“He who has a why to live can bear almost any how.”
Friedrich Nietzsche
“Surely not, you're saying that there has been no one. I mean, didn't you get any official recognition...you know...or some kind of...I don't know...absolving you of responsibility? Oh, I guess when you think about it, they all feel that's just so obvious.”
“Well yes, that's probably right, I kind of know that, I can see that.”
“On the other side, have you met anybody who doesn't have total sympathy for your situation.”
“No, no, that's true too.”
“You say that you used to go to church, now you don't, but that you still believe in God.”
“Yes.....and for the umpteenth time I know that He forgives me.”
“And of course we all know that there's nothing in your experience that requires forgiveness. You have really done nothing have you?”
“Yes, and that too.”
“And yet here we are, you say you still feel disconnected from everyone and everything. You feel broken by insurmountable guilt. You're constantly wishing to end your life. You're unable to move forward, and assume you're trapped in a downward spiral.”
“Yep, I'll give you 10 out of 10, that's a perfect description of what I feel.”
“Yes...and that's an almost perfect, text book description of clinical depression., or the new label Major Depressive Disorder; and yet with no real reason for it. But equally we would both have to agrees that your collapse into this state, well if it didn't happen, we'd have to say what's wrong with you.”
“Yeah, it's all a bit like that. But then, isn't that life? It's all about the 'Why' isn't it...”
-----------------------------------------------------------
Three Months Earlier
It's a late spring day and the sun retains its comforting warmth. It hasn't moved yet to its heat and glare. You're having a semester off after successfully completing the first two years study towards your teaching degree. You have planned for many years to be a teacher, but running out of money mid course was something that you didn't plan for, and this in turn has lead to your decision to lay down the books and the chalk for six months. Part time work in your town is hard to come by as the summer holidays approach, but you manage to jag a not too bad position at the local sporting goods store called Oasis and Backtrack in the small city that is just a short drive from your home in Eagle Pass.
Growing up you were very involved with your church's outdoor youth club. As a consequence you're something of a guru when it comes to camping gear and tents. This in turn leads you to working in this shop's quite extensive fishing and camping section. You have also played competitive basketball, as well as softball and athletics so there are many places there where you can be useful. It's not the biggest part of the shop however. That special department, which the store is most famous for, is guns and ammunition. After all this is the USA. And it's the deep south. The Mexican border is only a couple of hours drive away. So from the start you make it very clear to your new employer that, not only do you know virtually nothing about firearms, you don't like them, and the whole concept of killing anything is not part of your make up. The fishing thing you can live with because most of Jesus' disciples were fisherman. However none of this is problematic for you and your new boss because there is much to do without having to deal with the guns.
After 4 or 5 months of gradually becoming a valued member of the sales team your bosses have recognised your abilities and taken the unusual step of offering you a permanent position, both with future prospects and sales commissions. For most other young men your age this would be an opportunity to grasp with both hands and go full steam with, but you have your focus in really wanting to become a teacher. Your job here is a fill in. You decline their generosity. It is not received very well. You are surprised because from the start you have always made it clear that this was only a part time job. Anyway, for the next month or so things become a bit icy. You are shunted from sales and eventually put out the back in receivables and dispatch. Also, in this shop there are many other non-permanent staff who would have jumped at what you were offered, so you start to be regarded as being a bit precious, or an oddball who wants teach little children. As a consequence you get sent to Coventry. This punishment will only be short term, you say to yourself, because as soon as next semester comes around you intend to be back at teacher's college.
Then things change. The new 4th strain of covid hits town and the shop's sales staff are immediately affected. The result is that there are many absentees. Also about a year ago your state's legislature passed some new firearm regulations and by coincidence they will be law in the next few days. The shop's owner is a member of the NRA, and has been waiting for months for these new laws to come into play. He hopes the predicted rise in sales of a particular rifle will eventuate. Out the back in receivables you have spent the last 2 weeks unloading much of this new stock, and preparing the way for an increase in the sales of these weapons that are going to be more available because of the changes. You actually know very little about guns, or your state's laws, but because of covid the owner has to bight the bullet (no pun intended) and put you and two other inexperienced sales people into the firearms department. Fortunately for everyone involved he also puts two old school “hard-heads” there and they will keep an experienced and knowledgeable eye on everything.
