Living on the verge of tears
Since August 28th, 2005, I have lived on the verge of tears. The most trivial things could make me cry. The most devastating things could make me cry. Photos of the Superdome. Pictures of Mardi Gras. Music, especially, could make me cry. Being depressed when the nightmare started, I think I wasn’t able to cope as well as some, even though we came through the storm almost completely unscathed.
Proximity has also been an aggravating issue. I’m not from here, but I live here. Even when I was not here, I had mental images from when I was. Trees with three foot diameter trunks, scattered like toothpicks on top of the houses on Christian Lane. Power lines down everywhere. Signs spray painted with “Boil water” at the entrances to some neighborhoods, other signs with “Water OK.”
And the stories. The stories inspired a lot of fear in and of themselves. The man with the destroyed house, who refused to leave, and was guarding his business inventory from his ruined house with a shotgun. People with no flood insurance, who weren’t required to have flood insurance, but who flooded. People with no homes, the NIMBY attitude about FEMA trailers, the nauseating political posturing in The City. How can we get better when this is how we live and think? Racism, long the City’s ugly secret, hidden by professions of its non-existence, rose up and reminded us that it was still among us and, sadly, growing.
There were stories of bonding, and sharing, and community. But I wasn’t around so much in the aftermath, so I missed a lot of those. My therapist shared one of them with me: a minister at her church called and said, “a bunch of Mormons are coming from Houston to help. Can you house some of them for the weekend?” She said, thinking “I have a Mormon patient,” “Sure, I can give them a cool place to sleep and shower while they’re here.” She lost 40 trees, half in her front yard. Before they left, her houseguests, six of them, twelve Mormon Helping Hands and their chainsaws, cut up all the trees that were down in her front yard and hauled them out to her curb.
I blogged about the Free Winton Marsalis Concert And Keynote Speech. What happened to me there was a transition. I think I am no longer on the verge of tears. I experienced, for the first time in months, real joy. I remembered what it’s like to be lifted up by my experiences. I feel hopeful.
Proximity has also been an aggravating issue. I’m not from here, but I live here. Even when I was not here, I had mental images from when I was. Trees with three foot diameter trunks, scattered like toothpicks on top of the houses on Christian Lane. Power lines down everywhere. Signs spray painted with “Boil water” at the entrances to some neighborhoods, other signs with “Water OK.”
And the stories. The stories inspired a lot of fear in and of themselves. The man with the destroyed house, who refused to leave, and was guarding his business inventory from his ruined house with a shotgun. People with no flood insurance, who weren’t required to have flood insurance, but who flooded. People with no homes, the NIMBY attitude about FEMA trailers, the nauseating political posturing in The City. How can we get better when this is how we live and think? Racism, long the City’s ugly secret, hidden by professions of its non-existence, rose up and reminded us that it was still among us and, sadly, growing.
There were stories of bonding, and sharing, and community. But I wasn’t around so much in the aftermath, so I missed a lot of those. My therapist shared one of them with me: a minister at her church called and said, “a bunch of Mormons are coming from Houston to help. Can you house some of them for the weekend?” She said, thinking “I have a Mormon patient,” “Sure, I can give them a cool place to sleep and shower while they’re here.” She lost 40 trees, half in her front yard. Before they left, her houseguests, six of them, twelve Mormon Helping Hands and their chainsaws, cut up all the trees that were down in her front yard and hauled them out to her curb.
I blogged about the Free Winton Marsalis Concert And Keynote Speech. What happened to me there was a transition. I think I am no longer on the verge of tears. I experienced, for the first time in months, real joy. I remembered what it’s like to be lifted up by my experiences. I feel hopeful.
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