Monster, how should I feel?

I'm not a political blogger, by any means. I'd never try to force my views on those who read this blog. I don't consider myself a ringleader. I just write what I know, and what I feel.
And right now, I'm not sure how I should feel.

Unless you're too young to watch the news or don't own any form of TV, phone, or computer, you've heard about the man who opened fire during the midnight premiere of The Dark Knight Rises. I can't even wrap my head around this. I don't know how someone can casually walk into a movie theater with a gun and a few cannisters of tear gas and murder a dozen people--at least. Can you imagine? I can't. I don't want to think about how that would feel, to be in the theater when that happened. But I can't stop thinking about it, because everyone is talking about it.  Those people who died all had families, identities, people to come home to and people who are in total shock right now, people who can't believe what has happened to their loved ones.

No, I can't stop thinking about this. I can't stop asking myself, why do things like this happen?

As a girl who considers herself a Christian, as someone who believes in God in general, I get a lot of questions when things like this happen. Namely the classic, "If there's a God, explain why tragedies like this are allowed to occur." Well, about that. Here's the thing: I can't. No one can. But I promise I'm not about to spout off the cliches--"God has a plan," "God knows what He's doing," "That wasn't God, it was Satan." No. I won't, because I know that hearing those things even makes me, a girl who proudly asserts that she believes in God, want to slap the person who said them.

Here is what I believe: God does not control us. We are ourselves, God or no God. And prayer can only take us so far, because God can't just hand us everything we want. And what if you don't believe in any god (or gods) at all--you can't pray at all then, can you, because if you don't believe something exists, you can't exactly ask it for help, right? Having been raised Unitarian Universalist, I can't believe that God as I see Him is the only possible incarnation of God to ever exist, or that my way of practicing my faith is the only right way to do it, ever. And for some people, faith is literally their entire life. They live, breathe, and exist to serve their God. They don't believe in anything else. Not their families, not their government, not their community, and certainly not themselves. I can't do that either. Faith is a part of my life. It is not the only thing in my life.

Right. Back on track. So, if prayer and religion aren't infallible (and believe me, they most certainly are not) where does that leave us when things like this happen? Scared, vulnerable, and still searching for answers.

I prayed last night. I was afraid, and I couldn't talk to anyone. So that was what I did. What was I even scared of? I don't know. I know I wasn't afraid that the shooter would burst through the door of my cabin and kill me and my girls. That wasn't even a logistical possibility. I wasn't afraid that the victims of the shooting would end up in hell if they weren't of my religion--I've never believed that for a minute. I wasn't afraid that another shooting would happen. I know that things like this happen. Atrocities are committed every day. I don't cry and lose sleep over everything I read in the news.

I think what scares me the most about this is that he got caught, but he won't be the last madman out there who is capable of something like this. That was what terrified me about Psycho and A Clockwork Orange when I first saw those films--people like Norman Bates and Alex DeLarge are really out there. They walk around with us, talk to us, go to our colleges, sleep in our dorms, live in our towns. Cite all the statistics you like, but the fact remains that people like James Holmes exist. And all we notice about them is that their "disposition seems off"--until something like this happens.

One of my favorite books is Peace Breaks Out by John Knowles. In case you're unfamiliar with the story, it's set in the uneasy tension of post-WWII, at the same boarding school as A Separate Peace. One of the boys, Wexford, has a knack for stirring up trouble--and not getting caught. At the end of the book, his teacher reflects, He's a monster and I can't stop him. That's the thing: there are monsters you can't stop. And until we come up with a foolproof way to stop every single demon out there--which is not going to happen, not just "not anytime soon," but ever--we're out of luck.

That was last night. But now, I'm not scared. I'm angry. Really, truly furious. I don't like being angry--it's my least-favorite emotion; I even prefer sadness to anger--but I'm angry with the shooter. There are so many things I'd like to say to him, many of them revolving around the theme of, how in the fuck can you live with yourself? Really, James Holmes, are you satisfied with yourself now? You killed twelve innocent people and wounded fifty-eight more--and beyond that you've left emotional scars that will take a long time to heal, if they ever do. The Dark Knight Rises promotional material has been pulled because of you. For many people, your actions have destroyed something that could have been successful--because, having seen it today, I have to say, The Dark Knight Rises really is a beautiful piece of cinema--and now it never will be, because you've left a bad association with this film. Especially for everyone in that theater who made it out--will they ever be able to see a movie again, and feel safe in their theater? You are a monster. And I hate you, and I hate that I hate you, because I don't like hating people, it hurts. But I hate you.

