Being a high school senior in a shooting
What seems like a lifetime ago, I was a senior in high school and applying for college. My top choice was George Washington University. It was perfect for past me. I wanted to study journalism, and they had an incredible journalism school on an inviting city campus. I miss that time of my life so much. I was far from happy, but I was naive. I didn’t know how much pain life could bring.
In December, I was accepted for early decision at GW. I applied early decision because I honestly wasn’t sure if I could get in on regular decision, but this meant I had to be 100 percent sure. I convinced myself that there was no where else I wanted to go to college.
Other notable events in December include my first sexual experience and my first time getting in trouble with my parents. It was my high school peak I guess.
So I guess everything was as good as it could be. Two months later, I hid under a desk without knowing what was happening on the outside. I wasn’t sure how to bring up Valentine’s Day to my boy, but not boyfriend. By 2:30 p.m., it didn’t matter. Valentine’s Day was over for me. It is by far my least favorite holiday.
If the context clues didn’t lead you to what happened that day. My high school got shot up. I’m still in disbelief about it. It’s never really a fact that I get used to. Anyway, my life since then has been split between before that day and after.
It felt like I was living in a different world after it all. Before, it was so much easier for me to turn a blind eye to all the pain in the world. Now, it’s like I have to feel it.
Directly after, I didn’t want to watch T.V. (other than the news) or listen to music. I just wanted to feel all the pain that I could. I guess you could say I was in shock while it was happening. People were having panic attacks, I was just doing my best to comfort them.
Right after, I felt like I was supposed to be speaking out about gun violence. After I did one interview, people kept asking. I felt obligated to say yes. There were some cool parts about it like getting to be on the Daily Show. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that it was a result of the deaths of 17 people.
I was also constantly asked to recount my experience, and I obliged. I didn’t want to say no. I knew to say no when reporters overstepped their boundaries though, like when someone texted me and asked me where Meadow’s funeral was.
News sources would talk about how I “survived the shooting by hiding in a closet.” Although the shooting affected me very personally, I don’t consider myself a survivor of anything. I was across campus; my life wasn’t in immediate danger, I feel like I am lying when news sources call me a survivor.
So many people told me that they were so proud of me. My thoughts were, “For what? Answering questions?” I didn’t feel like any sort of hero.
The end of my senior year is like a fever dream for me. I’m not sure if I already had senioritis and the shooting amplified it, but I barely went to school that last semester. I went to New York maybe 4 times in one month, which isn’t normal for me. Also, Hillary Clinton quoted my tweet? Life was strange. However, that treatment didn’t feel right after people died.
They took my newspaper class on a backstage tour of Saturday Night Live. We met Colin Jost and Pete Davidson. It was one of the coolest things ever, but did they just do that because they felt bad for us? I kind of felt like a charity case. We were paraded around New York City from publication to publication so that reporters could get their chance to meet us.
At the same time, we were working on our memorial issue of the newspaper. I was trying to write Coach Feis’s profile. Although my intentions were good, I felt like such an intrusion reaching out to his loved ones.
I became distant from newspaper. It was once my favorite class, but I didn’t have any more motivation. I didn’t want to report on the shooting or anything relating to it, but that was all that was going on. So I just removed myself. I would go to class and wait for the time to pass until the year ended.
After I accepted The Daily Show’s request, I told myself that I needed to step back. I wasn’t an activist or an organizer of any sort, I was just talking. No one really needed my voice and I felt like I was becoming desensitized to my story.
In June, I went to work at my Jewish Summer Camp. My camp has no cell service, and I only had 2 days off a session. We’re in the middle of nowhere in Cleveland, Georgia. Nothing could’ve been more healing.
