People who say Fiction = Reality would probably blame violent media and video games for their nasty behavior.
Like, it’s censorship. Stop.
Stop attacking writers for not believing in what you think is right or wrong.
Stop attacking artists for not drawing what you want, because it’s not meant for you.
Stop attacking creators for shipping something you don’t ship.
Stop attacking actors who act as the bad people, because it’s their job.
Stop attacking people for the things they enjoy.
Stop the censorship you force on to people.
Stop the thought police attitude.
Do remember this.
Sending Death Threats, Suicide Baiting and Call Out Post, do more damage then good. It’s also against the law.
So think first.
Before sending hate to a writer, to an artist, to a creator, to an actor, to a person, that your words are more real and damaging then any story written, drawn or acted out, because your words are reality the moment you hit that send button.
I was in seventh grade when Columbine happened. The only reason I knew about it was because my English teacher had us write a letter to Clinton about school safety and guns. After that, I didn’t think about it really until my first year of high school. And that’s when I began to read everything I could about it. The internet was becoming a major thing, especially in my house. I was an outcast. I had played Doom… a lot when I was younger and continued to play it any chance I could. I was tall for my age. [ I’m 5'10"]. I never fit in.
I read how Doom was blamed. Violent video games. Music that I loved. I began to read every interview I could. Saw the iconic death photos of Eric and Dylan. And eventually stumbled across and read Dylan’s journal. That’s when something struck me. This guy was like me. It struck me how humane he seemed in his journal. The pain. The longing to fit in to what you disliked.
Pretty much, I felt like Dylan did [or what I think he felt like].
When I looked at both boys, Dylan always stuck out to me. He was the exact guy I was attracted to. Tall. Weirdly funny. Painfully awkward. I didn’t feel much when I looked at Eric and if anything, he scared me. His journal scared me. But I was empathetic with both, just Dylan more. And so from my freshman year to today [at 30 years old], I have read and watched everything a million times over.
Don’t get me wrong. These two boys did something so horrible. So unforgivable. I’m not deluded enough to spare them the responsibility of their actions. They ended 13 innocent lives. What I do have is empathy and an unfillable curiosity. I majored in psychology in college and one of my papers was on the incident. What led them to this? What could have been done to avoid this? Would Dylan have ever been able to carry this out without Eric? Had Eric lived, would he have gone on to induce something far more horrendous? The more I read, the more my heart broke and the more I started to see things. Things like the “gawd” that followed Dylan’s statement on NBK, like it was the last resort for him . As if the only way he could ever free himself and go through with his suicide was to do something so inhumane that there was no going back. My heart broke when I read that he had called Isaiah Schoels a nigger and how the two taunted him before killing him. How hate was the last thing he heard before dying. How any of them just heard hate. How at the end of the library massacre, their hatred seemed to just be aimed at the school, that the school was the main source of their unhappiness. It seemed that Dylan just became a follower. He was so lost and trying to find his place in this world that the only way he could find a place was alongside this madness.
I finally read Sue Klebold’s book and Brooks Brown’s book this year and I feel like I got to know Dylan more. His humanity was coming together more and more. It’s a shame that Eric will never get a chance at that and I also understand his family’s need to stay away because nothing they will ever say will erase what their son did, especially because the media was clearly portraying him as the evil psychopath. Both sure, but Eric more. Why try to reopen still fresh wounds? Let the families move on as they try to too.
In my sophomore year of high school, I found myself thinking about the friendship I would have had with Dylan. Not in any weird, sexual way. But a friendship that was based on understanding on how hopeless and helpless this world seemed. How there were little slices of pleasure in the world, but sometimes they just weren’t enough to get by on. I think the thing that most people cannot understand is that many people [like myself] are not idolizing the killers that these boys were. They are in wonder at the lives that they had before Columbine. We do not love their heinous actions. We understand that they were troubled individuals and no matter how “godlike” they thought themselves to be, they were incredibly human, incredibly flawed, and incredibly alone. Anyone can try to point blame at the parents all day long because people need a living bad guy. We know better. Its easy to blame when you’re not directly involved. We were once teenagers too. We know that if you model good behavior, you pretty much get left alone. My mom didn’t even know I was suffering from clinical depression until my second year in college when I dropped out. Because I was good at hiding behind laughs, smiles, deep affection, and friendships.
I will always continue to read and research this. I will always feel this weird connection to who I perceive Dylan to have been before his actions.
My heart goes out to the Klebolds, especially Sue who seems to be such a sweet, courageous, and caring woman.
To the Harris’s who will never have it easy in this life.
To the families of the thirteen victims who will never fill the void their loved ones left behind.
And for this, I will always say that there were fifteen victims. 13 lost to two. Two lost to the world.