@thegoldpatrol: Weeks Before Aurora Attack, #theatershooting convicted murderer Had University On Edge
http://t.co/JnbwJfHiH2
More than a month before James Holmes' rampage on a Colorado movie theater, the head of his neuroscience graduate program called a campus police officer with alarming information: Holmes had told his psychiatrist that he wanted to kill people to make up for his failure in science.
The call, never previously disclosed, came just after the psychiatrist expressed similar concerns to the same University of Colorado campus police officer. But newly released documents show the officer did little other than check to see whether Holmes had a criminal record and deactivate his campus access cards. And his psychiatrist declined to detain Holmes, who had revealed no specific targets or threats, because she thought it would only "inflame him."
The documents obtained by The Associated Press provide new details about the best chance authorities had to stop Holmes before the July 2012 theater massacre. They also show how hard it can be to predict who will turn violent, even when they've displayed warning signs, experts say.
I wish I knew how to feel about this. Hindsight is 20/20, they say, but let's just ignore the crazy thing because saying something might piss it off? Okay then. Mental illness is always the excuse for people like it. Oh it's sad innocent people died, but the thing is ~sick~ and it needs our pity and compassion. It's the REAL victim here. It needs treatment, not punishment. It didn't commit this crime, its illness did. It must be nice to be a person for whom mental illness serves as a shield, instead of a guaranteed death sentence. The notion that someone like me is in more danger than a thing that actually went out and hurt people is a hard pill to swallow. Not to get too political, but considering how indiscriminate mental illness is, it's funny how the overwhelming percentage of mass shooters are white men. And how we're the only country that has this problem. The rest of us manage to get by without killing a bunch of people. Weird. Almost like it's an excuse for them or something.
Mind you, I do believe the thing suffered from mental illness, but I don't buy for a second that it was the cause of the thing's actions. That was a choice it made on its own, and it had every intention of living the rest of its miserable life in prison. It's a shame it gets to do that. Once again, I really do wish it was dead. Then again, who knows how I would feel had it been gunned down at the same time as my dear friend AJ and those poor other people. Or if it had killed itself. I can't say that it would be more healing. Nothing can be changed now. The brother of one of the victims mentioned that $5 million, was it, was spent on the trial, and imagine what we could have done for mental health with that money. Even if the trial hadn't happened, I seriously doubt that money would have been put towards mental illness.
There's always the pattern. Something terrible happens. People mourn. Some blame gun control. Some blame mental illness. People fight. Terrible thing blows over. Nothing changes. Repeat. Again. And again. And again. There's always talk when something goes wrong, and little ever seems to come of it. Conversations need to continue even when something isn't going wrong. Though in this country, there's a shooting every five minutes. More than just the people directly impacted have to do something. Otherwise nothing will change until the majority of America has been impacted by something as terrible as this. It's not something you want to endure. I hope there will be real change instead of just talk. I really do. There is no changing the past. There is no saving AJ or the others. There is no bringing them back. The trial is over now, as is the sentencing. I don't want anyone to go through what I have. I hope someday, someday soon, that won't feel like a silly, impractical thing a child would wish for at 11:11.
I also felt a small amount of pity when the shooter was taken out. I think it was the clapping and jeering from the gallery. It didn't sit right with me. But I know he deserves to be punished.
Ah, the things that separate us from that thing. It's loathsome, yet still so important. A lot has happened, in addition to losing AJ. Things in the country, things personally... I'm kind of a mess, to be honest. But as much as I really hate it sometimes, and as hard as it is, I am still glad I have some humanity left in me.
Now for something completely different! There's this time limit people assign to you when grief strikes. Six months. Eight months. Maybe get a little tearful on the first anniversary and the first birthday without him, but after that, you're supposed to move on. Nothing more than a twinge of regret or a wistful sigh, especially for someone like me. I was almost there that night, but close only counts in horseshoes as they say. AJ was my friend, but we weren't best friends. Someone like me should be more than healed by now, but truth be told, I'm still in the process.
