Why It's Different

I've so many topics I want flesh out into full-fledged posts... but I can't make this a side note. Neither can I wait until later.

I can't afford to give into my defense-coping mechanism this time around now that I recognize it.

April 16th. It's been a frequent topic of late in my life.

Particularly since this week we got sent 2 Security Notice emails on what seems to be a continuing incident. I know exactly how I'd have felt if this happened before 4/16. I would've thought, "Well, that's random and jeez, what a weirdo!"

I'd have shrugged it off in the next heartbeat.

But I can't do that any more. My guard can't help but be up, and I'm waiting...for what? A tentative fear flirts in the back of my mind. Because nothing is ordinary, even as life goes on... Life is different.

For the record, I've complete faith that all the different police forces working together are doing their utmost to protect our community. They're every inch deserving of our respect and gratitude. I remember the Morva incident last Fall (also a Monday) on the first day of school. How some students took the opportunity of cancelled classes to hang out and play volleyball while the police were searching for Morva. Granted it was a beautiful sunny day, and Morva was quickly labeled off as that crazy kid off his rocker. I understand we are college students, and simply tend to go with the flow, even if it's somewhat bizzare. In fact, Facebook groups along the lines of "I survived Morva" were already being created!

But all that pissed me off. I felt it was so very disrespectful. An officer (Officer Sutphin) was killed early that morning while protecting our safety. It was my first week as a Resident Advisor (really, all things imaginable and un-imaginable happened to Res Life last year), and I was thankful my residents respected my wishes, our police, and the university lockdown.

I remember going to Officer Sutphin's memorial service Thursday.

How in making sure all my residents were okay with what happened, I had forgotten to make sure I was. There I was sitting in the pew, just listening. Honoring his life. Then I couldn't stop crying and crying, realizing belatedly that I forgot to bring tissues. It hadn't occurred to me that I might've needed them.

This is how I cope. I need to be forced to let it all out. To deal with the aftermath repercussions.

The day of April 16th, a girl came knocking outside of our dormitory's exit nearest to my room. Her boyfriend had been shot and he was hiding with her friend behind the tennis courts next to Cassell. In the face of all her extreme distraught, I became extremely calm by default. She thrust her phone into my hands. I verified her boyfriend's location. She wanted to know if she could take him to hospital and would the police prevent her since they had blocked off all streets (like I said, she was really and understandably distraught). The moment I said of course, that she can and should...she was running back to the tennis courts.

I never got her name.

My cell phone wasn't working of course, so I used the campus phone to notify the police. Then, it was time to let my supervisor know (she was in another building) and that's when all the adrenaline I had put on pause started rushing in, full-forced. My heart was running a mile a minute. And, I was pratically incoherent, stuttering like a broken record over sentences, as I told her what had happened.

After April 16th, I refused to watch or read any media for rest of school. I had residents to take care of, friends to simply be with. Classes were cancelled for the week, but I had duty the night of the Candlelight Vigil. I also took emergency duty for one of my staff, so I only went home for 2 days that week. I didn't mind at all, in fact I wanted it to be that way. I was in the mode, you see. A zombie. Supportive and empathetic, yes, but a walking zombie nonetheless.

Basically, I didn't fully mourn until I finally came home in May.

I appreciate all the positive changes that have resulted because of our university's tragedy (though, still skeptical of spending $22 million on a building). Even the frenzy of playing blame-game has its benefits because when people ask questions, seek answers...holes in the system are receiving due attention.

As a collective, my friends and I have recovered from the worst of the aftermath. But we are still recovering. We are comforted to see our mixed, complex feelings reflected in each another's eyes.

Unable to explain. Just understood.

April 16th is a part of my subconscious. It's a memory, lessons I will carry for the rest of my life. However, the warning alerts about this a guy around campus brings that subconscious to the forefront, into my conscious thoughts. It makes me want to go into that mode again.

Thankfully, writing can be a form self-therapy.