I was going to post a very nice anecdote about a conversation Kara and I had on sunday and you were all going to get warm feelings and aww over the story, but I've decided to do something a little different today as I feel very strongly about this particular issue.
As A Disclaimer: If you are extremely opinionated about topics such as gun control and mental health, please click away and choose not to read this. I am simply sharing my thoughts on a complex and very confusing issue. I am not trying to say I know what is best, I am merely using the internet as a platform to convey my opinion on a particular subject. And also, I know that I've had another blog post with this same title. Lets call this part two, okay?
So this past friday, on the 23rd, in Isla Vista California, a man went on a shooting spree and killed and wounded people (I do not know the exact specifics of victims and everything). And apparently, this man was mentally unstable and was clearly mentally unstable and there were more than a few red flags that pointed this out. At the same time, this man owned three handguns. By this token, he was able to kill.
I'm going to go ahead and say this is not the first occurrence of someone being mentally unstable and then, through what I believe is a flawed system, were able to purchase a gun or guns. What I am talking about here, should be very obvious. I'm talking about Sandy Hook and Adam Lanza, I'm talking about Jared Loughner and Tucson, I'm talking about James Holmes and Aurora, CO. These definitely are not the only occurrences of mental illness being the reason behind mass killing, but these are the most well-publicized. In all of these cases, these people were able to purchase guns based on the fact that the background check required to purchase a firearm merely encloses an individuals criminal history. You could be extremely mentally unstable, as these people were, and walk into a gun store, as these men did, and buy an entire arsenal of gun paraphernalia and then go out and kill a bunch of people because the damn voices in your head told you to, easily because of the system.
Now, make no mistake. I am not placing the blame solely on gun policy here. I fully recognize that these men all had active parts in the destruction they created. They were most certainly at fault, and in the end they were the one to pull the trigger.
What I am trying to shed light on here, is what I feel is the real issue. Because this can not just be a conversation of "depraved individuals" and what could have gone better anymore. While I see some things being done, at this point it is too late. The simple fact is that this needs to become a conversation about mental health.
Simple fact- in all of the aforementioned cases, mental illness is the common thread. To fully check an individual and make sure that they are a proper candidate for gun ownership, mental illness needs to be a factor. Checking someone's mental state needs to happen, because if not, tragedies will keep occurring and people will keep saying, "Something needs to be done."
Part of the problem however, is the concern behind what entails checking a person's mental state. I fully understand not wanting every thought in every therapy session being disclosed simply for the purpose of gun ownership eligibility, as I have been in therapy. However, if simply checking for a few red flags in the mental department, by any means possible, could have saved the twenty-six lives of the small children killed in the Sandy Hook shooting, wouldn't you agree to that simple check?
Another part of the problem is that mental illness is not a comfortable topic. I will say it- I have anxiety and have been depressed. I am not fully comfortable talking about that, and I know it makes others uncomfortable when I do talk about it. Bottom line- I understand that, as a society that strives to be the best, talking about the worst parts of oneself, or one another, is not a highly sought-after conversation, but again, if it could save lives, wouldn't it be worth it?
So the extremely convoluted point I've been trying to prove here, is that mental illness needs to be talked about, because, as of now, I have seen no improvement. In my lifetime I have seen senates shoot down laws that would make purchasing a gun become harder, I have seen thousands of people get on the news and give their opinion, I have seen children and adults alike die by the hand of another, I have seen bombings and hits ordered on leaders, I have seen mass revolution and I have seen a man get on the news and scream about the loss of his son. As of yet, I have not seen many talk about the mental illness component of the problem. We need to talk about this, because if not, nothing will change.
I write this with a heavy heart in the wake of another tragedy. I look back, and after all the tragedies this blog has been around for, I've written sad posts. I am pretty sure I am not the only one who feels this way, and who would like to do something about this. I recognize that as a person who has not done anything concrete to help this problem, I am a part of the problem as well.
But I would like to and am willing to help get mental illness on the minds of others, to have it become part of the conversation about gun control because as a member of humanity, I am tired of hearing about tragedies that could be prevented, and am tired of waiting for someone to do something. Because it is not okay anymore, nor has it ever been okay.
