Children Who Kill, and Those Who Don't

Twelve years ago today, a small town in Colorado became temporarily notorious. Mention it's name out of context and many won't be able to place where Littleton is, let alone why it is infamous to begin with. But, on April 20th, 1999, no one could think of anywhere else after Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold glided onto the Columbine campus armed with semi-automatic guns and several home-made bombs that were strategically placed in the building. After just a few short hours, with both boys dead from self-inflicted wounds, they had succeeded in killing thirteen innocent people, and injuring twenty one others.

After this tragic incident, accusations were flying everywhere, everyone searching for something or someone to blame, and most people getting it wrong. From the goth culture to heavy metal music, from video games to psychotropic meds, the media hit each and every viable possibility and shoved it down the general public's throat, simultaneously demonizing the shooters and society as a whole. The one point of focus that probably carried the most merit faded into the background: school bullying. Social outcasts who were ridiculed every day, humiliated and hassled, labeled with homophobic slurs, they eventually reached their breaking points, as many in their positions do.

In reading the book Children Who Kill by Carol Anne Davis, I've come across many similar stories of seemingly sadistic cold-blooded murderers who, in a moment of rage or in simple remorseless apathy have killed innocent people. Some stories are unnerving, others, stomach-churning, but they all had similarities too prominent to ignore: child abuse, neglect, instability, social ostracization, and psychological illness. And much like the Columbine shooters, the media turned to other factors such as games, TV shows, movies, and just hanging with bad crowds as probable causes of the violence. In nearly every story, a blind eye was turned to the long term ill-effects that come with years of pain, suffering, and devastation these children experienced, typically inflicted by the very people who were meant to protect them.

Now over the past months of blogging, my own personal history has gradually been revealed as my blogs have taken a more intimate tone, and many of you are aware of several instances of abuse, various types from various perpetrators, school bullying, and my own resulting mood disorders. What has tapped into my being and struck a chord with me while reading about these kids is how easily I could have become one of them. With very similar backgrounds and long repertoires of emotionally and psychologically altering circumstances, what is that defining factor that sets one apart? What makes some of us killers and others productive members of society?

In Viktor Frankl's autobiography, Man's Search for Meaning, he discusses his own experiences with the continuing battle between Saints and Swine while serving time in a concentration camp during WW2. A prominent point Frankl made repeatedly in his book was the issue of freedom of choice. He argued that although events take place in our lives and we cannot always control what happens to us, what is in our control is how we respond to these events: we become saints, or we become swine. In his example, saints were defined as individuals who cared for fellow prisoners and looked out for one another, and the swine were individuals who adopted a more "every man for himself" approach to surviving the camps. In our lives, this can be more or less the individuals who go on to lead generally successful lives, have families and meaningful relationships, maintain employment and housing, and individuals who fall into more self-destructive and criminal behaviors and end up harming themselves or others.

I frequently utilized Frankl's theory in working with severely emotionally disturbed teens. Sadly, like the kids in Davis' book, most of them had seen the worst of life in the few years they had lived. Many survived neglect at the hands of their drug-abusing mothers, many suffered beneath the iron fist of alcoholic fathers who used them as punching bags. Some had been forced into early sexual awareness by perverted family members. All of these matters were events in their lives they couldn't control, so in a misguided effort to regain that control, they began engaging in their own destructive behaviors: truancy, theft, drug use, promiscuity, self-mutilation, even suicide attempts. In trying to redirect that sense of control into more productive actions, many of such teens can be molded into functioning healthy individuals, in spite of their dark pasts.

Unfortunately, for many of these kids who went on to commit these heinous crimes, intervention was too little too late, if it came at all. For some, any intervention may have proved useless, as the damage had been done and psychopathology had set in, rendering them sociopaths. However, for the most part, it seems that rehabilitation is more than possible, if we can find the missing link that sets us on the right path. Granted, many of the child killers were male and in the midst or on the brink of puberty. With the increased level of testosterone and the effect it has on aggression, it could be argued that hormones play a part. Other factors could be time and type of interventions, variations in abuse and abusers, genetics, etc. In short, I have no idea what makes some people killers and what makes some successful survivors. I don't know why I took the path I did and narrowly avoided becoming a statistic. I had the background, I had the resulting depression, I was a self-mutilator, I had deep-seated anger, a seething hatred for the people who hurt me and resentment and distrust of people in general. My intervention was therapy and medication, and eventually the depression, anger, and hate dissipated and I became a therapist to help others. Some are just not as lucky, I suppose.

