On September 11, 2001, I was on a locked psychiatric ward at the Chillecothe, Ohio V.A. hospital being treated for Major Depression and cocaine addiction. At the time I believed my world was slowly grinding to a halt, and I was in the hospital in a last ditch effort to save myself. That’s when the planes hit the towers, the pentagon, and a lonely field in Pennsylvania. I knew then that, for a great many people, the end of the world was both immediate and very, very real.
Sometimes it seems as if I’m still standing in that room staring at the TV screen, unaware that no one other than myself could hear me screaming. At other times it seems like that happened a lifetime ago – a lifetime filled with the echoes of screams, flames, and lingering death. I’m not sure which perspective is worse. I know that I don’t want either one.
But somehow I’ve managed to go on. I guess we all have. I even went out to the V.A. today to meet with my new doctor. I only broke down a couple of times, which was much better than I expected.
Where were you? What are your thoughts?
I want ice water.