MY) GROWTH AFTER TRAUMA

(My) GROWTH

It has been two years since I survived the deadliest high school shooting in U.S. history. My hometown of Parkland, FL and my alma mater, Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School, have become synonymous with loss and violence. Valentine’s Day has never been and will never be the same. What was a day full of love turned into a day of death and grief. I lost one of my best friends, Carmen, to the senseless violence on the 14th. I had buried my grief so deeply within me that the sadness didn’t get to me during the first year of the aftermath. Supported by the Douglas community during this period, I faced it while still at home along with other survivors. Rather than crying all the time, I made it my mission to be the shoulder that my friends cried on. Instead of facing my own emotional strife and vulnerability, I held them as they broke down about missing Carmen. The friends that I prioritized over my mental health went on their own paths, and then I started college. I launched myself into a normal college routine, determined to not let this tragedy define me as much as possible. I kept putting on a smile so that I could make friends at the University of Florida. I gladly accepted the rigorous course load I was given, as it distracted me from the pain inside me. If I didn’t focus on the past, I could force myself to believe that everything was okay. I only allowed myself to cry on the anniversary of the shooting. In the second year, the unprocessed trauma resurfaced. In the summer before the 2019-2020 academic year, I realized that I was not as vulnerable with those I considered friends as I used to be. I didn’t let others in because I subconsciously feared that I would lose them too. By not becoming too close with others, I created a buffer so the pain wouldn’t hit when I inevitably lost them. In addition to realizing the patterns I had formed in my new relationships as a result of my trauma, I also had a couple breakdowns. I would think about how much I missed Carmen and start sobbing. I couldn’t think of anything else

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After Trauma

and I just sat there wallowing in my sorrow. The following day, I proceeded to berate myself for not using that time towards studying for my impending exams. The one thing that I claimed kept me grounded, a busy schedule, started causing me more pain. I felt guilty for not being academically productive when I had those episodes, yet I also felt guilty for not thinking of her. Unfortunately, I still did not prioritize my mental health at that time. It had fallen through the cracks as I strived for a better GPA and became more active in organizations that I wanted to be a part of. My life had snowballed to a point where not enough hours existed to take care of myself mentally. The pressures of college made it almost impossible to focus on the non-academic aspects of myself. Even though my experience might not speak precisely to the same traumas or anxieties faced by others, I finally understood why so many college students grapple with mental health issues, especially since multiple facets of my life, many supposedly unrelated to Parkland, had coalesced to form an intensified aftermath of a trauma from two years ago. It was only after the second anniversary that I decided to actively cope with my trauma. I’m vulnerable with those I feel close to, because faking a smile for my friends emotionally exhausted me. If they didn’t know how I was truly feeling, how on earth could they have helped me? I also keep reminding myself that it’s okay to not always think about those I’ve lost. I’m not forgetting them or acting in spite of them if I give myself permission to be happy. I finally started counseling. The only way for me to fully process my experience and grow from it is to talk to a counselor or therapist. Looking back, how I managed to keep going after that day is beyond me. Certain sounds and situations trigger emotions as raw as the day they cut into me. Everything reminds me of Carmen, from the chilly Gainesville weather (which she would have loved) to the newest Marvel movie trailer. However much the grief buried within me pierces like shrapnel, I can only trust that it will blossom into understanding.

Story by Anisha Saripalli Design by Erin McLoughlin Photos by Anisha Saripalli and Steph Strickland

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