How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love My Post-Traumatic Stress Syndrome (A work in progress)

I didn't cry on September 11.

At least, I don't remember doing so. I don't remember crying the day after. Nor the week after. I'm sure that I cried at least twice since it happened, but despite being constantly exposed to the aftermath of that day (the Missing posters, the flowers, the foul air, etc.), I don't think I was overtly emotional much of the time.

I have now become somewhat unglued twice this week. But I'm not so sure that's a bad thing.

As you probably know by now, HBO ran a fairly gritty documentary on 9/11 in New York this week. This first day that it aired I resolved not to watch it. I told myself that it was exploitative, disgusting, and all in all unhealthy to watch so soon after it happened.

Naturally, I watched it tonight. About two minutes into it I had serious thoughts about turning it off -- and all they had showed at that point is the well-known footage of the initial impact. And there were some points where I clicked it over to VH1 for a minute or two until I felt sure that the troublesome part in question had passed. It was very difficult to watch, because it basically forced me to see everything I saw that day all over again. Surprisingly, I found I was glad that I did.

I remember very clearly the things that I saw when it happened. It's not like it was a blur or that I blocked it out. But I remember regarding it all with a sense of detachment, even bemusement. Well, this is certainly odd. Which sounds terrible. I knew I was supposed to be sad, but I couldn't force myself. When I went to Ground Zero two months later, I felt sick, but not sad. But seeing those images on TV tonight-- seeing the park outside my dorm covered with memorials, the viewpoints from my neighborhood of the Towers -- let me feel what I think I wanted to feel that day, just eight months later.

Like I said, the documentary is extremely difficult to watch no matter where you were on September 11. I wouldn't blame anybody for refusing to watch it, or turning it off in the middle. There's a couple moments that are, in my opinion, pretty gratuitous. But you may try looking at it, even if it's five years down the road. I was sure that if I watched it, I would be blubbering, spouting obscenities, screaming at the wall, or engaging in some other similar anti-social behavior by the end of it. But I'm not. I'm typing this instead, and reading the Onion. Dare I say it, I actually feel a little better. I'm sure I'm not "over it." I don't really think I will be, but I think that's okay. It's part of who I am now, and I can live with that.

Thanks for listening. I promise next time I'll write about puffins or cheesy poofs or Care Bears or sumpin' like that.

Robyn

Ground Zero

So I finally went to Ground Zero this weekend. I had thought that I had let a sufficient amount of time pass since September 11 to mitigate the awfulness of that visit. It didn't work as well as I hoped.

I was surprised how close we could get to the wreckage. At some points we were only about two blocks away. I was also surprised at how it just, well, sneaks up on you. We got out of the Wall Street 4/5 subway stop near Trinity Church, and could see crowds of people along Broadway gathered at each intersection. So it wasn't so much a surprise in that you knew you were about to see something when you got close to the crowds.

I think I was at Liberty Street when I first saw the wreckage up close. I believe it was what was left of 4 WTC, but it could have been the South Tower. What I do know was that it was a brown, twisted, burned out, massive piece of destruction. It was the visual manifestation of Violence, if that makes any sense at all. You look at it, and that's the only word that comes to mind, repeating itself over and over. Violence, Violence, Violence. It's breathtaking. Jeffrey said I had a visible physical reaction, that I recoiled upon first seeing it. It was one of the few times during this whole thing that I wanted to cry. I guess my Shepherdian revulsion of crying in public won out, because I didn't.

We also saw 5 WTC, where my roommate Christine worked until September 10. It's still standing, but it's not worth much as a building now. It too is burned out and devoid of most of its exterior. They'll have to tear it down. The sign from the Borders bookstore is still in the blown-out window.

We got ourselves good and lost while down there, as any sense of geography that Jeffrey and I had of the area isn't worth much of anything now. So we spent two hours or so there. If you're planning a trip there, I wouldn't recommend staying that long. You don't need to. Walk down Broadway, maybe down Rector. Maybe take a picture or two (yes, it feels morbid and tasteless to snap photos, but I figured that 20 years down the line, I'll have something poignant and real to show the progeny). Then go home.

It occurs to me that anyone reading these Updates would think I'm completely obsessed with death and destruction. I do think about other things. Today I spent a lovely sick day reading for class, watching Jeopardy! and perusing silly rock-band websites.

Of course, the book I was reading was Hiroshima, but I suppose that can't be helped.

Robyn