Eric and Dylan were two of the unfortunates. Though not much has been written on their home life, I would imagine they were not stable situations with overly concerned and involved parents, as anyone could have seen this train wreck coming had they only paid attention. After Columbine, they were destroyed by the media as crazed psychotic killers who master-minded elaborate plans of attacks, plans which, if read with an impartial eye, come off more as the childish, nonsensical grandiose ideas of manic kids than highly intellectual criminals. Few even addressed what was probably a dark, lonely adolescence for two severely depressed young men. The same happened to Seung-Hu Cho of Virginia Tech, a long-disturbed child also destroyed by the media when "violent" short stories he had written were sensationalized as red flags. In reality, they were poorly written blips about angry high school students cursing their principal.

Criminals are not born, they're made. While some of us can be saved, many many more fall through the cracks, and soon make headlines. So before we allow the media to strip these poor kids of their humanity, let us not forget that at one point, these "cold-hearted murderers" were once someone's baby, and more than likely, that baby was not given much love.

The Ways of the World and Women

For several decades the feminist movement has worked towards balancing the scales, bestowing equal rights to women such as voting, education, and in the work force, and protecting them from discrimination, neglect, and abuse. Typically our antagonists have been the Y-chromosome toting counterparts of our species, men and their obsession with power and dominance, working hard to keep the product of their broken rib beneath their thumbs. Thanks to many a blue-stockinged suffragette, we've managed to push forth and claim our place atop the mountain, even if it's just a small corner of it. But what do we do when our biggest nemesis is not men, but other women who have been manipulated by cultural standards and brain-washed into believing that the way things are is they way they should be? How can we save women from themselves?

Though the outside world is constantly changing and evolving, usually for the better in terms of the feminist movement, our first exposure to societal norms is from our families and more importantly, our mothers. And given that, at times, change is so gradual within the family system and values transcend so many generations, some of us are still living in the 50s. My mother still refuses to leave the house without make-up on, my father still believes tattoos warrant public scorn and make me look like a shameless street walker. I shunned make-up and am already looking at a third tattoo possibility, but it is rare that an outside influence can have such an impact on individuals that their values grow to be so drastically different from their families. With small alterations here and there, many of us follow suit and adopt the standards our family has presented to us, and it's not easy to rise above that, socially or psychologically .

As these values are being planted and sown in our heads, we are heavily laden with a sense of obligation to our families and their expectations. Many a movie and book have been created chronicling the free-spirited child who goes against the grain by rejecting their family's ideas, ignoring their wishes, and following their own heart to some fantastic happy ending. Unfortunately, life isn't always as perfectly drafted as a movie and it's harder to step off the beaten path than we'd like to believe. After all, they are our family, and while famed psychologist Salvador Minuchin argues that boundaries between ourselves and our families have to be distinct, there has to be a healthy balance of connection to our families as well; a total emotional cutoff could also be detrimental, which makes completely turning our backs on them virtually impossible. And though we hate to admit it, sometimes it's easier to sacrifice our own happiness to avoid that look of disappointment on our parents' faces.

There is a balance that can be found between social and familial expectations and personal fulfillment. What is considerably more difficult to combat is the psychological manipulation in the family that breeds women to believe that these expectations are the norm, and they're actually doing the righteous thing by meeting them. In high school I had a Mormon friend who was intelligent and capable of achieving great things. Unfortunately, being raised in a family where women were expected to stay home, spawn several children, and manage the household while the husband brought home the bacon limited her future. Her mother, aunts, grandmothers, great-grandmothers had all done the same, and she would be no different. She took a few classes at the community college while openly admitting she was biding her time until "she can find someone and get married". Convinced this was a fully independent choice she was making, she took pride in her decision to be a stay-at-home mother, but when you've been exposed to nothing more than stay-at-home moms, when you've been raised to believe that this is what good Mormon girls do, how independent is this choice, truly? Likewise, many Muslim girls have been exposed to nothing more than women who wear the Hijab or Niqab and told that this is the morally proper thing to do. They argue it's their choice to cover their heads and fight for the right to do so, but are they truly making the choice to wear one, or is it the extreme cultural influence that veils them every morning?

Now don't get me wrong, I have nothing against stay-at-home moms or women who choose to cover themselves. I have seen children of career women become domestic goddesses and soccer moms, I've seen Muslim girls who chose to cover themselves even though their mothers never did and their friends won't. I simply question their ability to freely make such decisions when pressured by family and culture. Only when a woman has not only been given the equivocal option but true encouragement to explore any and all opportunities before making such a choice can you truly argue that they decided for themselves. When the system simply says "do what makes you happy" rather than do this or that, that's freedom. To stay at home or pursue an education and career, to cover or not, it's your choice, but ensure it's YOUR choice, not someone else's.