Here is an article which I found to be well-written and interesting:
http://www.buffalonews.com/20130407/mental_illness_is_common_thread_in_mass_shootings.html
Thanks you, for those who persevered to this point of my rant.
Tuesday, May 27, 2014
Saturday, May 24, 2014
What It Is not
This is how it starts.
Its hard to explain this feeling I get. It begins as an itch, bearable if slightly annoying. And then it becomes a tingling and it starts in my toes and then goes everywhere until I am consumed and the world becomes a spinning mirage of blacks and greys until I can breathe again.
And then I notice. I am curled up in a ball, hands folded over my head as if the apocalypse were descending upon me. My cheeks are always wet from crying and my lungs are starved as I've just spent an extended amount of time trying to get enough air to stop the dizzying thoughts in my mind from consuming me. I always fail at keeping the dark at bay, no matter how hard I try, and the monsters that lurk deep in my mind creep out and rule the kingdom.
Now, I am aware of how very dark and depressing that nice description was. But the other day, a friend asked me what it was like, what panic attacks are like. And the only way to describe what they are like is to describe what happens during them. Because when I get to that point, there are too many things going on inside my mind to explain. A panic attack is, quite frankly, when the world becomes too much and your mind decides it needs to escape. All I could say to him is that they are bad.
My anxiety is not my friend. It has not done me any favors, and I think it really freaks people out because nobody understands why I get so worked up.
A few things that set me off:
-I can not be late. And if you are responsible for making me late, good luck with that.
-You may not touch my things.
-Do not go into my room unless I explicitly tell you you are allowed to.
-Just because I've given you permission to do something once does NOT mean it is acceptable to do it more than once.
-Do not touch me with your feet. You know who you are.
-Do not touch me when I am unaware that you are about to touch me. It will not end well for you (truth be told there are about three exceptions to this rule- again, you know who you are).
I self-doubt, I become unreasonable and anxious and annoying and usually revert to tears. I get over the top over small issues and I detonate over large issues. I get worked up and obsessive so frequently its amazing.
It is extremely frustrating to try and explain why I am the way I am, and people don't understand why or how I get so neurotic about things. All I can say to try and explain myself is that my anxiety is not my friend. It is definitely well-known, and mostly well-managed and well-recognized as a part of my life, but that does not mean it is well-accepted.
And I don't know if it will ever be. Because having anxiety, because being the way I am, means there is a chemical unbalance in my mind. There is actually something wrong with me. And yeah, I'm pretty good at dealing with it and now that I think about it, I really am not that neurotic. Just picky. Like one of my friends says, I'm a princess. I am a lot better now at being a person who has anxiety than I have been in the past.
But I will say it again, my anxiety is not my friend.
Its hard to explain this feeling I get. It begins as an itch, bearable if slightly annoying. And then it becomes a tingling and it starts in my toes and then goes everywhere until I am consumed and the world becomes a spinning mirage of blacks and greys until I can breathe again.
And then I notice. I am curled up in a ball, hands folded over my head as if the apocalypse were descending upon me. My cheeks are always wet from crying and my lungs are starved as I've just spent an extended amount of time trying to get enough air to stop the dizzying thoughts in my mind from consuming me. I always fail at keeping the dark at bay, no matter how hard I try, and the monsters that lurk deep in my mind creep out and rule the kingdom.
Now, I am aware of how very dark and depressing that nice description was. But the other day, a friend asked me what it was like, what panic attacks are like. And the only way to describe what they are like is to describe what happens during them. Because when I get to that point, there are too many things going on inside my mind to explain. A panic attack is, quite frankly, when the world becomes too much and your mind decides it needs to escape. All I could say to him is that they are bad.
My anxiety is not my friend. It has not done me any favors, and I think it really freaks people out because nobody understands why I get so worked up.
A few things that set me off:
-I can not be late. And if you are responsible for making me late, good luck with that.
-You may not touch my things.
-Do not go into my room unless I explicitly tell you you are allowed to.
-Just because I've given you permission to do something once does NOT mean it is acceptable to do it more than once.
-Do not touch me with your feet. You know who you are.
