9/11/08
Yesterday was the first September 11th that I can think of, since that day in 2001, that I know I felt pretty OK.
I did not have any friends or relatives who died that day. I was not in Manhattan, near the Pentagon or Washington, DC. I did not know anybody who was.
I was just living in my own private hell, in the middle of a depression-like phase that had something to do with my toxic job, something to do with lingering baggage in my personal life, something to do with a mysterious illness that had recently begun to take me down and would continue to do so for months, and perhaps something to do with genetics. I've always maintained a pretty high level of functionality, but that kind of situation makes it really easy to take a lot of sick days due to one's physical and mental state. And that's what I happened to do on September 11, 2001.
So that's why I was lying on my sofa watching some morning show on television, which is something that I never, ever do. I can't even tell you which show it was or who was reporting, nor did I have a preference. But it was because I happened to be home sick that I was watching TV from the moment the morning show cut away to video of the north tower of the World Trade Center burning, and that I then saw the south tower pummeled by a United Airlines flight, live. I watched television all day that day, and all night, and all the following day, when I again decided that the commute to work wasn't for me.
There is a set of specific things I think about when I remember that day:
I remember watching the initial footage and thinking of the ongoing ramifications of this as-yet-misunderstood attack: "There is going to be scaffolding around that building for months and months while they perform repairs." This is what I thought the event's legacy would be like.
I remember running upstairs after the second plane hit to tell my housemate, "They're flying planes into the World Trade Center." She turned on her TV, and left for work shortly after.
I remember trying to convince my father to come home from work (in downtown Chicago) and him reassuring me that the Sears Tower is blocks and blocks away.
I remember a colleague telling me it took him five hours to get home from work that morning after his company let their employees go for the day.
I remember not understanding what the perceived tragedy was when the towers collapsed. In my mind, though I never explicitly thought these words, I knew that the buildings were beyond repair, and that the buildings must be devoid of people by that point. I was half right.
I remember when I realized that the date was 9/11.
I remember making love to my boyfriend that night, even though I wasn't supposed to because my yearly gynecological exam was scheduled for the next morning. But how could one not make love to their boyfriend that night?
Like everyone else, I have my specific memories. Like many people, I watched TV at every available moment for weeks and weeks after 9/11. Past the point where most people I knew declared they were finished watching all of that tragedy on television. I kept a folder in my bookmarks called "9/11", filled with dozens and dozens of links to 9/11-specific news and information sites. I cried in the shower a lot, in anger and disbelief.
But I think I realized early on that a lot of my upset had a little more to do with me and my primed-for-disaster mental state than it had to do with national security, or even empathy for those who died or who lost loved ones. (And I am a person severely overloaded with empathy, as a rule.) At the time I hated my job and was hiding from it that very day, and as I described above, I was not in a happy place overall. When I thought about 9/11 after that, it wasn't just about the terrorist event, for it was also linked to how miserable I was, had already been, and would continue to be. I remember a feeling of being haunted by the day. By September 11th, 2002, I was working as a freelancer, and I specifically did not accept any jobs that day because I wanted to be free to memorialize 9/11 privately. I remember on September 11th, 2003, making the decision that I could, and should, go to work. But I really did not want to. I wanted to be at home, to obsess, probably to watch TV all day, just as I had two years prior. Alone.
The misery stuck with me for some time, but similar to getting over a cold, I remember feeling bad and I remember feeling good again, but I can't tell you exactly when the transition happened.
And I don't remember what I did last year, or the year before, on September 11th, but I do know that this year, I noticed that I am no longer haunted. I was aware of the date, but I didn't obsess. I took note that I was glad I left my flag up (despite its tattered state; it's past the point where it should have been replaced). In the evening I watched a new television program about it, and I cried. But I think that's normal.
I just don't remember pre-9/11/01 anymore. It's kind of like Pearl Harbor: when I was born, it had already happened. It wasn't an event to remember, it just "was". 9/11 just was, and I don't take it personally anymore.
