But Why Guns?

Okay, to clarify, as I realized I might never have done so:

I am working on my comfort around and with guns. Why? Because I noticed how utterly uncomfortable and incapable I was with them. Let me explain.

***Note: If you don’t want spoilers for Fifty Shades of Grey, don’t read the following.***

When I read the Fifty Shades of Grey books – yes, I read them eventually, and as audiobooks… not sure I could have continued reading if I’d been reading them as text! – I eventually got to the part where Anna opens Christian’s desk drawer and finds a gun sitting there. Her immediate reaction is that she proceeds to pick up the gun, she checks if it’s loaded, and then she sets it back down in the drawer. At no point does she express any nerves or unease at doing any of this. Her only thoughts are of why he might have the gun in the first place, as it surprised her to find one in his desk drawer.

Initially, I was panicking. I felt like some accident would ensue from her unintentionally mishandling the firearm. But then I remembered that her stepdad, who helped raise her, was a military man who had taught her everything he knew how to do. So, she likely had grown up knowing guns very well and using them comfortably and with ease. She wasn’t being unsafe by picking up this handgun. She was actually been even safer than Christian had likely been with the gun, as she truly knew what she was doing with it and how to handle it safely.

I was awed. When I thought about it, I was certain that I could not have done what she had done – check if it was loaded – even though that was about as simple as it gets with firearms. If I ever were to come across a gun or, God forbid, please, have to fight one away from an attacker, I wouldn’t even know how to pick it up and know that it wouldn’t fire as soon as I touched it. I knew not to touch the trigger itself, but that’s about all I knew. I couldn’t even turn a weapon in to the police if I crossed one. So, how would I make sure no one else came across it on accident, if I didn’t even know how to pick it up and unload it? And, God forbid, if someone were to attack and have a gun, if the gun got loose, how I could pick it up safely and keep it away from the perpetrator, let alone use it for defense, if needed?

What’s more, later in the book, she actually carries the gun with her, fully concealed, and then saves her own life by using it at the right time as she is being attacked by a man who means, likely, to kill her.

My mind was doubly blown by that part, especially considering we the readers don’t even know she has it until she draws it… I think, anyway… Nonetheless, this again brought up that I wouldn’t even know how to go about any single part of that whole scenario, let alone the whole thing. In addition to everything else about it, I just kept wondering how on Earth she knew she wouldn’t accidentally get shot with the gun in her waistband…

This determined for me that I knew too little about firearms and weapons handling.

And, for whatever reason, this weighed heavily on me for years after reading the book. Eventually, I knew I had to do something about it, and somewhat soon.

Last year, I had the opportunity for someone, in the comfort of a home, to show me how to take apart a semi-automatic handgun – think of the most typical black handgun you can imagine, and that’s what that means – and to guide me to do it all myself and put it all back together myself, including unloading and loading each bullet into the magazine.

Once I finished it all, I set the weapon down on the counter and declared I was finished for the day. The weapon was put away directly, and we raked some more about what all we had just done and discussed. It was absolutely terrifying for me, but extremely informative and good for me to do. Talk about having courage… courage was what got me through it all, along with the grace of God. This was important to me to learn – truly learning and getting to know something removes a great deal of fear from it, as history has shown us often, especially with peoples*.

I went through a similar thing with makeup. Once I learned how to do all the fancy stuff – and I do mean all of it – and I was comfortable with it all, I no longer was afraid of wearing make-up. Sure, I actually wear make-up even less now than before all of that, but I have no anxiety around make-up anymore. And I truly only wear it when I want to wear it. And I can pick it up on the fly and do it easily, every time. Basically, that’s how I want to be with guns. I’m not trying to become a competitive shooter and gun-hoarder for any zombie apocalypse or anything. I just want to be able, should the need ever arise, to handle and, if needed, use a firearm both safely and effectively.

Thus my reasons for working on my relationship with guns. I highly encourage everyone to lean into those intense fears that could change your life for the better, let alone possibly save it one day. I believe that, when we learn about what we fear, we have the potential to transform for the better the world that we face every day.

*Yes, I mean that plural use exactly as I wrote it.

Lessons and Tears

Today, I learned a lot about guns. I’ve wanted to learn as much as I could for many years now, but I never really had anyone nearby who was reliable in helping me to that. However, my man is of the hunting variety, and has connections with people who’s re very much in the know about guns. So, today, I took a class on guns.

It was, basically, all day, but it included lessons on the guns and things about and around them, as well as actual time shooting guns at a gun range. I was mostly totally okay for the lesson parts in the classroom. I had, obviously, some research ahead of time to familiarize myself with the general information that might be covered. I had studied more than we covered specifically, but it was a perfect foundation for understanding what was taught in the lesson.