Such issues are factors that impede the growth and progress of the feminist movement, but the seriousness of these cognitions extend far beyond domestic situations and head garments. In Africa, Female Genital Mutilation continues to be a tragic practice that effects anywhere from 100-140 million females worldwide. FGM involves, to varying degrees, the cutting of the vagina, be it the ciltoris, the labia minora, or sewing the vaginal opening partially shut to avoid intercourse until marriage. The method has sparked outrage from human rights groups all over the globe, demanding legal action be taken, but the problem lies not in the judicial system of these countries, but the cultural mentality of the villagers who continue to cut their daughters, most of whom are consenting mothers. Again, a cultural practice has transcended the generations, convincing women that this is not only expected, but acceptable and revered, and they stand by, sometimes even holding their own daughters down as they struggle through excruciating pain to make them honorable women. How do you break that mentality? How can you change decades of thought and practice in one generation to save young girls from the continuing oppression of their own mothers?

Some try to use the argument that cultural norms are different and we have to respect the various practices of others. They view our opposition as ethnocentrism, a blind opinion from the egotistical west who tries to control the world, alter other ways of life, and deject our fellow citizens of the world. While an appreciation for methods and beliefs that are different from our own is always crucial, there is a line to be drawn when it oppresses a group of people and when it causes psychological, emotional, or physical harm, whether or not the women experiencing it and the women perpetuating it can see it. So now we have a war to fight on two fronts: we need to work together to protect ourselves from oppressive men, and even more so to protect others from our own, but success can't be found with one when we have weak links in our own ranks. The most we can hope for is to continue the education as Waris Dirie has and remove the blinders of yesterday's ideation so we can see the ways of the world for ourselves today, moving forward and becoming free-thinking independent women.

The Good, the Bad, the Gray

As we grow and navigate the murky waters of this sea that is the development of our personal morality, we frequently take short cuts, divert our journey, and just plain get lost. Who we grow up to be, what causes we support, what values we stand for, and how we conduct ourselves as human beings is determined by a wide array of factors. From the beginning we are flooded by the influence of our parents, then religion, school, friends, and the media, all of which usually pull us in various directions as conflicts arise and dissonance sets in. It's all we can do to keep our heads above the surface, let alone swim through the crashing waves of the expectations of others. Everyone has an idea of who we should be, others try to control it, but where and when do we find that for ourselves?

Sometimes we look to others for guidance: mentors or role models. Some of us are fortunate to find these people in our everyday lives. Some of us end up looking to public figures for such support and rely on superficial personas filtered through magazines and television to help us find the right path. Unfortunately, instead of gracing worthy figures like Mother Teresa or Archbishop Desmond Tutu with our quiet reverie, sometimes we mistakenly bestow our admiration upon the likes of ill-fated Disney Channel starlets and foul-mouthed shock-seeking rappers. In our young and impressionable ages, we follow whatever example they've set and find ourselves wandering aimlessly once we've matured enough to realize the folly of our ways. Then it's time to set out on our own journey.

With any luck, one might sit down and sift through the grit and bullshit we're fed and critically evaluate the options presented for multiple issues of life and the world at large. Through careful analysis and self-reflection, we can determine what's truly important to us, what really doesn't matter so much and why, and then set out to take a stance on either side of the argument. Comparative research may be conducted, or we might fall into the clutches of some fear mongering propaganda machine and make a knee-jerk decision with more emotion than rationale. Wherever we may land initially, it's a stepping stone in the right direction once we decide to follow our own minds and begin to develop our own moral dichotomy of what's right and wrong.

The most frequent pitfall I've seen of morality development, however, is intense conviction stemming from emotional decisions fueled by propaganda. This is how extremists are born. Individuals find a cause, attach themselves to it like leeches, and rarely waiver in the face of adversity or just plain common sense. They fall victim to their own confirmation bias, shutting out any facts that contradict their viewpoint and embracing whatever information supports it, no matter how illogical it may be. In open debate, they argue in circles, pull out baseless statistics, and eventually resort to ad hominem attacks when they have nothing left to give. These are the people we need to worry about the most, because people who swallow and follow are falling victim to the same process that created religious extremism and the Nazi Party. Having a sense of morals and values is critical, but so is the process of how one builds those ideas.

