There but for the grace of God. . .

It pains me everytime that the issue of mental illness comes up with regards to a shooter in a violent crime.  This last week it hit close to home, literally, as a gunman opened fire on two officers just a few blocks from our home.  The officers were both struck twice, though will recover fully.  The gunman was killed in the exchange of fire.

It is reported that he was a depressed and deeply troubled young man.  He had gotten ahold of his grandfather's gun, and his erratic behavior raised the concern of  his family, who called 911.  The arrival of the law enforcement officers triggered a flurry of gunfire.  Two wounded.  One dead.  Its not the way interventions are supposed to go.

My psychologist related yesterday that law enforcement personnel frequently intervene in such situations, and the vast majority of times are able to successfully bring in the person for treatment.

And yet I do find myself wondering if it wouldn't be better to respond first with EMTs or some other personnel than uniformed (and armed) police officers.  I am convinced that in some situations the mere presence of law enforcement can escalate a situation to the point where everything is out of control.

This much I know from my personal experience.  Brain chemistry matters.  And alcohol is certainly no help.

And probably most concerning of all is the reality that there is often an anger lying deep within one who has struggled with mental illness.  "Depression is anger turned inward." is one statement I've heard.  The isolation one experiences during mental illness, the lack of understanding, perceived or real, and the sense that it's "me against the world" can all lead to a deep well of anger within.

Rage.  A violent uncontrolled anger.  I've felt it.  I've struggled against it.  And in my darkest moment I nearly died trying to drowned it in a bottle of Scotch.  That night in particular, in the midst of all the ugliness and rage, grace abounded.  Karla kept her distance, yet didn't abandon me though she had every reason to.  A moment of sanity during a prior episode of drinking a few months earlier had resulted in my requesting my dearest friends to remove the guns from my home.

Rage is never the result of an isolated incident.  A lifetime of internalizing emotions, of seeking to silence the beast, results in a pressure cooker welling up inside one's soul.  It was only a matter of time.  My best friend was also my worst enemy.  I had been guilty of trying to drink the anger away for too long, because it never goes away.  And yet when you feel that rage within you are frightened.  There's not much one can do to remedy it, except for 'nature's cure' as I called it.

What would have happened had those nearest and dearest to me called in the wrong type of help in that moment?  It felt as though the whole world was an adversary, a threat, and that I had to mount my defenses against the onslaught.  Desperation.  Ironically, my drinking that night, though it nearly killed me, at least rendered me impotent after a while.  I went from a raging beast to a passed out drunk.  The latter was easier to help, in the end.  No police required.  Just my wife.  Some friends.  A bishop.  A psychiatrist.  And admission the next day to the hospital.

The rage continued for a few more days until I was broken down.  God intervened.

I'm deeply concerned about the widespread presence of guns in our society for good, personal reasons.  It would have been too easy.  It would have been too easy to turn a gun against myself.  It would have been too easy to pick up the weapon in a valiant, though insane, effort to defeat the perceived adversaries.

I don't know how I would have responded if I had answered the doorbell, packing heat, and discovered the police outside.  I simply don't know.  A raging bull is hard to predict.

What I do know is that I needed medical and psychiatric intervention, in addition to chemical dependency treatment. .  . and I needed it now.  I had been calling for help.  My bishop was the one who had first responded, actually, the day before.  I wish I had calmed down then, but the crisis did not abate at that point.

In hindsight, one of the things that still amazes me is the amount of time a psychiatrist in Seattle gave the following day as he arranged for my admission to a treatment center.  I had seen him previously so I was a patient.  But clearly he recognized that this was not a time to schedule a future appointment.  The healthcare system did not fail me during that moment.  I got the help I needed, even though I didn't fully want it.

Back to our shooter.  He didn't.  A gun.  Two police officers who he obviously thought a threat to him.  Two wounded, and one dead.

There but for the grace of God, go I.  There but for the grace of God, go I.

It didn't have to end like that.  In my case, a different script played out. Would that it was always so.  Would that it was always so.