-Do not touch me when I am unaware that you are about to touch me. It will not end well for you (truth be told there are about three exceptions to this rule- again, you know who you are).
I self-doubt, I become unreasonable and anxious and annoying and usually revert to tears. I get over the top over small issues and I detonate over large issues. I get worked up and obsessive so frequently its amazing.
It is extremely frustrating to try and explain why I am the way I am, and people don't understand why or how I get so neurotic about things. All I can say to try and explain myself is that my anxiety is not my friend. It is definitely well-known, and mostly well-managed and well-recognized as a part of my life, but that does not mean it is well-accepted.
And I don't know if it will ever be. Because having anxiety, because being the way I am, means there is a chemical unbalance in my mind. There is actually something wrong with me. And yeah, I'm pretty good at dealing with it and now that I think about it, I really am not that neurotic. Just picky. Like one of my friends says, I'm a princess. I am a lot better now at being a person who has anxiety than I have been in the past.
But I will say it again, my anxiety is not my friend.
Monday, May 19, 2014
Who We Are
As a child, I was not fond of confrontation. I was the kid to quietly do what I wanted when I was told to do something else. I was independent and I was not going to change my mind unless you gave me some very solid proof that it would work for me. I was extremely stubborn and I was selfish and I wanted what I wanted when I wanted it. The thing about my early years, though, is that nobody understood how strong-willed I really was. Because I was never, ever vocal about it. Like I said, I was not fond of confrontation. I still am not fond of confrontation. So when I finally found my voice in maybe eighth or ninth grade, everyone was surprised at this strong-willed little girl who seemingly crawled out of the woodwork. But at that point in my life, I was done. I wanted to be heard, and dammit I was going to be.
Many of those qualities I know I have inherited from my father, as much as I didn't want to. My father, who once stomped on the floor so hard he broke the oven. My father, who taught me how to tie my shoes and to strum "Smoke on the Water" on the guitar. My father who writes me a letter on every one of my birthdays. My father who at one point thought I didn't love him, and thus, stopped writing me letters for one year. My father who apologized for not being able to give me an atlas at how to live my life. My father who continually tells me how proud he is of me.
Every time anything momentous or bad or just plain surprising happens, he sits me down for a talk and tries to explain to me how he feels and how he thinks I should feel. And I hate those talks because I would rather partake in the conversation than nod and say, "Yep, uh huh" about a million times, but when we do have good conversations, they are so good.
As much as I tried not to be, I am my father. I fold my hands like him, I am stubborn and strong-willed and believe that I know what is best, at least for me. I like to be in charge. I get that same expression when I'm annoyed, that same expression when I know I'm right. We talk, and you can just tell that we are on the exact same wavelength.
And when I was little I spent so much time promising myself that I would be different, I would not become my father. I did not become my mother in any realm of possibility. And once she said, with a hint of jealousy, "You are so much like him. Gabe and Sophie are a lot like me, but you are almost all him." When my mother and I fight, it sounds exactly like when she and my father fight. And I blame them for a lot of things. But I'm not ashamed of the fact that I am so alike to my father.
My father, one of the scariest people I've ever met. My father, probably the most decent and caring and loving and passionate person I've ever run into. My father, who loves me so much he gets up at five am every morning to work so that I can go to the school I do. My dad.
And I'm glad I turned out like him. He's a good person, through it all, and I like to think I've inherited that.
"We all stand in the mountainous shadow of our own mortality, so get the most of what you can while you can."
"I'm really glad you've pulled yourself up by your own bootstraps and have turned into the incredible person you are. And I like to think I've had a little to do with that. And I know you don't want to hear this, but you are the best parts of me, kiddo."
"I love you no matter what. Always remember that."
After he said that, I looked at him, and I promised to remember it. And I always will.
Many of those qualities I know I have inherited from my father, as much as I didn't want to. My father, who once stomped on the floor so hard he broke the oven. My father, who taught me how to tie my shoes and to strum "Smoke on the Water" on the guitar. My father who writes me a letter on every one of my birthdays. My father who at one point thought I didn't love him, and thus, stopped writing me letters for one year. My father who apologized for not being able to give me an atlas at how to live my life. My father who continually tells me how proud he is of me.