While it's important to have a strong sense of who you are and what you believe in, it's also important to note that our systems need to remain permeable. Ideas, thoughts, beliefs could change over time as information changes and emerges. Centuries ago, someone said the Earth was flat. Had we resigned to that explanation without question, without exploration, we would still believe this today (some people still do). We always need to be questioning and debating and our positions evolving. Nothing should be set in stone. Some beliefs may never change, others may find you swaying to the polar opposite opinion, but the person who makes up their mind and closes the case is usually the draconian bastard that rots the collective intelligence of humanity.

I've found as I've gotten older, gained a better sense of how the world operates and how it relates to me as an individual, that my once extremist views on various issues have relaxed and fallen to the happy medium. Rather than once imposing my beliefs on others, as my church would have had me do years ago, I've slipped into a comfortable "live and let live" approach to people in the world. Rather than falling victim to propaganda, I find myself researching more and weighing the facts with critical analysis. Rather than allowing others to determine who I should be, I've taken their advice and the examples they've set and I've incorporated what I find valuable into my own system. And more recently, I've learned that things are not black and white. Finding myself in what I will aptly refer to as a Robin Hood Dilemma, I found myself violating some ethics and compromising my personal integrity (which I hold dear) in order to benefit a larger cause and help people who would otherwise be lost without it. Okay, so I'm still struggling to rationalize the last one to myself, but a minor lesson altered my viewpoints on life; exceptions must be made, lines must be blurred, and there is always a gray area that is never easy to land in or get out of.

A friend once asked "would you rather die young knowing your convictions or live to be 80 but always questioning who you are and what you believe in?" As an individual who has shed and rebuilt several convictions as epiphanies, information, and common sense arose, I can guarantee that being stripped of everything you once held dear and then trying to develop a new belief system and a sense of morality can be a dark and confusing time that leaves you blind and unsure of yourself. It's a hell no one should be condemned to, especially not for a lifetime. However, in this day and age when it seems society is polarizing to either lack of values or intense convictions, it seems to be a rare gift to have a comfortable, sound belief system, especially for young people. But morals and values, even on an individually subjective basis, is the backbone of society and the cornerstone for one's personal integrity. So get cooking, find what you stand for with a sprinkle of influence, a dash of common sense, a computer for research, and some bullshit repellent.

If Ignorance was Truly Bliss

There is not a day that goes by that we don't log onto the world wide web and stumble across a news story of some ill-fated characters who are being mistreated, terrorized, and even killed in today's society. Click onto Huffington Post's or any news site and you will be thrust into a whirlwind of horrific and heart-breaking stories: home foreclosures and unemployed America, pedophile priests and abusive parents, dying soldiers and civilians in war torn countries and freak mass shootings by 'extremists'. The perverse focus of modern day media on negativity has left many of us tainted with cynicism and a misanthropic outlook on the world and the many people in it. Is it any wonder we're losing heart in what seems to be a world destined for ruin? How can we shut out the dramatized reality every computer, TV, and newspaper spews out? Perhaps we could just chuck the media sources out the window, return to a simpler life; perhaps we should become Amish.

Years ago a study found that the Amish communities, in their simplistic and isolated society, were statistically significantly happier than the rest of us. Several psychologists and sociologists offered up their reasoning and rationales for the cause of this marked increase of bliss; a lack of conspicuous consumerism or possibly the ease of a less complicated and hurried lifestyle. But the most compelling evidence I had heard was that of absence of social media outlets. Having little to no access to the circus that is the nightly news, many of the more traditional Amish have successfully disconnected themselves from the outside world. Without stories of neighborhood shootings and robberies to strike fear into their hearts, without images of natural disasters and wars worlds away and all the victims that go hand in hand with such tragedies, without all the weight of the violence and hatred in the world bearing down on their shoulders, why shouldn't they be happier? They are, in essence, the ostrich with their heads in the sand.

There was a time when I, in seething protest of the foul manipulation of events and biased reporting, refused to watch the news. Refusing to partake in the brewing storm of scare tactics, refusing to allow two pixelated representations of emotionally disconnected human beings into my living room, I invested my attention elsewhere (usually in reruns of The Golden Girls, and who can be sad when the room is aglow with four saucy female senior citizens?). On the internet, I avoided the home pages of various servers who had the habit of posting headlines and streaming ticker tapes. And I found myself slightly more at peace in this brief hiatus. Without terrifying stories of muggings and rapes, I no longer tiptoed apprehensively through the shadows of my front yard at night. Without the disproportionate coverage of minority crimes, I no longer double-checked the minorities walking by on the sidewalk (yeah, being Mexican I was still checking the Mexicans). Without the countless tears of families and friends crying on camera over a fallen loved one, I was no longer feeling the bog of someone else’s devastation on my heart. Unfortunately, this peace was nothing more than a selfish escape from the real world, and while the Amish are happier, they and people like them are failing our society.

