![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
what is to be done?
Mar. 5th, 2001 10:06 pmMy eyes still hurt. It's been that kind of day. God, it was so beautiful on campus, and that just made me angry at myself for being so sad. I just wanted to curl up in the bluebonnets, or under the mountain laurels in the sunlight. They smelled so nice.
Another shooting, more dead high school kids. More deaths because people won't take responsibility for their actions. It makes me sick, and reminds me of the terrible things that I witnessed in my own high school. A fairly wealthy, largely white suburban school in a decent school district. As good as it gets in Texas.
I remember watching Columbine on the television in the break room at the Daily Texan, how I doubled over gasping as that boy went out the library window. Some creepy empathetic pain. I came down with a raging kidney infection that night. I remember watching Gary beat Steven to a bloody pulp in the hallway over Christine, how he picked Steven up and slammed him against the lockers. Over and over again. I remember the police in the hallways, talking to a crying girl, watching over us all with guns at their side after those redneck boys beat one of their own to death in his driveway. They left him for his parents to find later that evening. Again, a fight over a girl. I remember the teacher who abused us, the man who tried to rip us apart in the most vile inhuman way possible. How no one believed us begging for help.
There is so much going on and I don't know how to explain any of it. How am I going to write all this down when I can hardly keep my eyes open and it hurts so damn bad inside. I watched an ambulance scream past me on the street, and I burst into tears.
I do not know what to do.
Another shooting, more dead high school kids. More deaths because people won't take responsibility for their actions. It makes me sick, and reminds me of the terrible things that I witnessed in my own high school. A fairly wealthy, largely white suburban school in a decent school district. As good as it gets in Texas.
I remember watching Columbine on the television in the break room at the Daily Texan, how I doubled over gasping as that boy went out the library window. Some creepy empathetic pain. I came down with a raging kidney infection that night. I remember watching Gary beat Steven to a bloody pulp in the hallway over Christine, how he picked Steven up and slammed him against the lockers. Over and over again. I remember the police in the hallways, talking to a crying girl, watching over us all with guns at their side after those redneck boys beat one of their own to death in his driveway. They left him for his parents to find later that evening. Again, a fight over a girl. I remember the teacher who abused us, the man who tried to rip us apart in the most vile inhuman way possible. How no one believed us begging for help.
There is so much going on and I don't know how to explain any of it. How am I going to write all this down when I can hardly keep my eyes open and it hurts so damn bad inside. I watched an ambulance scream past me on the street, and I burst into tears.
I do not know what to do.
