Why I'm not watching anything related to September 11 today.
I'm not watching September 11 footage today. I'll read about it, but I can't watch it.
This all sounds ridiculous, because I wasn't there, and didn't know anyone who was, or who died, but it all still makes me incredibly anxious. That morning, I logged on to my mom's computer, checked First Class, saw a post, thought it was a hoax, and went downstairs to turn NBC on -- just as the second plane hit. I was scared, yes, and confused, and worried because we were so close to Drum, but it wasn't actually that day that was the worse.
It was the following week. I was home all day, every day. I was supposed to be leaving for Cardiff and Heathrow on Sept. 17. I was supposed to be packing for school.
And I just stopped. I had literally nothing to do all day but watch the coverage, and then my parents would get home at night and want to watch it, and it just got to a point where I couldn't anymore. I still remember crying one night at the dinner table, when my dad went to turn on the TV, and I yelled at him, through my tears: "You don't understand. You're not here during the day, watching it all day. I am watching it all day. Please let this be the time when I don't have to watch it anymore."
And then at night, and during the day, I also was trying to call British Airways, the university, and my travel agent. Not only had the FAA closed all air space, but they were also being delayed in opening it again to foreign carriers. I had no idea how I was going to get to school, and continue my future, and it scared me more than what had happened that Tuesday morning.
And then the rush on Sept. 18. British Airways called me, and wanted to know if I could be in Boston *that night* for a flight. I explained that I couldn't, that I lived six hours from the airport. They gave me 8:30 the next morning -- the 19th -- and said that if I couldn't leave then, they couldn't guarantee that I could get out. So my dad got home, my mom got home, and we packed up the car and left. I'm still so grateful that Lari was able to make it to Figs on time to see me... if I hadn't been able to see her before I left, I don't know what I would have done. (Of course, BA threatening the next morning to not let me fly because I needed syringes for my flight is an entirely separate issue.)
...
So I can't watch the coverage. It for some reason brings back that anxiety, and the panic, and the not knowing what was going to happen next. And I'm not going to do that to myself.
This all sounds ridiculous, because I wasn't there, and didn't know anyone who was, or who died, but it all still makes me incredibly anxious. That morning, I logged on to my mom's computer, checked First Class, saw a post, thought it was a hoax, and went downstairs to turn NBC on -- just as the second plane hit. I was scared, yes, and confused, and worried because we were so close to Drum, but it wasn't actually that day that was the worse.
It was the following week. I was home all day, every day. I was supposed to be leaving for Cardiff and Heathrow on Sept. 17. I was supposed to be packing for school.
And I just stopped. I had literally nothing to do all day but watch the coverage, and then my parents would get home at night and want to watch it, and it just got to a point where I couldn't anymore. I still remember crying one night at the dinner table, when my dad went to turn on the TV, and I yelled at him, through my tears: "You don't understand. You're not here during the day, watching it all day. I am watching it all day. Please let this be the time when I don't have to watch it anymore."
And then at night, and during the day, I also was trying to call British Airways, the university, and my travel agent. Not only had the FAA closed all air space, but they were also being delayed in opening it again to foreign carriers. I had no idea how I was going to get to school, and continue my future, and it scared me more than what had happened that Tuesday morning.
And then the rush on Sept. 18. British Airways called me, and wanted to know if I could be in Boston *that night* for a flight. I explained that I couldn't, that I lived six hours from the airport. They gave me 8:30 the next morning -- the 19th -- and said that if I couldn't leave then, they couldn't guarantee that I could get out. So my dad got home, my mom got home, and we packed up the car and left. I'm still so grateful that Lari was able to make it to Figs on time to see me... if I hadn't been able to see her before I left, I don't know what I would have done. (Of course, BA threatening the next morning to not let me fly because I needed syringes for my flight is an entirely separate issue.)
...
So I can't watch the coverage. It for some reason brings back that anxiety, and the panic, and the not knowing what was going to happen next. And I'm not going to do that to myself.