Because I selfishly feel like you encroached on my territory, as well. I am a filmmaker. Movie theaters are a haven for me. When I step into one, I don't want to remember your actions and feel a shiver run down my spine. People see movie theaters as an escape from reality. They don't want to walk into a nightmare. Now you've done to movie theaters what Harris and Klebold did to schools--when I went to the theater today, I saw cops walking around. I saw increased security. You did that. You did it. You made my movie theaters, my domains, the places where my films will someday be played, someplace that I have reason to fear. Am I allowed to hate you for that, or is it selfish?

But I think the worst thing that I feel is curiosity. I've already given that away, thanks to the amount of questions in my angry rant above. People are allowed to feel curiosity for criminals; it's part of human nature. And in addition to that, I'm a researcher. Being a screenwriter, I kind of have to be. But this is beyond my normal hunger for information. I can't feel satisfied until I know why this happened. And I don't. And I'm afraid of it, but still curious. I have so many questions I want to ask James Holmes--again, many of them falling squarely into the category of what in God's name possessed you to do this and how can you live with yourself for it?--just like I was so eager to find out all that I could about Harris and Klebold when I first learned about Columbine.

Let me stop there and explain, to anyone who doesn't know, that Gus Van Sant's Elephant has long been one of my favorite films. But, before I was allowed to watch it, my mom sat down with me and explained in-detail that most fictionalized accounts of school shootings make it look like the attackers were bullied or harmed in some way. This was not the case for Columbine. Plain and simple, the shooters were sociopaths. She made sure I knew this, and then she let me watch the film. I sat in silent terror the entire time, not afraid of the movie, but afraid of my own reaction to it. I was afraid that if I did not respond emotionally--if I didn't cry, like I always do at sad or frightening movies--that I was emotionless, incapable of empathy, just like Harris and Klebold. This should tell you volumes about the kind of child I was (okay, still am). This was one of those defining moments for me, when I realized what kind of person I am and what kind of person I want to be. So, for anyone curious about my fascination with that movie, or about that particular tragedy, now you know.

Whenever I talk about things like Columbine, I get weird looks. Or the inevitable, "Let me guess, you're a psychology major." Yes, I do like studying psychology. I like knowing and understanding why people do the things they do. But that can only go so far, and when something like this happens, all I can do is just sit there and think, why? What went on in this man's head? I want to know. At the same time, I'm pretty sure I don't. I'm 100% certain I'm better off not knowing. But oh, God, I wish I could ask him. I really wish I could.

I take it back. The worst emotion I feel is irritation. Mainly irritation towards the people commenting on all those news articles and saying, "Why doesn't the government do something about this?" Hold on, let's think about what we're saying here. What do we want the government to do? From what I gather, it's simple: require background checks and psychological evaluations of anyone wanting to buy a gun. Simple enough, I would think. Quite reasonable, too. But hold on...doesn't each state have their own laws about gun control? And will it really be that easy to convince every state in the country to change to the exact same law, with the exact same requirements? Not if how we're doing on gay marriage is any indication. Change takes time. People are impatient. This is a bad combination.

And here's another thing. People keep saying, "If someone else in the theater had a gun, this wouldn't have turned out the way it did. Lives would have been saved." I'm no shooting expert, but I'm guessing that in a crowded theater full of irritant gas, with the added pressure of a terrifying unknown gunman firing rounds of bullets into the crowd, people screaming and panicking and fleeing for their lives--in short, a scene of complete terror--a civilian with a handgun would not make a whole lot of difference. It would take an absolute miracle to hit your target. (Keep in mind, this is coming from someone who attempted archery and found that she could not hit the broad side of a barn; perhaps a civilian who practiced hunting or recreational shooting would be able to do what I'm describing, but I don't think so.) And in the end, shooting blindly would probably just cause more damage.

Have I offended anyone yet? I don't mean to, I really don't. I don't have an answer. I'm just scared, angry, annoyed, curious, and confused. And that is a hell of a lot to feel at one time, over a man you've never met, whose actions only affected you indirectly at best.

To anyone affected by the shootings: I am deeply sorry for you. If the apologies and heartfelt prayers of a selfish (but still trying not to be, I swear), reluctantly innocent teenage filmmaker mean anything to you: My heart goes out to you. I pray for you and your loved ones. I pray that they are in a safe place now, and I pray that you can heal from this. I send you a thousand wishes--for healing, for cathartic tears, for community, for safety, for love, for everything you need to help you recover from this. And I hope beyond all hope that the person who did this to you gets everything he deserves and more.