Every time anything momentous or bad or just plain surprising happens, he sits me down for a talk and tries to explain to me how he feels and how he thinks I should feel. And I hate those talks because I would rather partake in the conversation than nod and say, "Yep, uh huh" about a million times, but when we do have good conversations, they are so good.
As much as I tried not to be, I am my father. I fold my hands like him, I am stubborn and strong-willed and believe that I know what is best, at least for me. I like to be in charge. I get that same expression when I'm annoyed, that same expression when I know I'm right. We talk, and you can just tell that we are on the exact same wavelength.
And when I was little I spent so much time promising myself that I would be different, I would not become my father. I did not become my mother in any realm of possibility. And once she said, with a hint of jealousy, "You are so much like him. Gabe and Sophie are a lot like me, but you are almost all him." When my mother and I fight, it sounds exactly like when she and my father fight. And I blame them for a lot of things. But I'm not ashamed of the fact that I am so alike to my father.
My father, one of the scariest people I've ever met. My father, probably the most decent and caring and loving and passionate person I've ever run into. My father, who loves me so much he gets up at five am every morning to work so that I can go to the school I do. My dad.
And I'm glad I turned out like him. He's a good person, through it all, and I like to think I've inherited that.
"We all stand in the mountainous shadow of our own mortality, so get the most of what you can while you can."
"I'm really glad you've pulled yourself up by your own bootstraps and have turned into the incredible person you are. And I like to think I've had a little to do with that. And I know you don't want to hear this, but you are the best parts of me, kiddo."
"I love you no matter what. Always remember that."
After he said that, I looked at him, and I promised to remember it. And I always will.
Thursday, May 15, 2014
Come Of Age
The lights are shining, and the air smells faintly of mechanical grease and corn dogs. The night air is stifling hot, but the frozen lemonade I have in my hand makes it bearable. You took my hand and you led me to that freaking gigantic mechanical bull and we laughed at the idiots who thought they could ride it.
This is not a sappy love story for all those thinking they know what this is. This is a story of convenience. This is a story of two girls. Two girls with crooked teeth and sun streaked hair, girls with slightly not put together parents and questionable siblings. This is a story of uncontrollable sarcasm and strong wills.
I'm going to put it out there and say I did not like you when I first met you that day. You had twin french braids on your head, and they went into pigtails and I was unbelievably jealous. You were also eleven when I was a mere ten. And you had that cool black t-shirt and jean shorts on, clothes I knew my mother would disapprovingly stare at if I wore. And you didn't talk, you just put me in the car with your scary sister and her loud boyfriend.
When we went on that ride together, I can fully say that I have almost never been as scared in my life as I was then. Just as we were about to drop, you grabbed my hand, and you squeezed it tight. You led me to the mechanical bull that night and you fell asleep on my shoulder. And from then on we were constantly thrown together. I don't think we would have become friends if we hadn't been. And it took some getting-used to, you and I. But this is not the story of that.
This is the story where I grew up. The time you took me to my first rated R movie alone (and may I add illegally), the time we chinese fired drilled in the middle of Burlington in the middle of the night. The time where I made you get out of the car and drove by myself for the very first time because you were crying so hard. The time I offered you ice cream because you were so upset.
This is the time we talked about how we always gave our love to the wrong people in the hottub. That time I looked for your dog for four hours in the middle of the summer night. The time you told me those secrets about your life, the time I told you that there was really something wrong with me. You took me out the night before I was going to therapy for the first time. And you didn't say anything, and we saw that awful movie. But you knew what was going to happen the next day, and you knew I was depressed and in a very bad place. And you made me feel better.
We do not have the most emotional or deepest of friendships. We do not have very deep heart to hearts or long conversations with emojis sending kisses. We don't even see each other very much during the school year and we generally make other people our priorities before we make each other our priorities. We frequently annoy each other and we get mad at each other and we date each other's siblings.
But when I need you, I know you will always be there. Not in the most sentimental or emotional way, but you will be the one to drive me to the store for ice cream. You will let me sit on your couch and watch catfish for hours on end. I understand you, and I know you understand me.