Too often we simply concern ourselves with our immediate environment, the people in our everyday lives, our family, our friends, and rarely give consideration to the others beyond our own little bubbles. The news media is our only window connecting us to the events and tragedies that befall our states, countries, continents, and our globe. Without these outlets, we would have never known of the Haiti earthquake or the Pakistani flooding. We would have never known of the decades-long Israeli-Palestinian conflict or that horrific crime against humanity, the Flotilla raid. We would have never known of the tragic shooting that took place in Arizona last week. And without this information, we never could have sent the millions of dollars in aid to natural disaster victims. We never could have lashed out in anger at the Israelis, consequently forcing them to ease off their blockade restrictions and allow the Palestinians some food. We never could have been inspired by the handful of heroic stories as good Samaritans rushed to the scene of the shooting to help whomever they could, in spite of being shot when trying to stop the gunman.

Despite the pain, frustration, and sadness that washes over us when these haunting images flash across the screen, it is human nature to empathize with the plight of our fellow man. It is our obligation to care for one another and help in any way we can. To reach beyond our boundaries, to force open our eyes to conquer our self-induced ignorance is our responsibility as global citizens. Excuse the forthcoming sap that will no doubt cue a Michael Jackson song somewhere, but we are one world, there can’t be divisions and isolation. People need help, and for those of us who are in countries far better off than the majority of the earth, where our worst days could be a utopia for a starving child in a third world nation, we must provide whatever assistance possible. But how can we know who needs help without the media? We cannot allow their blighted stories to destroy our well-being and our sense of security, but neither can we shut them off when the events they’re sharing can be made no more tragic than if we were standing there ourselves.

In my absence from the news media, I still continued to do my part the best I could. I ran a cancer fund for a few years, I donated my time to underprivileged children and juvenile delinquents, and even donated my money to endangered chimps in Tanzania (yeah they need money too, bananas don’t grow on trees, ya know…wait, they do? Crap…well played Miss Goodall, well played). But it wasn’t until I joined the ranks of that queen woman on YouTube that I felt I was a part of an initiative with a global impact, and being a part of that movement required me to dip back into the ongoing world events such as war, terrorism, and human suffering. Then, and only then, could we begin to fight it.

Turning your back on the world and averting your eyes from the pain of others may give you a sense of peace and happiness the rest of us are not afforded, but in the end, it is our consciences that will be cleared when we reach for our wallets, sacrifice some time from our schedules, or simply send out prayers and love to those across the state lines, across the oceans. So enjoy your bliss, Amish dudes, go till your soil and drive your wagons and try to forget us, but don’t forget, when tragedy struck you, we were there.

Separating Fat from Fiction

It is almost inevitable in any new year to walk down the street, turn on the TV, or gather around the water cooler and hear a stranger, an actor, or a coworker talking about the holiday pounds and whatever scheme they've cooked up to obliterate them. And let's face it, our hips and thighs are rarely safe in the last few months of every year with the endless parade of sweets, snacks, and, ahem, cocktails that marches through our offices and kitchens. Sadly though, I can't help but look at the people around me and think "what the hell are you complaining about?" While a few pesky pounds may have nestled comfortably on their abdomens, they are hardly noticeable, let alone worthy of a crash diet of tiny calories and psychotic carb-counting. Most fail to see that once returning to their previous lifestyle after the barrage of food, those little pounds will eventually fall off on their own. Most fail to see that there's nothing wrong with them in the first place.