The comments in the aftermath were vicious.
"I would tell you he's in a better place, but he's not. He's just dead." (First thing said to me the Monday after it happened.)
"It was a hoax by the government to take away guns from people like me." (Second thing said to me the Monday after it happened.)
"It's so annoying to go on twitter right now. No offense, but all of my friends keep talking about that AJ kid. He didn't even go to our school, so what's the big deal?" (AJ was the sort of person who touched the lives of hundreds. He knew people from everywhere.)
"Only cowards wouldn't go back to the theatre. I'm not the sort of person who lets things like that hold me back." (A month after it happened.)
"I've made my peace with it. I don't want to hear about it anymore." (Also a month after it happened)
I could go on and on. For someone like me, there wasn't a lot of room for grieving and processing. I wasn't supposed to be too sad then, and certainly not now. With a smile on my face and a thick layer of humor in my voice I would say, "my friend was murdered." And people would make an insensitive comment and change topics as if I hadn't said anything. I wasn't allowed to be any other way back then, and especially not now. I'm not supposed to cry anymore. This isn't supposed to still be so surreal to me. My PTSD isn't as valid or earned as the others are. It was hard on its own, and internalizing it has only made everything worse. I have... major depression, persistent depression, social anxiety, generalized anxiety, ADD, and PTSD. I'm a lemon, more or less. I was taught the hard way to keep everything to myself no matter how severe. So even though I've always had words, in case that wasn't obvious, I have never had a voice. Even with the shooting, it was all just internalized and I and my mental health deteriorated at an alarming rate, and rock bottom and I were friends for a while. I was trapped. I didn't have the skills to get out on my own, and there wasn't a hand around to help me. So I suffered. Alone. In silence. Perched carefully on the edge.
I only cried twice. I mentioned in my last post that a friend had called us during the movie. After asking where we were and if we were safe she said, "there's been a shooting at Century." The friend I had in the car with me put her on speakerphone. And Tammy said. "There's been a shooting at Century, and we don't know many, but there are-people are dead. The count is at 10 right now." We then spent the rest of the car ride listing the people we knew was there. Percussion, choir, the seniors (we called the people in the class above us, who graduated in 10 the seniors, even when they weren't), people from middle school, on and on. And I cried. And cried. Not a night I'll ever forget. I remember curling my hair that night, and I was wearing a cute new dress. I remember not being able to speak when I called my dad from outside my friend's house. Lauren took the phone from me and spoke to him. She said, "Mr. X? So we're fine, but there's been a shooting a Century. We weren't there. We were downtown, and we're perfectly safe at my house right now." I insisted I could drive, but he told her he'd come pick me up. Smart, considering I was in complete hysterics. I don't wear my shoes when I drive, so I was barefoot when my friend took me inside. I remember how cold the sidewalk was. And it was dirty. We went in the living room, and turned on the TV, and there was Century on the news. But I won't bore you with a complete recount of that day. The second time I cried was when I sat down in the living room with my laptop and heard the first verdict read. Only crying twice means I still have a lot of tears to shed that I couldn't back then. I can now. And even though the pain is immense, I'm glad.
Anyway, I say all of this to thank all of you. I have read every single post here, in every thread. Even if I didn't post during, it was good for me to have a place to go to where the event was still considered... relevant? At least, emotionally relevant. I was inside the bubble and told not to feel. So to lurk around people who were outside of the bubble and expressing anger and grief and confusion, with a plethora of opinions and point of views was extremely validating for me. Extremely
helpful for me. While I was here, I wasn't expected to live on as if nothing happened. I was able to feel in real time, even though it happened so long ago. Funny that that the validation I received was from the people whose worlds didn't change, those who were able to pack up with the news vans and move on, instead of the ones left here scarred. I don't feel as blocked emotionally, and I while I still have a ways to go until I'm "healed", I do feel like maybe now I can actually start the grieving process properly, as I should have been able to do when it happened. So thank you. Everyone, thank you. :heartbeat::heartbeat:
