Two years later, the tragedy in Isla Vista still affects me

I didn’t think it still affected me, but it does

 

Today marks two years since tragedy struck our sweet home Isla Vista on May 23rd, 2014, taking the lives of six beloved UCSB students and injuring fourteen others.  Our hearts broke for these innocent students who only happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Our hearts went out to their families and friends who were left to feel the loss of their loved ones each day. Two years later, we continue to remember them. We continue to honor them.

To help us heal, we are told to remember the good. We are told to remember those lost not as victims of a senseless crime, but as the good people they were. We are told to honor their lives by living our own to the fullest and with the utmost appreciation. We are told to remember the good, but sometimes, I still remember the bad.

I did not think it still affected me. But it does.

When I hear their names, it affects me. When I hear his name, it affects me. And most of all, when I hear anything resembling the sound of a gun shot, it affects me.

BANG.

That sound. That sound sends my mind into a panic. What was that?! I try to remain composed, but inside I feel my body tense and my heart start to pound a little faster, a little louder. I instinctively duck my head, just slightly. I look around to uncover the source of the sound and put my fears to rest. I look to everyone else’s faces for reassurance. Does anyone else look concerned? Is anyone else as nervous as I am? No one else seems scared. No one else is screaming or running away. No one else is hiding behind cars or seeking refuge indoors. I don’t hear any sirens. Maybe it’s okay. Maybe this time, no lives were unjustly cut short by the source of that BANG.

The sounds are not gun shots. The sounds are cars backfiring. Or balloons popping. Or fireworks going off. “The sounds are not gun shots,” I tell myself. But I doubt the people who were there that night thought the sounds were gun shots either.

I did not think it still affected me. But it does.

I do not think about the tragedy every day. I feel lucky in that sense because I know there are people who do. I hate that they have to think about it every day. They don’t deserve that. It’s not fair.

I do not think about the tragedy every day. But the second I hear a “BANG,” I think about it. My body’s reaction forces me to think about it. I am reminded that two years later, it still affects me.

I was not there that night. But I could have been.

I was supposed to be walking down that street. The same street where Veronika Weiss and Katie Cooper lost their lives.

But I was late. I have never been so thankful for my constant tardiness. If I had left my dorm room just fifteen minutes earlier like I was supposed to, I could have been there. It could have been me. It could have been anyone.

But it was not me. I feel bad for even saying it could have been me. Because it wasn’t. It was Veronika Weiss. It was Katie Cooper. It was Christopher Michaels-Martinez. It was George Chen. It was James Hong. It was David Wang.

It was not me.

By saying, “It could have been me,” I feel like I am selfishly taking attention away from the real victims and making it about me. It is not about me. I was not there that night. It is not about me.

But it still affects me.

I know it affects others more. I know that the memories and consequences of that night have impacted other people’s lives significantly more than they have impacted mine. I cannot even imagine how people who heard, witnessed, or were injured in the events of that night may have been affected. I cannot even imagine the lasting effects this tragedy has had on the loved ones of those we lost.

I sometimes feel guilty when thinking about how I have been affected. I was not personally close to any of the victims like many others were. My life was not directly or majorly impaired by the events of that night like many others’ were. Why should it still affect me? But it does. I cannot control that. I cannot let the fact that the tragedy affected other people more than it did me discount or invalidate my own feelings.

I did not think it still affected me. But it does. I am reminded that it still affects me when simply talking about that night leads my voice to tremble and my eyes to cloud with tears.

I was reminded it still affects me when talking to my dad about the two-year anniversary turned into sobbing. I could not even control it. All of the sudden, there was a sinking feeling in my stomach and I started to weep, because as much as I think it no longer affects me, the truth is, it does.

It has been two years now since that tragic Friday night when a deranged young man took the lives of six students and injured fourteen others.  While it continues to affect me, I know it does not continue to affect everybody. And that’s okay. If it no longer affects you, that’s okay. There is no right or wrong way to feel. Everyone reacts to and deals with things differently. No one should feel guilty for feeling or not feeling a certain way. If you have moved on, that’s okay. If it still affects you, that’s okay. It still affects me too.

Yes, we are strong. Yes, we are resilient. The community of Isla Vista was shaken but not shattered the night of May 23rd, 2014. After that night, we stood tall, proud, and together in solidarity, determined that nothing could break the bonds of our unity. That night did not break us. That night did not break me. But it left a crack.

I did not think it still affected me. But it does. Two years later and it still affects me.

I think to some degree it always will.

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