Every time I see a tragedy like Columbine, or Newtown, or Aurora, I am saddened for the victims and their families, of course. I am terrified for the state of our society that the frequency of these tragedies seem to be increasing. I am also thankful, though, as I see these tragedies and see the killers and their victims splashed across the screen. I’m very thankful that my parents did not believe in keeping guns in the house, and I’m very thankful that I did not have easy access to a firearm when I was in high school, because I have no doubt that I would have been one of those killers, and knowing that fact haunts me, especially when one of these tragedies hits the news.

Before I go into my past, I will say that I’m currently in my 40s, with a great, stable job and a loving family. I’m a military veteran who served during desert storm and left service with an honorable discharge. I have no mental health issues and no violent tendencies at all, I have a lot of friends, and I have a great, enjoyable life – ideal in many ways. I also enjoy shooting guns recreationally with friends on occasion – I do not consider myself ‘pro’ or ‘anti’ gun, but I’d like to think I am pro common sense.

Now why do I think – no, why do I KNOW – that if I had the opportunity I would have been a school shooter? There’s a lot to that, to be honest, and memories change over two plus decades, but there are threads that are still there, incidents and small tragedies in my life during that time period that will never leave me.

I was unpopular, like many of these shooters, and I was constantly bullied and picked on for everything from my home-haircuts to my off-brand (Toughskin) jeans. I tried fitting in with the different cliques, like the metal heads and the jocks and the geeks, but I was never able to pull it off. I was perpetually unhappy, an outcast, and I’m pretty sure I was dealing with some mental health issues the whole time, but my parents were not wealthy and were raising a family of six on under $20K a year, so I was never diagnosed with anything – I was just really unhappy. It got to the point where I was suicidal, and tried to cut my wrists – I chickened out, thankfully, leaving myself with only superficial cuts – but even at that point nobody noticed me, nobody reached out to help. I didn’t know what to do, I didn’t have anybody to talk to, and I didn’t have any release. And then I found a book.

I loved reading, I loved to lose myself in books, mostly science fiction and horror. Midway through high school, I found the Stephen King story ‘Apt Pupil’ – a story about a student who uncovered a former nazi and who later goes on a shooting rampage. I became fixated first with nazis, and then with the idea of the shooting rampage. I was fixated on it more than I care to admit, imagining both the revenge I wanted against the other students who humiliated and taunted me, as well as the fame it would certainly bring me. I imagined that I would go from ‘the geeky kid that nobody knew was there’ to the name on everyone’s lips, in all the newspapers. I imagined walking into the school with pistols – always semi automatic pistols – and I would get up close and personal to Danny, and Jeff, and Mr. T my history teacher who always picked on me and degraded me in front of the class. I imagined pulling the trigger, seeing the blood, hearing the screams. Sometimes I imagined falling to a hail of police bullets, and sometimes I imagined I was captured and sneered defiantly into the TV cameras, an instant and terrible rock star. Most of all, I imagined that fame. I imagined that everyone would know my name, that I would go down in history like Manson. It was so real I could taste it.

I couldn’t get my hands on a gun, though. As I said, my parents were not into guns, and we lived in a very safe, very quiet suburban neighborhood. We didn’t even lock our doors. I tried to get my hands on a gun – I tried hard. I tried to talk my parents into getting a pistol for home protection, but they didn’t have the money or the interest. I tried finding someone at school who had one they would sell me, but I had no friends or contacts like that. I even tried to steal one from a local gun shop, but they were all locked up and the manager kicked me out when he realized I didn’t have a responsible adult with me. I tried everything I could, but the best I could do was a pellet gun, and after a few shots into cans and Styrofoam I quickly realized that wouldn’t do the trick.

It’s very sobering and emotional to write all this and to realize how close I was to making a very, very serious mistake that could have ended many lives. It’s also sobering to understand how similar I was to some of these shooters today. Misunderstood, bullied, ignored at school and at home. That idea of fame, of infamy – it’s still there, and it seems stronger than ever today. If a teenager thinks they’ll never amount to anything and everything seems hopeless, the constant 24/7 news coverage of these school shooters can actually look tempting. It’s a sick – but very real – form of celebrity. You can still buy Charles Manson and Trench Coat Mafia t-shirts, after all…

I got over my issues, of course. I grew up and got my head together and my obsession with death and shootings and nazis went away. I got into The Grateful Dead and Jack Kerouac and I finally made some friends and, eventually, things got better. Thankfully, luckily, I never hurt anyone – but only because I never got the opportunity, and it certainly was not for lack of trying.

So what’s the moral of my story? Well I guess the first one is that no matter how bad things get in high school – or any situation – taking a life is never a solution. That seems obvious, but with all the shootings that keep happening I guess not everyone got the message. Things will get better, no matter how bad they seem, and being a mass-murderer is not the kind of fame you want.

As far a guns – again, I’m not pro or anti, but I also know for a fact that if I had had easy access to any lethal firearm while I was in high school, I would have used it to kill people – a whole list of people. As many as I could. And in my youthful ignorance, I would have reveled in the infamy – assuming I had survived. My message to anyone who owns guns and has kids – even supposedly well balanced, responsible kids – is keep them locked up, keep them out of reach, keep them away from your kids. Please. Maybe keeping your legally owned guns away from your kids won’t prevent every school shooting – but I know it prevented at least one, and for that I am truly thankful.