The obsession of weight and beauty in pop culture today is not a novel one, but is growing ever more concerning as society begins to polarize, values are shifted, and the power of influence is won. Battles between activist groups and the media have ensued and results are sketchy to say the least. Italy banned too-thin models from their runways, hoping to reset the mode on the incredible shrinking shrews on the catwalks, but most models who couldn't find work there moved to France and New York, where such bans have yet to be placed. While there was marked outrage over an America's Next Top Model contestant whose waist was so small a judge could cup his hands around it, an incident which forced the show's creator Tyra Banks to issue a public apology, the model went on to take home the prize in the show. Celebrities speak out about being comfortable in their skin when the pounds are packed on, but immediately lose the weight in the face of criticism, (i.e. the martyr Jennifer Love Hewitt who viciously attacked the media for their comments on her cellulite before quickly slimming to a size 2). Magazines that even brag about healthy living and self-acceptance are slaves to the machine with ads and falsified photos. We are constantly pummeled with images of stick thin models and actresses, most of which are not even accurate images given the technology of retouching, but they nevertheless set the bar impossibly high and create societal standards of beauty no one could meet. But, we try, God help us we try, and with every failed attempt a piece of self-esteem withers and every mirror becomes our mortal enemy. The socially determined rules of beauty are a poison in our world, and it's trickling down to our children.

While our country is ranked as the second fattest in the world (we're down one from last year, thanks to our chubby friends south of the border, ole!), cases of eating disorders such as anorexia, bulimia, and other dangerous dieting habits are on the rise. Girls are dieting at younger ages, not under the careful supervision of a pediatrician or a nutritionist, but partaking in fad diets and pills that wreak havoc on their still-developing bodies. Believing that what they see in magazines, on TV, and in movies is what is expected of them, their minds are already warped before they're old enough to count the calories they're cutting. Not long ago my heart broke when I paid a compliment to my five year old cousin on a new pair of jeans and her response was "yeah they're nice but they're skinny jeans and I'm not skinny". Where does a five year old even hear the concept of being skinny or not? Though we usually blame the media, we forget the power of our own influence on our children: a conversation overheard from mom, aunts, cousins who constantly complain about their own weight are indirectly teaching their children that there are guidelines of personal image to adhere to, that they are not good enough on their own.

A child of such a situation, I've struggled greatly with my weight throughout my life. Though I was active in soccer, gymnastics, and dance as a child, genetics were not on my side. My mother was more mindful of our foods. We were not allowed the popular sugar drinks and snacks that my friends were fortunate enough to have in their lunches, but comments were made such as "do you really need another helping?" and my esteem slowly sank. I began my own line of fad diets when I was just nine, the first being Slim Fast, followed by a week long stint of pure vegetable soup and protein shakes, and eventually just starving myself. As I got older, my problem became poor eating and a sedentary lifestyle, and I got heavier. Comments evolved into "you would be so pretty if you lose that weight", or "you'll never get a boyfriend looking like that". Though I've dropped a good 40 pounds since high school, (yes I was that big), I'm still overweight and struggle with my self-esteem, avoiding most pictures for fear of a sneaky double chin sticking out or a bad angle of a flabby arm that spreads like a damn wing when you allow it to rest at your side. It's a work in progress, and I've had to work to shut out the world and their rules in order to begin to accept myself as I am, gingerbread, muffin top, and cottage cheese thighs altogether.

The media, in its own way, has tried to make amends. To the overwhelming joy of the general public, Glamour magazine published a photo of a nude plus-sized model (above) who seemed to be perfectly happy with the state of her body and was by all accounts quite beautiful; though I have to admit even with her little roll on her tummy she does not qualify as plus-sized in my book. RuPaul has a television show that encourages self-acceptance and self-love rather than changing to find that love. And model Isabelle Caro, who struggled with severe anorexia, used her influence for good and posed in several photo shoots and on billboards in a global anti-anorexia campaign. Regrettably, she passed away in November from complications of her illness, but even in death her life can be used as a resounding example of the dangers our obsession with weight can drive us into. Unfortunately, in spite of its best (non, mediocre) efforts, for every liberating photo and show, and every warning on a single billboard, the media spews out millions of contradicting images right alongside them in the magazines, on television, and on the dozens of other billboards that follow on the highway.

We know it, we hear it every day, and we see it on the internet, thanks to the paparazzi and tech-hounds who uncover unflattering negatives of photo shoots before our beloved celebrities and models are fixed up. This perverse ideation is a perpetual fantasy, a disastrous dream that corrodes our very well-being. So why can't our eyes see what our minds already know? Why can't we throw up that lovely middle finger to the press and go on about our lives happy, loving who we are, cherishing the beauty we have, and enjoying our cuisine and wine? I'm not saying we should throw healthy eating and exercise to the wayside, it's important to get your ass off the couch and move, and for God's sake, eat an apple once in awhile. But, don't starve yourself, don't hate yourself in that moment of weakness when you give in to temptation (or a boss that throws awesome paninis in your face), and don't obsess over those holiday pounds. Skeletons are out. Enjoy your extra fluff, believe me, it actually looks pretty damn hot on you.

