“By now I feel as though too much time has passed already, and that I should be over it by now, but I suppose considering the similarities of the tragic situation to the places I put myself in pretty regularly have proven all too much for my psyche to handle.”
In 2022, my therapist asked me to bring to her two distressing events that had happened in my life. Working to implement new techniques into her sessions, she asked what those events were, then instructed me to a calm, meditative state, where she then asked me questions regarding those situations I brought with me. The first: I spoke about my grandmother’s passing. While not incredibly difficult, it was still a massive loss, and to this day one of the only conversations, or lack thereof, I regret in hindsight. My own responsibility is what makes it distressing. The second, and not directly related to me, was the passing of Christina Grimmie. At the time I’m writing this, it has been 8 years and one day since the news that there was a shooting at her concert entered my wavelength and, simply, never left. This was not at a time when all news was as readily available as it is now, so the idea that there was a gunman at a Christina Grimmie and Before You Exit concert seemed too far-fetched – it seemed outrageous. It did not seem real. We hadn’t become assimilated to news like this yet, and I fear I have adapted to this pattern of news reporting since. I’ve watched the wake of her passing continue to unfold in front of me and I can identify parts of my life that were never the same because of it.
When I think about Christina, I am able to complete an assessment through a relatively objective lens. Though I knew of her, I never went to any concerts and had no contact with her in any sense of the word. At the time, my loyalties fell moreso with the people around her, and the people I knew directly influenced by her passing, and by the situation as it were. I wrestled with this notion for quite some time following. Though “traumatic,” by definition, is “a disturbing or distressing experience,” I thought I leaned too heavy on the term “trauma.” I’ve spoken before that “trauma” to me, always seemed like situations that were overtly life-altering. Things like war, abuse, losing limbs; those things felt like the only allowance to the word “traumatic.” It has taken time for me to accept the very definition of traumatic is, clearly, the most direct you can possibly get when talking about things that impact your life to any degree. The passing of Christina Grimmie has, with obvious evidence, created a piece of trauma in my brain that I am convinced I will never be able to shake.
When the topic comes up, I tend to immediately ask myself why I, personally, feel so impacted. For years this has been a pattern. It starts with noticing something that reminds me of her, or the people she was performing with, or my brother’s graduation that I was simply not mentally present for because of this. I then quickly identify the feeling coming up in me, and just as soon as it starts, it usually ends in one of two ways. I either distract myself or, more frequently, begin to internally ask myself why I am so impacted by this because “it’s not like I was there” or “I didn’t lose anything important.” It’s difficult to remind myself that I’m allowed to feel these feelings and mourn the person I was 7 years, 11 months, and 30 days ago.
I’m lucky that what I experience isn’t a day-to-day tribulation. I’m not having daily or even weekly conversations with myself about Christina Grimmie, because I don’t have to. But, it is when I go to a concert, or find myself in a public place, or really consider how accessible I am to complete strangers because of social media, it’s like I’m still sitting with fresh news. Because I understand that what happened to her can happen to anyone, not just because she was a singer, not just because she was known online, not just because she had a comfortable persona; nothing is the exception to unnecessary violence.
I talk a lot with my therapist about patterns and how they often serve as “supporting evidence” for the thoughts my anxiety creates. Thinking about Christina not being an anomaly shows me the patterns. How women are constantly targeted. How you can’t control how people interpret your kindness, or act of caring, or ability to relate. How public places remain one of the easiest settings for an attack of any sort to happen: a bombing, a shooting, someone driving their car into a parade crowd. How I shouldn’t put faith in humanity. How I can’t put faith in humanity. And at the same time, thinking about Christina also shows me the patterns of the people you love and who love you. How an act of love can keep your name in a shining light. How sharing your talents with the world, no matter how big or small, can make a lasting impact. How the things you experience at 21 can evolve you and make you a more vigilant 29-year-old.
It's scary to feel like I owe myself that evolution. It’s scary to feel like I have to work towards not being as scared, or intimidated, or feeling like I’m going to get snatched up in a rapture. Even if it is just for self-preservation. I find the idea of being asleep on the futon in my parents’ house, wrapped up in a pink Minnie Mouse blanket from my childhood much more attractive than working through the terrors that led me to that position. I’ve found that when something feels like it’s too much to handle, I work quickly on trying to “get over it” or “work through it” and that, friends, is not how processing always works. The quote at the top of the page, a portion of a piece I wrote only a few days after Christina’s passing, shows that direct correlation. Where I feel the familiar shame creeping in that I’m STILL talking about this, I’m STILL working through why my body clings on to this terrifying experience (though I was degrees separated), I’m also abundantly aware that giving myself the time and space to process things like this is what’s most important to my actual ability to process it. If I ever do.
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