22 Years Later

 

The view from my roof.: That I am alive, is not something I take for granted.

Twenty two years later, I still remember the sounds (the roar of jets, the explosions, the screams, the sounds of jumpers hitting the pavement, the alarms, the sobbing).

I still remember the cloud and not being able to see my own hand in that indescribable darkness and thinking I was either dead or buried alive.

I still remember walking though debris up to my ankles. The running and terror. I remember how my skin burned, after what felt like being sand blasted.

That I am alive, is not something I take for granted.

I had PTSD: I was unable to sleep and had to be medicated. I could not sleep in my bed and had to sleep on my sofa facing the window with the shades up, sometimes with shoes on. I had audio hallucinations, repeating the explosions that would startle me awake. I didn't feel hunger, and my stomach stopped growling as a reminder. I couldn't take the subway for some time, so I walked or rode my bike.

As a result: If I smell anything remotely similar, I stop in my tracks - this has happened several times since and I don't know what that smell is. One time it was near a parking garage in Reston. I always know where exits are, and need to know that I can get out. I don't like confined spaces. I have zero tolerance for BS and I no longer mince words...and maybe that's not a bad thing.