First I feel numb. I can’t believe that just happened. She was a freshman. She was young. I just saw her earlier. Then all I feel is pain and sadness and frustration and irrational anger.

I walk back to my dorm. How did it happen? Why did it have to be her? How can it be true? I hear so many people around me crying and asking each other the same questions I’m asking myself.

I sit out in the ten degree cold and cry. The cold helps. It numbs the pain. My physical discomfort takes away from my mental pain.

I call my family. They help, remind me that I’m not alone. They offer me words of comfort as well as attempts at distraction. My brother tells me how work was, my mom tells me that everything will be alright.

I go back inside. I lie with my roommate for a while, both of us offering each other support. It helps a bit. My head placed on her chest where I can hear her heartbeat and be reminded that she is solid and real and with me and most importantly, alive.

I turn to reading and Netflix after that. They drown out the pain for a short time, but I know from experience that it is only a temporary fix. It is only putting a bandaid over a gunshot. I know that eventually all the pain will come rushing back.

After those cease to work I start writing this, I write my pain and frustration and grief. My pain is contained. It feels smaller now. More distant. I know, however, that the second something reminds me of what happened everything will come rushing back. The pain will return, but eventually I’ll be able to live with it.