What I'm trying to say is that you were the one to teach me what it means to be a good friend. Becuase sure, you may not be my bestest, bestest friend, but you are my most meaningful friend, because you have been there, you were there and you are here.
"And just so you know"- "dude, just bring me some coffee. I'm too tired to care unless you bring me some."
"You want to do things differently
And do them independently
We all got old at breakneck speed"
"It's only been a year
But it feels like a lifetime here
How's it been for you?
Does it feel like a lifetime too?"
I am not sorry that all these quotes are from songs by the Vaccines.
This is not a sappy love story for all those thinking they know what this is. This is a story of convenience. This is a story of two girls. Two girls with crooked teeth and sun streaked hair, girls with slightly not put together parents and questionable siblings. This is a story of uncontrollable sarcasm and strong wills.
I'm going to put it out there and say I did not like you when I first met you that day. You had twin french braids on your head, and they went into pigtails and I was unbelievably jealous. You were also eleven when I was a mere ten. And you had that cool black t-shirt and jean shorts on, clothes I knew my mother would disapprovingly stare at if I wore. And you didn't talk, you just put me in the car with your scary sister and her loud boyfriend.
When we went on that ride together, I can fully say that I have almost never been as scared in my life as I was then. Just as we were about to drop, you grabbed my hand, and you squeezed it tight. You led me to the mechanical bull that night and you fell asleep on my shoulder. And from then on we were constantly thrown together. I don't think we would have become friends if we hadn't been. And it took some getting-used to, you and I. But this is not the story of that.
This is the story where I grew up. The time you took me to my first rated R movie alone (and may I add illegally), the time we chinese fired drilled in the middle of Burlington in the middle of the night. The time where I made you get out of the car and drove by myself for the very first time because you were crying so hard. The time I offered you ice cream because you were so upset.
This is the time we talked about how we always gave our love to the wrong people in the hottub. That time I looked for your dog for four hours in the middle of the summer night. The time you told me those secrets about your life, the time I told you that there was really something wrong with me. You took me out the night before I was going to therapy for the first time. And you didn't say anything, and we saw that awful movie. But you knew what was going to happen the next day, and you knew I was depressed and in a very bad place. And you made me feel better.
We do not have the most emotional or deepest of friendships. We do not have very deep heart to hearts or long conversations with emojis sending kisses. We don't even see each other very much during the school year and we generally make other people our priorities before we make each other our priorities. We frequently annoy each other and we get mad at each other and we date each other's siblings.
But when I need you, I know you will always be there. Not in the most sentimental or emotional way, but you will be the one to drive me to the store for ice cream. You will let me sit on your couch and watch catfish for hours on end. I understand you, and I know you understand me.
What I'm trying to say is that you were the one to teach me what it means to be a good friend. Becuase sure, you may not be my bestest, bestest friend, but you are my most meaningful friend, because you have been there, you were there and you are here.
"And just so you know"- "dude, just bring me some coffee. I'm too tired to care unless you bring me some."
"You want to do things differently
And do them independently
We all got old at breakneck speed"
"It's only been a year
But it feels like a lifetime here
How's it been for you?
Does it feel like a lifetime too?"
I am not sorry that all these quotes are from songs by the Vaccines.
Sunday, May 11, 2014
Clementine
Quotes of the Week:
"Because I could care less if she is happy as long as you are."
"That was a really good thing to say."
"Good because I didn't know what else to say. I never do, as much as I wish i did."
Anonymous
"You can have a Woman's perspective on what its like to be on top."-Andrea
Awkward silence where only about half of the room makes the connections and is sitting there too stunned to realize that the dean of students has just made the dirty joke to end all thats what she said jokes.
"Don't ask questions you don't want to know the answers to."
"I won't."
"So don't ask the question you just asked."
-Anonymous
"50 states
50 lines
50 ways to change my mind"
"Because I could care less if she is happy as long as you are."
"That was a really good thing to say."
"Good because I didn't know what else to say. I never do, as much as I wish i did."
Anonymous
"You can have a Woman's perspective on what its like to be on top."-Andrea
Awkward silence where only about half of the room makes the connections and is sitting there too stunned to realize that the dean of students has just made the dirty joke to end all thats what she said jokes.
"Don't ask questions you don't want to know the answers to."