We had a little quiz/test at the end of the lessons to test our grasp of the material. Without using any notes at all, I scored confidently a 100% on the test. I like to know my material, and I did.

However, things took a turn once we were at the range itself. As the others started taking out handgun after handgun, picking them up and setting them down again on this wooden table at our area – all unloaded and taken apart, of course – I started to grow increasingly nervous. Within maybe five to seven minutes, I was standing back from the group, full-on crying. Quietly, but crying, nonetheless.

My man tried to comfort me physically with touch, which is usually the go-to way to comfort me. However, something about the whole situation had me not want to be touched… at all. It doesn’t happen often, but, when it does, I seriously do not want to be touched or crowded in any way. I feel almost claustrophobic if anyone tried to touch me or get too close to me in these times. Today was one of these times. My man asked how he could support me – great job, honey! – and I told him just not to touch me and to let me be, away from abetting, him included. He allowed it, though clearly still concerned for me, and went back to the gun table fun. (Think little kids all showing off their cool TechDecks or Hot Wheels…)

When the instructor saw me, he very easily and, obviously, knowledgeably stated that I was nervous, with the edge of a question on the end. I nodded. “Okay, you and I are gonna go work on this together, all on our own, away from everyone else, okay?” I nodded, as a new wave of tears began to pour out freely. He told me he’d do the one thing with the first group first, then would work one-on-one with me. I nodded more.

Once the tears started, I just allowed myself to feel the feelings coursing through my veins. I never fought it, tried to hold it back. I just let it be, allowed it to express itself.

The instructor had me help load magazines for the guns, using this cool little tool that makes it a million times easier than doing it just with one’s fingers alone. That way, I got to be nearby for the shooting, and could see the drill he was having us all do, but didn’t have to do it myself yet. And I got to grow more comfortable with the guns simply by doing the simple activity of loading the magazines.

I had to step away, though, when the firing started. It amazed me how freaked out and panicked I was. I looked into the panic.

It was an outdoor range without any dividers in our specific area – just single barrels to ‘define’ the lanes. Was it that?

A little bit. But it wasn’t enough for my level of panic. So, what else?

Eventually, a thought popped up, and I began to see very clearly what was going on for me.

*****Warning: very sad material is about to follow. I am safe and well, but this is sadness from my past. You have been warned.*****

On Christmas Eve, many years ago, my uncle shot and killed himself, intentionally. It was unexpected on every level for me, and the delivery method and manner of the news didn’t help anything for me. This uncle was my godfather. Yes, he had been dealing with alcoholism in a bad way lately, the previous few years or so, and had even divorced because of it. But he was still a man whom I loved and respected, who had taught me many things and whom I had always longed to impress with all I learned. He never needed to be impressed, which was probably why I so wanted to do it. He was great… when he was himself. Alcoholism can truly remove a person from the world, however, long before his or her conscious body leaves this world. He was certainly progressing on that path. But I still loved him.

Now, back to the class.

Seeing the guns, seeing so many moving hands and parts all at once – despite it all being done to the book and as safely as possible – really got me thinking about that incident for my uncle. I got a little lost in the swirl of thoughts and brain patterns that could lead a person to choosing that as a path, as well as the ones that then actually pursued such a path. Even now, it hurts so much just to say this, though I’m somewhat avoiding going any deeper than my words right now. Anyway, it really got to me there at the range.

When a rifle was pulled out, I noticed that I felt little fear, almost a feeling of ease around it. Okay, I thought, so guns don’t necessarily terrify me into a panic by being guns. Handguns, however, do.

When I talked with my mom about it later, I was describing the different feeling between using two different handguns. One was heavy and reliably helped people hit their target consistently. The other was smaller and lighter, but still roughly the average size of a handgun. The smaller, I told her, filled me with much more ease when I used it, though it was quite so easy to hit the target precisely. It felt like a gun to me. The larger, however, could only be described by my head as, “a (definitive) killing device”. It was funny how the thoughts were so different, and the corresponding feelings were so strong yet clear. Guns themselves aren’t petrifying for me. But certain ones – the killing device-type ones – are.

Our instructor mentioned a man who has a pink handgun. Perhaps, if I ever want to get a gun, I might get something like that. The typical black handgun can be really rough for me…

And so, after trying the both handguns with a lot of coaching and near-constant crying, I used the smaller one to do the actual exercise he’d intended for us all to do.