The good news for the owner is he was right. The new rifles start moving out of the shop in major quantities from day one. The most popular weapon of choice is the AR-15 style rifle. It's a rapid fire automatic assault rifle. Why somebody would want something so powerful and efficient in a normal everyday life scenario is a question you ask many times on the first day. You eventually keep your opinions to yourself however. Your current status as 'king of the poo people' among your fellow work mates means nobody is going to listen to anything you have to say. At around $2000 a unit they're not a cheap purchase. But out they go, and the sales figures for the opening day sale are record breaking. The day itself for all the sales people is a bit of a blur, but one small incidence did for a moment stand out for you.
Somewhere early in the afternoon a young-looking teenager came in with a large bundle of cash and asks or 2 of these popular pieces of equipment. Because he appears under-age, for the third or forth time in the day, you turn and seek the help of one aforementioned “hard-heads”. You have been told that the new laws in the state for automatic guns require nothing more than a proof of age, 18 being the new threshold for this kind of ownership. Anything that is stocked in store can be sold to anyone. Age is the only limit. The old bloke behind you shares your suspicions about the young looking Latino before you both with over $4,000 cash in his hand. “Come on sonny...etc etc” gets rolled around before he ultimately produces his proof of age. “Uh,so you've turned 18 today,” the older persons notes, and then says to you, “Well he's legit according to the normal way of proving this kind of thing, so sell him the guns.” You feel something is not quite right but can't produce anything concrete, so you just do as you're told. You try to think no more about it. But something's just don't filter off into the ether like they're supposed to. Why would you celebrate your turning 18 by giving so much money to the weapons industry, and why do you need two?
In the brief on the run discussions you have with your fellow workmates that afternoon the response is universal. “It's not your problem. We don't make the rules. If it's legal just forget about it.” So that's what you do, and as you drive home you clear your head with the comfort that it's only 4 more weeks and then it's back to college. One of the hard heads words are actually ringing in your ears. “Well, so some young kid buys 2, how much ammo did you sell him? What none? So what is he going to use? That's just a missed sales opportunity! Let's hope you're a better teacher!”
Then the following day something again happens that for a moment stands out. The 18 year old with the youthful looks is back and this time he buys 12 boxes of ammunition, which by your measure could only be seen as an industrial quantity. “At the shooting ranges that's not a huge amount of bullets,” you are again and again assured eventually by both the “hard-heads”. It then gets pointed out to you that you, by your own choice, are just a temp here and nobody gives a dam about your concerns. “About 100 of these rifles have gone out per day in the last two days, and are we going check up on everyone of them to make sure that you're happy with how they're being used? We're just a sports shop where very soon you won't be working. It's up to the police and the government to chase all that other shit up. We are just allowing the newest gun laws to be implemented. These are great US made guns by Daniel Defence. Did you hear that? It's all legal.” At this point you give up, and finally learn to zip it.
After the third day of working in the Weapons Department passing on a seemingly endless supply of super efficient killing machines, you hanker for the relative peace and pleasantness of tents, sleeping bags and fishing rods. But more than that you crave the potential sanity of the primary school classroom. On your way out of town, heading home, you go past the Baptist Church that you used to occasionally attend. But before the basketball centre, the library, and the swimming pool there is a heavily policed traffic diversion. Way past the detour you see the obscure reflections of flashing lights. Whoa; you smile as you remember an episode of the Simpsons where Homer applies for a motor vehicle loan. After processing his data a loud siren and flashing light goes off on the top of the car salesman's computer. Homer asks, “Is that a good siren, am I approved?” “Have you known a siren to be good?” replied the salesman. You chuckle and hope this major traffic detour is not the consequence of somebody's day being ruined by a difficult accident.
