once—stoked as hell to be going to Europe, but dreading the three-hour drive to Jacksonville, and the grueling airplane fun after that. But fuck it! I’ve been wanting for weeks and weeks now to just throw a backpack on my shoulder, jump on a plane, and go wander around the Continent in a way I just haven’t had a chance to do yet. And here it is!
I’ve got my diary, my music, my passport, and my comfy new jacket (for the still-cool temps over there). I’m ready. Let’s go see what we see.
Countdown: Tomorrow
So here it is, the last day before my trip, and all I can think about is how glad I am that midterms are over. When I was in art school, we’d have a midterm critique, and that was harder—getting the projects all ready, and then sitting there while they’re verbally dissected right in front of your eyes. But essay exams aren’t exactly a piece of cake, though fortunately I find the subjects interesting. In Modern Britain 1870-Present, we’ve just got done with the Great War; in Victorian British Literature, we’ve just finished studying the Aesthetic movement and the Decadents.
So I find it rather cool to be going over to Europe right now. I plan on hunting out Oscar Wilde’s grave in Cimitiere Pere Lachaise in Paris, giving it a big ol’ lipstick kiss. Also, I’d like to revisit the Musee d’Orsay, sit in the Art Nouveau rooms for a little while and try to imagine what life was like in the 1880′s and 1890′s. To me, that’s one of the most interesting times and places ever, and one of the ones I’d most like to go back to if I had the chance.
In London, I plan on finally seeing the Imperial War Museum. I didn’t have the heart to go last time, being so sick and tired; but so much of what we’ve studied in the Modern Britain class would be on display there. It’s good to see exhibits of something you’ve studied in class, especially something as huge, complicated, and foreign as WWI. It drives the point home in a way that reading about it just can’t. Someday I’d like to go see a few of the battlefields. Maybe I could talk my father into enduring the 11 hours on a plane, and we’ll go see Normandy and Flanders. For now, I think one museum will be enough. It’s a heavy thing to consider.
But hopefully I’ll also have fun. I’d like to see a theater production, but I don’t know which one yet. Depends on what I can afford tickets for! Probably go out dancing in London, too—I never did get over missing John Digweed by one night last spring. Oh well!
Anyways, off to finish one more paper…
Countdown: Packing
I had a dream last weekend that I had two hours left before I had to be at the airport, and I hadn’t even made a packing list yet, let alone gathered my crap. You know how, in dreams like that, the more you rush to cram things in your bags, the more the stuff multiplies, as time runs out? I woke up exasperated and amused. For me, dumb anxiety dreams appear to be as much a part of preparing for travel as watering the plants and locking the doors. I’m getting used to it.
Actually packing helped too. I had a big list for just ten days, but most things are pretty small, as you can see. I still had to work at getting them all into the High Sierra backpack I bought for this trip. But I am the Queen of Cram, and I prevailed.
This will be my third trip abroad, but only the first in which I am not bringing a suitcase (or two). On my first trip, with my mother, we both brought suitcases. It was a month-long trip, and my suitcase was sturdy and not too heavy, with strong wheels…but we ended up moving around a lot, and it became a pain. On my second trip, I planned on living in the same town for eight months, and brought two suitcases. Meh. I actually moved five times, to three countries, and having that much stuff became an enormous pain in the ass. I used almost everything I brought; but dragging it around, on planes and trains, was such a nightmare that I vowed never to go overseas again with anything more than a backpack. If I couldn’t fit it on my back, I’d buy it there.
Since money will be tight this trip, I hope I don’t have to buy much. I’m mainly there to wander around, and see a bunch of things that I didn’t have the chance (or the energy) to see the last time. Just being there is all I want right now!