I did not have any friends or relatives who died that day. I was not in Manhattan, near the Pentagon or Washington, DC. I did not know anybody who was.
I was just living in my own private hell, in the middle of a depression-like phase that had something to do with my toxic job, something to do with lingering baggage in my personal life, something to do with a mysterious illness that had recently begun to take me down and would continue to do so for months, and perhaps something to do with genetics. I've always maintained a pretty high level of functionality, but that kind of situation makes it really easy to take a lot of sick days due to one's physical and mental state. And that's what I happened to do on September 11, 2001.
So that's why I was lying on my sofa watching some morning show on television, which is something that I never, ever do. I can't even tell you which show it was or who was reporting, nor did I have a preference. But it was because I happened to be home sick that I was watching TV from the moment the morning show cut away to video of the north tower of the World Trade Center burning, and that I then saw the south tower pummeled by a United Airlines flight, live. I watched television all day that day, and all night, and all the following day, when I again decided that the commute to work wasn't for me.
There is a set of specific things I think about when I remember that day:
I remember watching the initial footage and thinking of the ongoing ramifications of this as-yet-misunderstood attack: "There is going to be scaffolding around that building for months and months while they perform repairs." This is what I thought the event's legacy would be like.
I remember running upstairs after the second plane hit to tell my housemate, "They're flying planes into the World Trade Center." She turned on her TV, and left for work shortly after.
I remember trying to convince my father to come home from work (in downtown Chicago) and him reassuring me that the Sears Tower is blocks and blocks away.
I remember a colleague telling me it took him five hours to get home from work that morning after his company let their employees go for the day.
I remember not understanding what the perceived tragedy was when the towers collapsed. In my mind, though I never explicitly thought these words, I knew that the buildings were beyond repair, and that the buildings must be devoid of people by that point. I was half right.
I remember when I realized that the date was 9/11.
I remember making love to my boyfriend that night, even though I wasn't supposed to because my yearly gynecological exam was scheduled for the next morning. But how could one not make love to their boyfriend that night?
Like everyone else, I have my specific memories. Like many people, I watched TV at every available moment for weeks and weeks after 9/11. Past the point where most people I knew declared they were finished watching all of that tragedy on television. I kept a folder in my bookmarks called "9/11", filled with dozens and dozens of links to 9/11-specific news and information sites. I cried in the shower a lot, in anger and disbelief.
But I think I realized early on that a lot of my upset had a little more to do with me and my primed-for-disaster mental state than it had to do with national security, or even empathy for those who died or who lost loved ones. (And I am a person severely overloaded with empathy, as a rule.) At the time I hated my job and was hiding from it that very day, and as I described above, I was not in a happy place overall. When I thought about 9/11 after that, it wasn't just about the terrorist event, for it was also linked to how miserable I was, had already been, and would continue to be. I remember a feeling of being haunted by the day. By September 11th, 2002, I was working as a freelancer, and I specifically did not accept any jobs that day because I wanted to be free to memorialize 9/11 privately. I remember on September 11th, 2003, making the decision that I could, and should, go to work. But I really did not want to. I wanted to be at home, to obsess, probably to watch TV all day, just as I had two years prior. Alone.
The misery stuck with me for some time, but similar to getting over a cold, I remember feeling bad and I remember feeling good again, but I can't tell you exactly when the transition happened.
And I don't remember what I did last year, or the year before, on September 11th, but I do know that this year, I noticed that I am no longer haunted. I was aware of the date, but I didn't obsess. I took note that I was glad I left my flag up (despite its tattered state; it's past the point where it should have been replaced). In the evening I watched a new television program about it, and I cried. But I think that's normal.
I just don't remember pre-9/11/01 anymore. It's kind of like Pearl Harbor: when I was born, it had already happened. It wasn't an event to remember, it just "was". 9/11 just was, and I don't take it personally anymore.
Labels: 9/11, depression
posted by Jen S. at
6:00 AM
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