For one thing, I cried almost the whole time. For another, I somehow got the crazy luck of the draw today that the casings from the person to my left kept hitting me. Never hard or anything, but, boy, were they a definite surprise while I was aiming on focusing my breathing to shoot effectively myself. In addition to those two factors, my hands were shaking almost constantly.

What’s more, my eyes, as they cried a bunch, struggled to hold focus. They kept doing their, ‘Hey, I don’t really feel like working right now,’ thing, making me have to work extra hard to get them to focus back. Usually, it takes a second or two to get them back focused when they decide to relax. However, the exercise was intended to be with time limits on each round or set of rounds. It took a lot in the pre-practice I did with the instructor just to fire more than once in a row without putting down the gun and shaking all over while crying some more.

And, finally, my hands kept sweating up a storm, and my glasses would fog in if I had them too far against my face.

Despite all of this, the instructor said afterward that I didn’t an amazing job. And he wasn’t being generous. I have a whole – there were two, both very much alike with their hole locations, but I only kept the second – target sheet of a person who had clearly been gutted and shattered in the center torso by my shots. I had a total of four shots that didn’t hit right in the center area, and they were when I moved back to farther distances to shoot. Out of roughly a hundred+ rounds fired, only four weren’t in the target tires area. Even the other four, though, were still very clearly on the target’s body, just not properly centered like the rest.

I’d say I was blown away by how well I did, but I guess that was more the targets… 😛

The final gun I shot was a really cool, really light one, and it had much smaller bullets than the 9mm guns had used. I actually really enjoyed shooting that one. The kickback wasn’t so scary, nor was the bang, and it was great. Granted, this one actually burned my finger. However, it was pennies compared to how great and comfortable I felt using it as a whole. Plus, this one was green(!). I shot well with that one, too, but I didn’t have an official target, and so attacked one of the extra backstop signs, the letter O, using it as a target, as well as a small bit of bluebonnets on the sign. It was great. I kind of destroyed them both, really.

The instructor told me that it happens every so often, that someone will cry when learning to shoot. It he was proud of me for how I stayed calm and just kept going. He also commended me for the fact that, even though casings kept flying on my way, even hitting me multiple times while shooting, I never once reacted dangerously. I always remained calm – shaking and crying aside, of course – and stayed focused on what I was doing. Any time I had to pause my shooting, from getting hit in the face or hand or whatever, I always kept the gun pointed perfectly down-range and downward – I never turned it in a dangerous direction… not even a little bit.

So, suffice it to say that I am so glad and grateful that I went to this today and that my man got me connected there. The instructor invited us to go shooting with him and his daughter when they go monthly to a certain range, and I accepted the offer. I told him that I am still terrified, but that I want to keep going with it all.

Yes, it was a very good day, tears and all.

Thank you, God. And thank you for the blessing in my childhood that was Uncle B—. Thank you for that love, for exactly as much as it lasted. And thank you for helping me grow through the pains. Please, bless those who helped us in the class today. Give them comfort, grace, and ease, through your love. In your name, I pray. Amen.

Post-a-day 2022

Dear Goodness, really??

I’ve noticed that I have been having trouble getting myself to go to bed recently.  I realized only just now that it is in large part due to my fear of roaches.  I’ve been housesitting, and there have been at least ten roaches with which I’ve had to deal over the past week-ish (not to mention the surprise flea infestation).  Talk about panic and paranoia taking over, I’ve been a sort of total mess this past week.  When I opened the door to bring something out to my mom this evening, a roach came rushing inside, and I screamed and broke almost instantly into tears.  I could barely speak, as I finished handing my mom the stuff, and headed back inside to deal with the bug.  It’s just not my cup of tea, so to speak, managing such a thing.  Quite frankly, I almost wish that I lived in a hermetically sealed box – at least then I would have clean air flow and no bugs, since it would be magical and all.

Sigh… now, that would be nice…

Anyway, my mom thinks that there is something that the world has been aiming to impart to me through this dreadful bag of events thrown at me this past week+.  I am inclined to see it so, too, though I’m not too sure yet as to what is being imparted to me.   Perhaps it has been something to the effect of being able to appreciate what I already have in life, or to show that even I can survive what I personally consider to be some of the most dreadful circumstances in life, and, therefore, I really can survive life as a whole (something which has genuinely concerned me at times).  Perhaps it is to be a sort of starting block for me to want something more for myself, as I see more and more clearly what sorts of things are important to me in my everyday life.  One thing is for sure: Living in town doesn’t matter much, if I don’t have friends and I don’t have activities in which I am involved.  I’m still on my own all day long, and it sucks just about as much in town as it does in the suburbs.

Yeah…

Post-a-day 2018