To the Sound of Trumpets

Nine years. For nine years we have been fighting this supposed war on terror in Afghanistan and Iraq. For nine years we have been losing our soldiers, losing our money, losing face to the rest of the world. For nine years we have been terrorizing the innocent people of these countries trying to find a multitude of rats in bunkers, mountains, and deserts. And after nine years of killing what is estimated to be hundreds of thousands of civilians, sometimes mistakenly, sometimes intentionally, the army is finally realizing that our soldiers are not well.

Today, Peter Chiarelli, a top army official, argued that soldiers need more time at home in between deployments in order to recuperate before being shipped back to the front lines. They usually get a year off for a year's deployment, with a minor break in between lasting about two weeks, almost like a typical job we have here at home. Of course, we don't spend the year killing and trying not to be killed. And if a year off hardly seems sufficient to piece together their shattered nerves, it's not, which is being proven time and time again.

The toll of this war is turning our weather-beaten soldiers into cold-hearted psychotic killing machines, as first evidenced by a 2007 video leaked by Wikileaks showing trigger happy soldiers celebrating the accidental killings of four civilians. Carrying cellphones and cameras that were somehow mistaken for AK-47s and grenades (yeah, I don't get it either), the soldiers opened fire amidst cheers and trash talking like they were playing a Wii game on their living room couches. They laughed as one body was mangled by a tank that ran over it, and opened fire on another group of civilians trying to rescue a survivor, riddling their van with bullets and hitting two small girls inside. The sudden realization of the children's presence yielded the icy response, "that's what happens when you bring kids into a warzone". Another incident is a highly publicized criminal proceeding where a number of soldiers killed innocent civilians and kept body parts as souvenirs, and a more recent trial has come to light after a soldier admitted to raping a 14 year old Iraqi girl and killing her and her family because he "didn't think of Iraqis as humans".

The outrage that these attacks have elicited from the world and from me is almost immeasurable, and it's so easy to point fingers, to curse and spit and damn them to Hell, but are we pointing the fingers at the right people? Thrust into an establishment that has only recently encouraged soldiers to seek mental health services (despite existing threats of dishonorable discharges and labels of weakness), fighting for a government that worries more about how many soldiers are killing others than about soldiers who kill themselves when they return home, and having the Us versus Them mentality hammered into their heads every waking moment of every day, it's amazing these men and women last as long as they do.

In Lt. Col. Dave Grossman's book, On Killing, he discusses the multiple psychological casualties of war which, from the civil war to the present, haven't changed much despite developing technologies and the abandonment of guerrilla and trench warfare. Fighting fatigue, many soldiers fall into confusional states of dissociation where they depersonalize from their environment and can suffer from manic-depressive episodes. A prominent syndrome of the state is that of Ganzer, where the soldier will become silly and make jokes, trying to ward off the horrors of war, but in a delusional state that is overwhelmingly morbid. One such soldier fighting in the Korean war had retrieved the severed arm of a North Korean soldier, using it as a puppetry prop. He carried it around waving it in other soldiers' faces, calling it Herbert, and even pretending to pick his nose with one of the fingers. Sadly, this psychotic behavior did not land him safely in a mental ward, but on a double shift of guard duty, and today, only when this behavior becomes deadly such as in killing civilians and keeping "souvenirs" does it warrant attention. The dissociative properties of the confusional state also account for the dehumanization of victims that makes it easier for soldiers to kill, whether it be their targeted enemy, or innocent camera toting civilians and adolescents.

Given the prolonged time periods of service, multiple deployments, watching strangers die, watching friends die, and a war that has actually gotten worse, it's no wonder these people are losing their minds. Many war vets throughout history have come home to PTSD, drug and alcohol abuse, destroyed personal lives and obliterated mental health. Nowadays, they develop these issues before leaving their barracks. Swank and Marchand (1946) found that after 60 days of continuous combat, 98% of soldiers became psychiatric casualties. The other 2% escaped the fate only because they were found to already be unstable with "aggressive psychopathic personalities" (did I really just do an APA citation in my freakin' blog? What have you done to me grad school?!). So with our soldiers serving upwards of 90 days of continuous combat and no sign of our government slowing this fight, we will no doubt have many more horror stories of murder, torture, and mind-numbing stomach-churning morbidity to come.

