September 11th

I am sitting at my cubical desk this morning. Jenny on her way to work calls Alicia to tell her about the first plane, the first tower. Alicia spreads the news. We continue answering phones though calls soon slow and cease. My memory of September 11th comes in still-life photos.

Coworkers gather around a television watching as the first flaming tower falls. We gasp and "oh NO!" in scattered unison. I walk away, look away for a moment. Crying.

I don't know that I am actually sad about the disaster. I miss Jim, who I've pushed away this Summer. I miss my group of friends, since really they are his friends more than mine. I am alone again. The regular happy hour indulgences are taking their toll on my serotonin levels. I've never been a good drinker. Apparently I am wrong and probably should not go off my anti-depressants just because I am feeling better.

Of course, it is a horrific event. Suddenly, though, I am distraught over the deaths of people I do not know. I am afraid. I stand shaking in a restroom stall. I learn the name of a colleague, as she is kind enough to offer comfort. I feel like a child, somewhat embarrassed at my dramatic reaction.

For months tears seep at inopportune moments. I cry in staff meetings, in my car, at the grocery store. Something inside me is broken, off-balance. September 11th is the brick that shatters glass and lets in icy wind. In autumn my decline begins. By winter I am living in black and gray, moving through thick fog, feet weighed down by heavy chains. My anxiety grows too under a weighty, woolen blanket of depression that I cannot shrug off.

Through these months I scan the skies for danger and unauthorized aircraft, as if I will know. As if I will recognize intruders and be able to tell someone, do something....

One morning during a staff meeting a coworker arrives late, in full-dress brass and blue. He announces that he'll be leaving soon. Again, my tears surprise me, embarrassing others I suppose. Are they embarrassed for me during my insanity? Or are they just annoyed at my dramatic performances?

I try so hard. I try so hard to do my job and be present - but I also am compelled to look at CNN, research potential chemical warfare threats, email friends about fears, distract myself with useless knowledge about things beyond my control. I cannot contain it all in my skull and learn tech skills simultaneously. My heart is heavy, a sponge for sorrow and fear.

Today, five years later, I am sad, reminded of the despair that descended from elsewhere as much as it welled within. Emotions were triggered by imagined global chaos, fear of alternative warfare and hemorrhagic illness. Again, I am sad, but is it for lives lost, or for my own years wasted? Am I sensitive or selfish?