*trigger warning: about 9/11, language

13 years.

It still feels like yesterday, and it feels like a lifetime ago.

In my cleaning, I unearthed my journal I started in 2002. There was an entry on March 18th that I am going to share with you. I took a photo of some of the pages, but it is hard to read, so I am just going to type it all out for you.

Things to know about who I was at the time I wrote this:

I was running the costume department for Adelphi University in Long Island, NY (just past Queens).
I had been living alone in Queens for 2 years, states away from any family.
I was 25.
Less then a month after Sept. 11th I found out the only boy I had ever loved was married and they were expecting their first child. This was the final straw that sent me into a breakdown of sorts. For the next few months I was…well…let’s just say a bit wild. I finally started to get my head together right around the time I wrote this journal entry.
One month after I wrote this, on April 13th, I went on a blind date with a boy from Jersey named Doug. Everything changed.

6-months-later

Monday, March 18, 2002, 10:08pm

Sometimes I wonder, because of “Into The Woods”, because of needing to finish my show, because of wanting to be strong for my students, because of not wanting to appear weak for the boys club that I work in, did I ever properly grieve for September 11th? I remember standing at the ironing table listening to the radio when the first plane hit, then the second, then the buildings collapsed. I remember taking my assistant and two students in my car to the blood bank. I remember being there for five hours. I remember people going to Dunkin Donuts and Subway and bringing back tons of food for everyone waiting to donate blood. I remember a guy who could’t donate because he had just had the flu volunteering to help and walking around with water for everyone waiting. I remember  the radio being on and every time there was a new lead it being passed around the building to all the people who couldn’t hear the radio. I remember the next morning, standing at my ironing table when 24 hours after the first plane hit here was a minute of silence followed by Louis Armstrong’s “It’s A Wonderful World.”  I remember crying ’till the song was over and then going back to work. I remember spending Friday night at Heather and Karen’s and going into the city on Sat. morning to make sandwiches for the workers and the victim’s families at  the Hard Rock Cafe. I remember all of this, but I don’t remember ever properly grieving. I go home to no one. I want to scream, I want to cry, but I want someone to be there to hold me. I want someone to wait until I’ve cried so much I can’t cry any more and then to tell me it will be O.K. I want September 11th and the weeks that followed not to have happened…

I want to go to the World Trade Center and have it still be there. I WANT MY FUCKING SKYLINE BACK.

I want my security back.
I want my hope back.
I want my dreams back.
I want someone to hold me. I don’t want to be alone.

 

* I also wrote a post on this blog about 9/11 a couple of years ago. Here is what I said then.

 

Jessie-At-Home

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1 Comment

1 Comment on 13

  1. I think, in your last few lines, you have put into a nutshell how many of us feel. Whether we were as close as you were or 3000 miles away, all of us lost so much that day. None of us knew how to grieve for something so horrible. Thank you for sharing.

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