Millions of stories. This one is mine.

My Story of Emotional Trauma  
by M.H.Johnson

It was a beautiful September morning to be off from work. I was watching CNN. Suddenly, I saw a plane crashing into our cherished twin towers. It was surreal. At first, I thought it was some kind of simulation, but when another plane hit the second tower, I realized we were being attacked. First one, and then the other building burst into flames. I saw the fire blazing and someone jumping to an early death, and for a moment or two I froze, probably like everyone else. 

I felt many emotions swirling within but couldn’t name them, couldn’t stop them, and couldn’t help feeling personally violated by strangers. I could hear my neighbors talking, but couldn't pull myself away from the tragic scene. All day I could hear people coming and going, chattering loudly, but since I was baby sitting  a two-year old, I stayed inside as we were all asked to do.

As evening approached, I remembered the conversation I had that morning with my daughter who said she was going to work. That morning, she would have  traveled on the PATH from the Jersey Cit terminal, transferred at the World Trade Center at about 8:30, and boarded a subway train to reach the upper east side by 9, so I thought she had escaped the horror of it all. But it was 8:30 that night before I realized my daughter had not arrived at my apartment in Queens to pick up her baby boy who had been staying with me for a week while she recovered from an illness. I had phoned her that morning, and she had assured me she felt well enough to return to work. After work, she was within walking distance of a subway station where she could pick up the #7 subway train heading into Flushing, Queens. 

It was total chaos--like the end of the world or something just as terrifying. With no telephone communication, no one was certain of anything, so there was no way to know whether my daughter was caught in the wreckage or not. All I could think of was our early morning conversation and her last words, saying she’d be going to work and picking up her son at around 5 pm. It was 8:30 pm, so I wondered why my daughter  wasn't at my apartment by now? 

Since I couldn't phone my daughter, I decided to try and find her,  against warnings that everyone should stay off the roads. I didn't listen because I couldn't listen. I decided I should be able to find a way out of Queens and even out of New York City. Despite the fact that CNN communicated information that all bridges heading out of New York were closed, I remembered what my mother used to say: "Where there’s a will, there’s a way."

 I grabbed the baby boy and his diaper bag, pushed his stroller along the sidewalk until I located my car parked two blocks away, buckled him in, and started the drive, stopping only at the  7-11 store for milk and gasoline before winding my  way uptown through the streets of Queens, New York. 

All I could see was emergency vehicles, blocks and blocks of blockades and police officers coaxing people along and into their apartments. I asked directions for  finding the best way out, explaining my situation, but they only asked me to return home, assuring me that no one would know anything until much later and if people stayed off the streets, the chaos would end much sooner.

Using back roads that led to the Whitestone Bridge, I found a way out of New York and into Jersey City where I found my daughter safe in her apartment. She had not felt well enough to return to work after all. We exchanged hugs, and she apologized that she hadn’t called and said she just took her medicine and went to sleep. I was relieved and thankful my daughter had followed her instincts, which had always been good, but I couldn’t overcome feelings of sadness and negativity about the attacks and the thousands of lives that were lost. I cried for six months. I had assumed I needed to be outside of New York so I temporarily relocated for a few months. 

 Had I but known the symptoms of PTSD (post-traumatic-stress-disorder), I would have known the high level of anxiety, anger, confusion, and sadness I felt were reactions to the trauma I had experienced, and that I was not alone. Others throughout the nation felt the same way, but while many were able to express their feelings of grief and sadness through conversations with others in their neighborhoods, I left the scene of the accident to grieve on my own. That was probably my biggest mistake.

 (to be continued)...