Identity

A year ago in the early hours of a Thursday morning I woke up to many missed calls, texts, and Facebook notifications from concerned friends and family checking to see if I was at Borderline the previous night, as I had been nearly every other Wednesday night since College Night started.

I wasn't. Jake and I had been invited to the Bumblebee premiere and I chose to attend that event instead, thankfully, seeing as that was the night an armed man entered the building - our home - and killed 12 innocent people - our family. 

I struggle a lot with my feelings about the shooting. Considering I wasn't there, I feel a lot of guilt that this tragedy rocked me as hard as it did. But this place was my home, these people my friends and I felt and still feel their pain so intensely. 

Borderline gave me a space to express myself. To let loose and dance out the stresses of the day. And I did, 3 nights a week for nearly 10 years. Line dancing had become part of my identity. It was the 'fun fact' I shared about myself during ice breakers. I wore holes in the soles of several pairs of silver sequin Toms (because everyone knows I can't actually dance in boots) spinning circles around that dance floor. It was my safe space. Sometimes I went with my mom, other times my friends, but mostly I went alone. Just me and that dance floor surrounded by people having fun. People who loved each other. 

I turned 18 on that dance floor. Then I turned 20 and shared my first kiss with my now husband in that parking lot. 21 came and I danced with my daddy to a song he wrote and recorded for me to be played in my special place. Suddenly, I was 26 and celebrated my bachelorette with all of my favorite girls. These moments, these memories, growing up..it all happened at Borderline.

And now it's gone. Taken by some man I don't know committing an act of evil I still can't comprehend. I lost a little bit of my identity that day. I miss dancing. I miss witnessing the love and friendships on the dance floor. I miss that stupid piece of missing floor I would inevitably trip on. I miss my home. 

Today, I take a little of that back. I commit to finding that piece of myself again. It's raw and it hurts and it's hard - even a little scary, but I won't let evil win.

To everyone who has been there to help me shoulder some of this pain and heartache, thank you. To anyone else who feels alone and needs help carrying your load, I'm here. I don't care who you are or how little you know me, I will help you and I will love you and we will overcome this together. We are Borderline Strong.

Britni S.