After about 20 minutes travel at snail's pace you leave built up area and put on the car radio. After a few minutes of the mindlessness afternoon FM bullshit the news comes on. The opening news item leaves you simultaneously praying, dealing with the onset of shock, and anger at the evil that is humanity. There's been yet another mass shooting. This one at the Primary school that you have have just been diverted past. Causality numbers are currently not known. The identity of the shooter is not known. However there are unconfirmed reports that the shooter has been shot and killed by police. “Let's pray that the police shooting happened very early in the piece, and there's not too many other deaths.” You flip the radio to the local public broadcaster hoping that their on the spot reporters have more up to date information, but their programming is filled up discussions on non-specific gender identity.
When you get home your find your mum has the TV on and is sitting watching the news channel. As you try and talk to her she shushes you and says the local police chief is giving a live press conference. It turns out that there are at least 21 dead, the numbers of wounded is not clear, 19 are children from grades 3 & 4, and 2 are teachers, and the shooter also is dead. He has been identified as 18 year old US citizen and local resident named Alberto Ramos. At this point the universe changes from being a benign, quiet and disinterested place of existence, into a straitjacket of paranoia, guilt, horror, vigilance, and pure evil. The shooter was that person that you had sold both the guns and ammunition to. And he was that same one that you had a bad feeling about on two separate occasions, but were told by your superiors to pull your head in.
----------------------------------------------------------
Three Months Later
You have just endured yet another session. It is explained to you over and over that incorrect thinking leads to negative feelings, negative feelings lead to erroneous conclusions, and erroneous conclusions lead to negative states of mind and wrong behaviours. With this mantra ringing in your ears you eventually leave the psychologist's office feeling no different. But at least you have a new project for homework. You still have to track your thinking and spot the obvious errors. But you haven't worked a day since your meltdown, and have now missed the start of your next semester at teacher's college. You have been advised to start considering just what an alternative future looks like for you. Both the classroom and any kind of retailing are not options right now. That's completely understandable. So you've been asked to make a small list of tasks you feel you could reasonably do bearing in mind your ongoing fragility.
---------------------------------------------------------------
Another Three Months Later
“The scariest thing at school should be my grades”
Q. How many members of the NRA does it take to change a light bulb?
A. More Guns!
“Guns don't kill people – People kill people – NO – People with guns kill people!”
“The NRA is a Terrorist Organisation”
You Say, “God Hates Fags”
`
I Say, “God Hates Piles of Dead Innocent Children Lying in Their Classrooms”
“Protect Our Schools – Supply More Guns! What the F***!!!”
“School Teachers Need to be Commandos Trained In Urban Warfare.”
“Squeeze Boobs not Triggers”
That last placard held high by the demonstrator wearing only body paint and knickers created a smile on your face. That was something that hasn't been there for a l-o-n-g time. By now it's been almost six months and the couch and the remote have become permanent extensions of your inactive, neglected, worthless, and emotionally exhausted life and body. The few false starts at some kind of alternative interim occupation have merely confirmed you in your well entrenched view that you are now broken, and all the king's horses and all the king's men can't.....
The only thing that makes you venture from your stainless steel cocoon is a sometime trip to the shrink where you go over the same stuff. Even that unprecedented personal phone call you received from the President six months ago couldn't shake you up. But here watching this very rare broadcast news report about some obscure, unpopular, anti-gun demonstration somewhere in the US starts to cause a minor disruption to your established listlessness. Here is an item that causes you to sit up straight, and feel an odd emotion – something akin to motivation. So you get up, go to the kitchen, and start going through the kitchen tidy. You were handed a small brochure about anti-gun demonstrations when you went to the bank to collect your rapidly disappearing unemployment insurance earlier today.
There it is. It's a flyer from some anti-gun group who were handing them out in town today. Talk about an unruly mob of the great unwashed. There were more tattoos, nose studs, body piercings and dilapidated denim confronting the public than any prospective HR person could ever see beyond – or in other words they were another bunch of unemployable riff raff. But it was just this kind of blind, insensitive, prejudice at the other end of the social chain where your “hard-head” manager said that it was not your problem if somebody wants get hold of efficient killing implements. What matters is if it's legal. In fact if he wanted 2 then try and sell ammo. Personal second thoughts be dammed. Take their money and forget about it. 19 school children and 2 teachers finish up in pool of their own blood. And it's that blood which still stains you like Lady Macbeth.
