Hard to believe that I've not written here since 2017. It's like a time capsule of myself, and the things that happened in the past. The things that have happened since then... I don't know if the Emily of then would believe them.
This year marks 10 years since my best friend Jessica's murder. Next week marks 10 years since she narrowly escaped a shooting in a Toronto mall... only to die in a mass shooting just over a month later.
I was barely 24... I didn't know how to process it then.
I turn 34 in two weeks... and I don't know how to process it now.
This week, the nation faced another tragedy with a mass shooting in Uvalde, just 80 or so miles from my hometown of San Antonio... which previously suffered a loss with the shooting in Sutherland Springs in November 2017. That happened a month after I wrote my blog post about the shooting in Las Vegas.
This time around, I am a manager. People look to me for decisions, strength. And I feel like I've failed.
I'm writing here again partially at the suggestion of a counselor, who says the physical illness I've been dealing with since Tuesday is a response to trauma. She says my body can't deal with any more internalizing. I need to externalize, rather than try to swallow it, because this is how it is manifesting. I have a horrible headache, I've thrown up several times, I'm hardly eating (couldn't even bring myself to finish a kid's meal today), I cry randomly, and I can't focus the way I need to for work.
I know I'm carrying everything inside. And it's eating at me. Uvalde was the tip of the iceberg, when we heard two dead, then minutes later it was more than a dozen. My heart stopped. I knew there were babies in that school. Children who would never go home to their mommies and daddies again. They were laying there alone, just the way so many others have at different scenes.
I didn't know for months that Jessica did not die in the theater, so I had nightmares about her laying inside alone. I eventually found out she was taken to a hospital, which gave me some comfort... but I knew other people weren't given that chance. And I know she was likely gone before she got to the hospital, but at least I know she wasn't alone.
I see these pictures, these names... and I think back to all of the shootings I've ever covered. The loved ones who thought they were just going to school... to church... to a movie theater.
I'm going to share this. Not for sympathy, although prayers/good thoughts/happy vibes are welcome, but because I don't want anyone else to go through this. I know my job requires a lot of me. I know part of this comes with the emotional trauma I've carried for 10 years.
I thought I was bigger than this. I thought I could handle it myself. I thought I had to be strong for everyone, but I don't know that I was being strong for myself.
Part of me hopes that by being upfront about my own struggles and sharing them, I will find some healing and maybe even help someone else.
The counselor I spoke to today asked if I've been to therapy. I have, it's just been a few years. And even then, a car wreck is what got me there. But that therapist told me my deeper rooted issues stem from the trauma of losing a loved one in a mass shooting. I didn't totally understand - how could I carry this when I wasn't even there? Is it my fault? Is it all in my head? Should I be stronger than this?
She said there was a lot to work through, a lot that I carry - guilt, anger, pain, grief. Then I moved. A pandemic happened. And I didn't go back to therapy.
I called our EAP line today and asked for help to find a counselor, so I am going back. And if you need help - for anything - I hope you ask for it.
I am the world's worst about asking for help. I've always carried this chip on my shoulder that I had to be good at everything immediately. I hide a lot. I internalize. It's done some damage, and you'd think I would learn... but that appears to be an ongoing lesson.
I'm okay. The social worker at EAP asked if I was in any danger - I'm not. I am not suicidal, I know that things do get better (sort of, but this keeps happening), and I know that I am okay. But I can't go on like this. I have to do something.
Right now, it's writing this. I spent a half hour with a counselor earlier, and hopefully I will be in regular counseling by next week.
I know I've rambled here. It's been a bit of a freestyle exercise, just to get it out of my system. And if it helps someone, then at least I've made a difference.