But it is important to keep in mind, however, that these soldiers were not sick to begin with. These are not deranged antisocial personalities who come into the army with the perverse desire to kill. Romanced by promises of honor and the idea of serving their country and saving another, the harsh reality of war hits hard, and, disillusioned, their better judgment and morals dissipate in favor of basic survival needs and paranoid delusions about who their enemies are and how to deal with them. War makes people crazy, then we give them a small vacation and ask them to come back and do it again. And again. Then possibly once more. So no, Mr. Chiarelli, they don't need more time off, they need this war to be over. They need to come home. They need aftercare, they need therapy.

Voltaire once wrote "it is forbidden to kill, and therefore all murderers are punished unless they kill in large numbers and to the sound of trumpets". Likewise it seems appropriate to write that all psychotics are locked away to protect society, unless they're zipped into fatigues, then they're given guns and asked to serve their country.

Side note: I can't write a blog about the army without at least mentioning our small triumph of the repeal of Don't Ask Don't Tell, but in spite of the success, I can only say to you now, dear gaybugs, stay home, not every right we're afforded needs to be exercised.

Moments Fleeting, Time Lost, Chances Missed

So we're smack-dab in the middle of the holiday season, amidst bustling Christmas shoppers, tree farms, and co-workers who bring in a hoard of sweets under the guise of being friendly when in fact they're snickering behind your back because they know that cheesecake is going on your thighs, not theirs (seriously guys, enough is enough). But as we hurry from point A to point B and zip through the weeks, sweeping aside various everyday tasks that seem menial in comparison to our ever-growing to-do list, how often do we really stop and think about the things we're missing? More specifically, the people in our lives?

Now I know that over the years this resounding message seems more like beating a dead horse than an inspirational note moving us to pick up the phone or write a letter, but stay with me on this. Tonight, in my last official class of my Master's Program, my professor shared with us a personal devastating story. Her neighbor, a war vet with PTSD who had a history of suicidal depression and alcoholism had taken his own life last week. Now my professor had gone the extra mile over the years, providing emotional support, checking in on him, sending him birthday and holiday baskets, food for Thanksgiving, whatever he needed, whatever she could give. However, last week, she wasn't well, in bed with a long-term migraine, feeling physically ill, and she took a moment for herself. It wasn't until she got out of bed one morning, head still aching, that she heard the ominous hum of an idling engine outside her house. Peeking through the kitchen curtain, she found a fire engine and four police squad cars lining her street, and her heart stopped. She knew, without having to ask, what had happened. Her mind flipped back through the past week or so, every moment that she thought to stop by and every time she said, "I'm just too busy to talk to him today." And that guilt, by my own observation, is taking it's toll on her.

First let me clarify, I do not slight this woman in the least. She has extended and over-extended herself for this individual and really had tried to save this broken soul by giving all the love and care she had. Life happens, we get busy sometimes, and unfortunately things get passed up. However, far too many times the rest of us brush people aside without having the track record this woman brought to the table. How many times have we said "tomorrow", or "maybe next week", or "I really need to call/write/email him", and never got around to it? How many times have we thought "I simply don't have the time"?

I have to own it, as my life has gotten more hectic with school, work, internship, and all the time I've invested in just going nuts, I have neglected some people: a cousin I used to speak with almost every week, my dad whom I really only speak to once a month or so, my grandparents whom I keep saying I'll take out to lunch, but have yet to get around to it, and friends that have faded into the background as my once idle and uneventful life takes wing. But it's no excuse, because everywhere we look, we see people, read articles, hear stories of sudden and unexpected loss and pass up the lessons unlearned until it happens to us. Moments that should've been are gone, hopes for memories that were never made have dissipated, and all we have is the "should have, could have, would have if only I had the time" that won't bring our loved ones back.

And, in these trying times when we can all use a shoulder to cry on, a sympathetic ear, or just a hug, we need to take time for one another; to prevent more tragedies, to stop someone from picking up a gun and turning it on themselves, or worse yet, turning it on everyone else, to heal some wounds or at the very least, alleviate some pain. Most importantly, to let people know that they are loved, that they're on your mind, and in your heart.

So get cracking. Make your To-Call list, and hit up some people who haven't heard from you in awhile, or call up some people you may have spoken to yesterday, but this time just to say hi rather than ask for a favor. Write a letter, write an email, hell, write a text message! Despite arguments of technology making social exchanges more superficial and impersonal, let's face it, a text message says so much more than a phone that doesn't ring or a letter that never comes. And while you're at it, give a friendly smile to a stranger at the mall, start a little conversation when you're waiting in those long lines at the cashier, connect to someone new. It might just change their whole day, and you'll feel better for it.