The flyer, for what it's worth, had lots of suggestions about how modern social media can be used to communicate unpopular messages, but since your breakdown you have been advised by absolutely everybody to have only minimal contact with the late night, lonely bedroom, self-esteem destroyer that the internet has evolved into. There it is in the very bottom right hand corner of the last page. There are ads for a series of public meetings. And one of them is in your town in about two weeks. Then and there you decide that you have learned enough about short term anxiety management to step out and try the waters back in the real world. You plan to attend that meeting.
-----------------------------------------------------
Two Weeks Later
You go to get out of your car in an unfamiliar environment for the first time in quite a while. There you face the much dreaded, open ended, unplanned, and uncontrolled social situation. You instantly find that all your role playing in the psychologist's rooms matter little when those powerful neuro-chemicals that stimulate your sympathetic nervous system lift you to 'fight or flight'. So powerful is this simultaneous saviour/demon part of you that it overrides all the diazepam, SSRI's, opoiods, plus the unhelpful presence of 'dutch courage'. You have chosen to ignore the professional advice you have received in the last few months, and you have started on that pathway that has no useful outcome other than an impediment to clarity, i.e. alcohol.
You collapse back into your driver's seat and cower. You begin sweating, gasping, shaking, and feeling yet again like you're about to die of stress. You conclude that life and your future has again been stolen. Then something inside of you....well, changes. You seem to step outside of your claustrophobic shell and observe yourself from a comfortable distance. Possibly because of this newly experienced feeling of detachment your equally marvellous parasympathetic nervous system begins its restorative project of stop, reset, flush out, remove natural stimulants, and seek out your body's equilibrium. As a consequence of this new perspective you pray. Of course you wonder why! You've done a lot of praying of late but it all feels like you've been shooting an air rifle at the Rock at Gibraltar. God seems to be a long way away. As the last few attendees enter into the small church hall, and you remain outside, you contemplate all this as yet another failure in a now endless stream of unheroic retreats. But this time something inside of you is definitely different. A calm that you haven't felt at any time in the last six months slowly washes over you. Your tears dry. Your pulse lowers. A slow and gradual infusion of peace, maybe even divine peace, follows tentatively along with the natural chemicals your body is now creating and assists in the mopping up of the remaining industrial volumes swooshing around. Your head clears.
--------------------------------------------------------
Five Minutes Later
Q1. Who was responsible for the mass shooting?
A. You know there's no need to answer that one. For the ten millionth time........
Q2. Is there actually any benefit to anybody in you letting yourself become the 22nd victim?
A. No need to answer that one for the ten millionth time either.
Q3. What's the best thing you can now do to honour those kids, and those adults? Is it to stay here in your car?
A. No need to …...
Hang on! Hold up! There is a need to answer that one! And you're not sure what that answer is, but you are absolutely certain what that answer is not! And that is to repeat the same old pattern. Yet you know you can't go into that meeting. You've been crying so much your eyes and face would be an embarrassing giveaway. Whoa up! Is your appearance of somebody who has been very upset really that important? Does that kind of vanity do anything to honour those children? There's no need to answer ..... The cries from their graves are now clear to you. You're one tiny individual who on your own can do virtually nothing. We all know that. But as you remember that poster you always see around the town of all those little faces. They are each seared into your consciousness. You think you now hear then saying to you – “Yes, we know you how you are hurting, and we know you are only one person. But once again staying in the car achieves less than zero. Going into the meeting with your fears and anxiety is actually doing something instead of nothing. What harm can it do? Who knows where it might lead? Please, please, stop beating yourself up over us. We need you to do something to protect the next classroom full of children!”
You get out of the car, and you walk, no stride, towards the hall door. You start to practice your little speech that you have gone over in your head as many time as you have answered those other questions. Meanwhile the fear, the terror, and the anxiety is not going to give up on you, but one one particular moment of clarity keeps shining above the darkness. It was in a peer reviewed article that you read in a recent medical journal. Within the chaos that is your current life, what it claimed was profound. It said, “It will certainly not feel like this at the time. The intensity of the combined physical symptoms associated with a full blown attack are about as terrifying as it can get for any sufferer. However the established facts are that nobody has ever actually died from an anxiety attack.”
コメント