"I won't."
"So don't ask the question you just asked."
-Anonymous
"50 states
50 lines
50 ways to change my mind"
Friday, May 2, 2014
Retrograde
Everyone thinks of themselves as good people right? Or likes to think of themselves as good people. And particularly in places where nobody ever has to make any really hard decisions on a day to day basis, everybody sits there smugly and seems to think that given the opportunity they would make the right decision, the selfless decision. But, are people considering the situation that they are in? Especially in my immediate world, I know very few people who have had to make really, really hard decisions, where people were going to get hurt in either outcome. One of those people is my mother.
Let me ask a question. If you were, say, a politician, like a really high up politician, who was a serious contender for the presidency. And, lets say you were doing a lot of good in your office and you were pretty sure that you were going to nab the presidency. So, you go to this, I don't know, this fundraiser and get maybe a little tipsy. Okay, you don't get tipsy, but you get slightly buzzed. And then you get in the car and drive home, and hit a person. What would you do? Would you get out, and call the police and tell them what happened? Because if you do that, they will discover your impaired state and you will be in absolute ruin and have to retire from the race in shame. Your entire family will be cast in a terrible light and all that good you've been doing will vanish. But if you call the police, you'll be doing the right thing, you'll possibly be saving a life, and you will have a mostly clean conscience.
The argument I'm trying to make is that a lot of people would get in the car and get the hell out of there. A single life is not as important to them. And I get that. Because given the same choice, I would like to think I would get out of my car and help the person who I've just hit. But in real life, I'm not sure if I would do that, in the heat of the moment. I'm not trying to say that I am a horrible and terrible person who would let an innocent die. But, I am recognizing human nature, which is self preservation. And in a moment of crisis, a moment likely filled with, namely terror, among many other emotions, I'm not sure what would happen.
Its sad to think about where we are. Our world chooses to argue instead of fixing the enormous problems we face. We kill, we use weapons of mass destruction and we drop nuclear bombs on innocent people to teach lessons. What kind of message does that send about us as human beings? What are we teaching our children?
So, yes I would like to think that I am a good person. And, you know, I probably am, for all intents and purposes. But, put in the right situation, I don't know if I'd continue to be a good person.
And that fact scares me.
"You're on your own, in a world you've grown."
"Suddenly I'm hit,
It's the starkness of the dawn
And your friends are gone,
And your friends won't come."
Let me ask a question. If you were, say, a politician, like a really high up politician, who was a serious contender for the presidency. And, lets say you were doing a lot of good in your office and you were pretty sure that you were going to nab the presidency. So, you go to this, I don't know, this fundraiser and get maybe a little tipsy. Okay, you don't get tipsy, but you get slightly buzzed. And then you get in the car and drive home, and hit a person. What would you do? Would you get out, and call the police and tell them what happened? Because if you do that, they will discover your impaired state and you will be in absolute ruin and have to retire from the race in shame. Your entire family will be cast in a terrible light and all that good you've been doing will vanish. But if you call the police, you'll be doing the right thing, you'll possibly be saving a life, and you will have a mostly clean conscience.
The argument I'm trying to make is that a lot of people would get in the car and get the hell out of there. A single life is not as important to them. And I get that. Because given the same choice, I would like to think I would get out of my car and help the person who I've just hit. But in real life, I'm not sure if I would do that, in the heat of the moment. I'm not trying to say that I am a horrible and terrible person who would let an innocent die. But, I am recognizing human nature, which is self preservation. And in a moment of crisis, a moment likely filled with, namely terror, among many other emotions, I'm not sure what would happen.
Its sad to think about where we are. Our world chooses to argue instead of fixing the enormous problems we face. We kill, we use weapons of mass destruction and we drop nuclear bombs on innocent people to teach lessons. What kind of message does that send about us as human beings? What are we teaching our children?
So, yes I would like to think that I am a good person. And, you know, I probably am, for all intents and purposes. But, put in the right situation, I don't know if I'd continue to be a good person.
And that fact scares me.
"You're on your own, in a world you've grown."
"Suddenly I'm hit,
It's the starkness of the dawn
And your friends are gone,
And your friends won't come."
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)