I opened my door this morning to collect my two newspapers, and staring up at me was a very familiar photo. I was prepared for September, when this event took place in 1998, but I was totally caught off guard to find it in both papers. The pictures and the story is nothing new to me (in fact, I know a lot more than the stories told because I WAS THERE FOR MONTHS.) But if I wanted to revisit this, I have a place where I keep all the paperwork and other things from those days.

I'm shaking, I'm trembling, I've got all those images all jumbled up in my head again. I just went through a flashback-type experience with this back in February because of someone unintentionally mentioning something. Took awhile, but I got the dreams to stop again and the memories to get out of the forefront of my mind. Now I'm back even worse.

Today is a clonazepam day. It's important not to forget, and yet....I don't want this TYPE of remembering. For some odd reason, I just feel like standing naked on my balcony. I don't know why. But I won't. Too shy.

Can you have survivor's guilt, even when you weren't directly involved in the disaster? I worked it for months, but I wasn't actually in the event (or I'd be dead like all the others). All those people died....people going on with their lives, making plans, performing their jobs, raising families, taking a trip.....people who WANTED to live. And then you have someone like me....taking up space and air and scared to leave my own apartment most of the time.....why should I still be here when none of them wanted to die? I didn't want to die, either, at that time. But my life has become so meaningless, and I feel as though I should have died with them. I feel like I took one person's spot who should still be alive.

God bless,
Sandy