9/11 - The Turning Point. Panic Attacks Into Anger.

Today I have a well in my throat.

An ache in my chest

A bucket full behind my eyes

9/11 changed the person I am today

It wasn’t yesterday

But it sometimes feels

It was

I sprung from my bed with the first hit

Then got dressed at the second rumble

My little lace green and pink dress

My cozy red cardigan

And my two tone heels

The sky was glorious

A fresh autumn and late summer feeling combined.

We supposed a bomb had gone off.

I exited my apartment looking at the sky

Walked a block

And

Looked down Greenwich

There was a plane hanging out

Of a high rise!

I think at that point

My rational self took a back seat

Crowds accumulating

On corners

The parking lots piling up

With people all looking

Towards the crystals in the sky

It was stunning spectacular and surreal

Booming boxes blurting out the news

Sitting on concrete blocks

Bomb, accident or terrorism??

This was something phenomenal.

I called my partner

Whilst climbing a hydrant

“I think you should come out

And bring a camera.”

My subconscious self crept in

We filmed for a while

Later on-

Perhaps a year or two later

We watched pieces of our footage

And saw people joining hands and jumping from an umpteenth floor.

Had my eyes seen this straight away

I do not think I would have coped so well on the day

An impulse to walk further down to start helping in any way I can

Passersby covered in debris did not phase me.

Sirens and screams did not phase me.

Others panic did not phase me.

Then a jolt of reality

A cop yelling turn around

“Get walking uptown”

So I followed the crowds

Among us were all walks of life

Most powdered white

A flash moment I turned to look

No 1. Tower started descending into a pulp of smoke and dust

Our steps quickened

“Oh there’s a celebrity, acting as though he’s one of us”

“Oh he is one of us” I mumbled to myself

My thoughts all over the shop

Then what felt like a few moments later,

The second tower started crumbling

There was no sense of real time

For some reason

my schedule head popped back

I had to get to work

I began picking up my pace towards Prince and Lafayette

Store doors were open

Or smashed windows became the entrance

People needed water

I came to my building

It was deadly quiet

As though it were a Sunday

The elevator empty

First time ever

I walked into my office

And breathed a moment

Checked my calendar

And called my boss

“What are you doing at work , Tara

This is a terrorist attack

You should go home “

“Oh “ I said , as though I knew nothing about it.

“Get in touch with your family

And let them know you’re ok”

THAT I couldn’t do so easily

I had lost all phone service

THEN I STARTED TO PANIC

I shut off the office lights again

Walked a few blocks back home through the chaos

And climbed back into my PJs

And sat wondering

What next

We had to stay indoors

A friendly nurse stopped by

To use the shower I believe

She had been called before the towers were hit

there HAD been explosions before the plane hit

She was called to help with the injured

From that previous event

So my mind was jumping again

WTF

As we sat in numbness around the black circular table.

No ends

No corners.

Spinning round and around.

Paralleling my mind.

We considered many options

For hours and hours trickling into days

Should we evacuate

Should we change clothes and go and help

Should we play chess

Should we get stoned

Should we drink the vintage wine

Should we call our friends

Nothing was certain

By the afternoon

Amidst the pungent smell we realized

We should maybe venture out

To our local bar, eat something maybe

Con Edison setting up outside our house with tents and PCP outfits

Ready to go

A knock on our door

It was the Red Cross

“Here is a mask that you should use”

As the PCP floats past us

A flimsy flammable and finickity

Piece of thin paper

WTF

Whatever reaches my lungs has already reached them

We could not rid our home of the smell

That by now had seeped into our clothes

Our belongings

My hair

Our favorite hang out felt like a mess of desperation

Firefighters laying their heads on the bar

Exhausted and defeated

Chaos from the bartender

Overwhelmed

He was walking around with a bottle of vodka

I asked if I could help

There was so much confusion

And a huge sense

Of community

I drank a few vodkas

Then I do not remember much

After that inhalation

Until I awoke on our loft bed

The following morning

Were we still in a dream?

Were we in an altered reality

Yes

That smell was still there

Burned bodies, debris,

Flashing lights day and night from the streets below

I puked so ferociously

Every direction.

It didn't matter

It had to come out.

as I propped myself up

I believe it was more the trauma

Than the alcohol I had consumed

We took another stroll downtown and

Learned we were below barricades and ground zero was now sectioned off

We were told we now have to show ID to get back home if we venture out

A cop on the corner in his

photo opportunity box- his shelter/throne

I started to notice a piling up of more and more cops, the military moving in and Canal Street being taken over by pig roasts

I called my boss and asked if we can start contributing our time

We agreed to cook for the firefighters and police

On 9th street

Further up town from my home

The second night we wondered down

And met with a large temporary fence and a warning of walled combat suits

Suddenly we saw a very familiar, kind and gentle face a top of a nightgown

It was Elizabeth Taylor, flanked by I assume her assistant

We exchanged a smile

My partner did not recognize her

Suddenly, I became aware of the contrast between celebrity and tragedy

She pulled the armour from the fence and they turned into soft young men all wanting a picture of themselves with Liz

It was a very bizarre moment for me and perhaps it was

The turning point of my drive throughout my life of wanting to be rich and famous.

There were apparently trapped and dead bodies just a few steps away from us - but Liz took precedence in that moment

She was so beautiful and soft-looking

The surreal ness of this event continued for months and months

Each day got heavier and heavier as the numbers missing was announced daily

I was obsessed with looking at how many bodies were recuperated each day

The New York Times became my breakfast partner

Not many remains pulled out

I did not understand it

Slowly, I believe my mental health was declining. I was getting sicker and sicker with the trauma

Finally after a month or two it was time to start work again.

A walk past the walls and walls of photographs of missing loved ones kept me company on my 2 mile walk to work

It was devastating daily

This was the beginning of my panic attacks

I could no longer get on a subway with ease

I couldn’t be anywhere far from home where I could not reach it without walking

I learned this when I started back at work in Williamsburg

In my favorite studio of all time

The days came to an end and each day my breathing would start to become more shallow

“How am I going to get home?

I can’t get on the subway “

Sometimes I’d walk the few miles home to avoid the subway

When I did use the subway, I’d arrive home and be a crumbling mess on the floor with a paper bag and crying.

Not having breathed for about an hour

I felt trapped ALL the time

I think I was feeling the guilt of being left alive when so many people close to me physically had died

The panic attacks have not fully gone away but are now manageable

After 6 months I believe I longed to visit my family

I bought a ticket with BA - packed a little case so I did not have to check anything in that would take me longer

Once I reached the airport

I realized

I could not get on a plane

This was another side effect

I went to the BA desk and told them I had left my visa at home so I would have to miss my flight

I lied

I think it was another 6 months to a year before I managed to get on a plane

To this day there is an ebb of panic when I get too far from my home

It took a while

To this day

I still dream I am walking up the escape stair wells inside the building carrying explosives and that I’m not able to chose if I can detonate them or not.

I am TRAPPED

I still have a huge sense of guilt at times

That I was chosen to survive

Yet others did not

To this day I do not want to follow the news unless it’s essential to my daughter's health and sanity as for this period in my life it took away mine - I do not read newspapers

This is my memorial and I need to keep it alive so that we may be better prepared next time and to my friends that lost loved ones and to the family and community that was built together to help each and every one of us get through it